*£ 


THE  y'ENTRI|.OOU|!ST: 


I'Mf  L  ADKr.l'HIA 
HAKT. 

1841 .. 


THE 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES 


OF 


VALENTINE    VOX 


THE  VENTRILOQUIST. 


BY     HENRY     COCKTON, 

AUTHOR  OF 
"GEORGE  ST.  GEORGE  JULIAN,  THE  PRINCE." 


WITH  NUMEROUS  ILLUSTRATIONS 


UNf  'JEQUUS  VIRTUT1. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
CAREY      AND     HART 

1S41. 


T.  X.  A   P.   O.  COLL1W8, 
Ho.  1  Lodge  Alley. 


ffi 


PREFACE. 


"  THE  power  of  an  accomplished  Ventriloquist  is  well  known  to  be 
unlimited.  There  is  no  scene  in  life  in  which  that  power  is  incapable 
of  being  developed:  it  gives  its  possessor  a  command  over  the  actions, 
the  feelings,  the  passions  of  men,  while  its  efficacy  in  loading  with  ridi- 
cule every  prejudice  and  every  project  of  which  the  tendency  is  per- 
nicious cannot  fail  to  be  perceived  at  a  glance.  The  design  of  this  work, 
although  essentially  humorous,  is  not,  however,  to  excite  peals  of  laughter 
alone:  it  has  a  far  higher  object  in  view,  namely,  that  of  removing  social 
absurdities  and  abuses  by  means  the  most  peculiarly  attractive  and 
pleasiag." 

This  formed  the  prospectus  of  VALENTINE  Vox ;  and  that  the  design 
has  been  to  a  considerable  extent  satisfactorily  carried  out,  the  popu- 
larity which  the  work  has  acquired  in  the  course  of  its  publication  in 
monthly  parts  may  be  held  to  be  some  proof. 

There  is,  however,  one  monstrous  system,  the  pernicious,  the  dreadful 
operation  of  which  has  been,  if  not  vividly,  truthfully  portrayed— a 
system  teeming  with  secret  cruelties  and  horrors — I  mean  the  system  of 
private  Lunatic  Asylums — to  which  it  will  be  needful  for  me  here  to 
refer,  lest  the  scenes  which  have  been  described  be  considered  too  terri- 
ble either  to  occur  in  the  present  day,  or  to  have  indeed  any  foundation 
in  fact.  I  will  mention  no  particular  case,  I  will  allude  to  no  particular 
asylum:  I  will  go  at  once  to  the  system  under  which  men — sane  men — 
can  at  any  time  be  seized,  gagged,  manacled,  and  placed  beyond  the 
pale  of  the  constitution,  within  the  walls  of  an  asylum,  there  to  be  incar- 
cerated for  life,  with  no  society  save  that  of  poor  idiots  and  raving 
maniacs,  shut  out  for  ever  from  the  world  as  completely  as  if  they  were 

250143 


IV  PREFACE. 

not  in  existence,  without  the  power  of  communicating  with  a  single 
friend,  or  of  receiving  from  a  single  friend  the  slightest  communication. 

The  Act  by  which  Private  Asylums  are  governed,  viz:  the  9  Geo.  4, 
cap.  41, — is  intituled,  Jin  Jlct  to  regulate,  the  Care  and  Treatment  of 
Insane  Persons  in  England;  but  were  it  called  Jin  Jlct  to  facilitate 
the  perpetual  imprisonment  of  perfectly  sane  persons,  with  the  view 
of  promoting  the  unhallowed  designs  of  the  sordid  and  the  malicious, 
its  effect  would  be  better  declared:  for  it  is  an  Act,  essentially  an  Act, 
for  the  promotion  of  such  objects  as  those  which  avarice  and  malignity 
may,  under  certain  circumstances,  prompt,  seeing  that  under  it  fathers 
may  be  incarcerated  by  sons,  and  sons  by  fathers:  sisters  by  brothers, 
and  brothers  by  sisters:  children  by  parents:  wives  by  husbands,  and 
husbands  by  wives,  when  the  object  proposed  is  either  adultery,  the 
dishonest  possession  of  property,  the  prevention  of  what  are  termed 
imprudent  matches,  or  the  foul  gratification  of  revenge. 

The  personal  liberty  of  no  man  is  safe.  Any  one  may  in  a  moment 
be  seized,  manacled,  and  beaten  into  a  state  of  insensibility,  and  carried 
away,  without  the  power  of  appealing  to  any  tribunal,  without  the 
most  remote  prospect  of  being  able  to  let  any  friend  know  where  he  is. 
He  is  gone:  completely  lost  to  the  world:  those  who  were  dear  to  him 
are  led  to  believe  that  he  is  dead,  and  dead  he  is  to  society  for  ever. 
All  that  is  required  to  authorize  the  perpetual  imprisonment  of  a  man 
under  the  Act  is  a  certificate  signed  by  two  medical  practitioners — who 
may  be  either  physicians,  surgeons,  or  apothecaries,  they  are  not  at  all 
particular  under  the  Act— or  one  will  do.  if  two  cannot  at  the  time  be 
conveniently  procured,  should  any  "special  circumstance  exist,"  and 
anything  may  be  called  a  special  circumstance — the  signature  of  one 
apothecary — no  matter  how  young,  how  inexperienced,  or  how  igno- 
rant he  may  be — is  sufficient  to  consign  either  a  man,  woman,  or  child 
to  a  Lunatic  Asylum  for  life. 

During  the  progress  of  this  work  I  have  been  apprehensive  that  my 
statements  on  this  point  might  be  deemed  exaggerations;  it  is  hence  that 
I  embrace  this  opportunity  of  showing  that  in  illustrating  this  terrible 
subject,  I  have  neither  departed  from  facts  nor  exaggerated  those  facts 
in  the  smallest  degree. 

By  the  thirtieth  section  of  the  Act  to  which  I  have  alluded,  it  is  pro- 
vided, "That  every  certificate  upon  which  any  order  shall  be  given  for 


PREFACE.  V 

the  confinement  of  any  person  (not  a  parish  patient)  in  a  house  kept  for 
the  reception  of  two  or  more  insane  persons,  shall  be  signed  by  two 
medical  practitioners,  each  of  them  being  a  physician,  surgeon,  or  apo- 
thecary, who  shall  have  separately  visited  and  personally  examined  the 
patient  to  whom  it  relates;  and  such  certificate  shall  state  that  such 
insane  person  is  a  proper  person  to  be  confined,  and  the  day  on  which 
he  or  she  shall  have  been  so  examined;  and  also  the  Christian  and  sur- 
name and  place  of  abode  of  the  person  by  whose  direction  or  authority 
such  person  is  examined,  and  the  degree  of  relationship  or  other  circum- 
stance of  connection  between  such  person  and  the  insane  person;  and 
the  name,  age,  place  of  residence,  former  occupation,  and  the  asylum, 
if  any,  in  which  such  patient  shall  have  been  confined;  and  whether  such 
person  shall  have  been  found  lunatic  or  of  unsound  mind  under  a  com- 
mission issued  for  that  purpose  by  the  Lord  Chancellor,  or  Lord  Keeper 
or  Commissioner  of  the  Great  Seal  intrusted  as  aforesaid;  and  every 
such  certificate  for  the  confinement  of  any  person  in  a  house  licensed 
under  this  Act  within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  said  visitors  shall,  if  the 
same  be  riot  signed  by  two  medical  practitioners,  state  the  special  cir- 
cumstances, if  any,  which  shall  have  prevented  the  patient  being  sepa- 
rately visited  by  two  medical  practitioners;  and  any  patient  may  be 
admitted  into  any  such  licensed  house  upon  the  certificate  of  one  medical 
practitioner  only,  under  the  special  circumstances  aforesaid,  provided 
such  certificate  shall  be  further  signed  by  some  other  medical  practitioner 
within  seven  days  next  after  the  admission  of  such  patient  into  any 
such  licensed  house  as  aforesaid;  and  any  person  who  shall,  knowingly 
and  with  intention  to  deceive,  sign  any  such  certificate,  untruly  setting 
forth  any  such  particulars  required  by  this  Act,  shall  be  deemed  guilty 
of  a  misdemeanour;  nevertheless,  if  any  special  circumstance  shall  exist 
which  may  prevent  the  insertion  of  any  of  the  particulars  aforesaid,  the 
same  shall  be  specially  stated  in  such  certificate:  provided  always,  that 
no  physician,  surgeon,  or  apothecary  shall  sign  any  certificate  of  admis- 
sion to  any  house  of  reception  for  two  or  more  insane  persons,  of  which 
he  is  wholly  or  partly  the  proprietor,  or  the  regular  professional  attend- 
ant; and  any  physician,  surgeon,  or  apothecary,  who  shall  sign  or  give 
any  such  certificate,  without  having  visited  and  personally  examined 
the  individual  to  whom  it  relates,  shall  be  deemed  to  be  guilty  of  a  mis- 
demeanour." 


VI  PREFACE. 

What  then  is  it  necessary  for  a  bad  man  to  do  whose  object  is  to 
incarcerate  any  relative  or  friend  whom  he  is  anxious  to  put  out  of  the 
way  for  ever?  He  has  but  to  bribe  a  disreputable  apothecary — and, 
unhappily,  there  are  many  in  the  profession  who,  for  the  fee  of  a  guinea, 
have  signed,  and  who  are  ready  again  to  sign  away  the  liberty  of  any 
man,  pleading  to  their  own  consciences,  perhaps,  like  Shakspeare's 
apothecary,  that  their  poverty,  and  not  their  will,  consents — he  has  but 
to  bribe  one  of  these  men  to  certify  that  the  victim  is  insane — or  if  he 
knows  not  one  of  these,  he  need  but  excite  his  victim,  and  call  in  any 
other  medical  man  to  see  him,  while  in  a  state  of  excitement,  and  to 
declare  as  a  "special  circumstance,"  that  he  has  just  been  attempting  to 
commit  suicide,  or  to  do  himself  some  grievous  mischief,  when  the  very 
energy  with  which  he  will  deny  the  imputation,  will  tend  to  convince 
him  who  has  been  summoned  expressly  to  see  a  madman,  that  he  is 
mad — and  when  the  certificate  is  signed,  the  proprietor  of  an  asylum 
has  but  to  be  applied  to,  when  keepers  will  be  despatched  to  secure  the 
victim,  and  the  facility  with  which  a  second  signature  can  be  obtained 
in  such  a  case  is  proverbial. 

In  Acts  of  Parliament  penalties  look  very  well,  and  appear  prima 
facie  to  be  very  efficient:  thus  in  this  Act  it  seems  to  be  a  security 
against  malpractices,  that,  "  any  person  who  shall  knowingly,  and  with 
intention  to  deceive,  sign  any  such  certificate  untruly  setting  forth  any 
such  particulars  required  by  this  Act,  shall  be  deemed  guilty  of  a  misde- 
meanour;" but  how  is  the  guilt  of  such  person  to  be  proved?  These 
things  are  done  in  secret;  the  victim  is  doomed,  seized,  hurried  away, 
and  confined,  without  having  the  power  to  offer  a  particle  of  proof  or  a 
moment's  opportunity  of  appealing  against  this  decision,  which  is  ren- 
dered thereby  final.  But  if  even  he  should  have  such  an  opportunity — 
if  by  a  miracle  he  should  escape — how  can  he  prove  the  misdemeanour? 
The  medical  man  who  possesses  this  monstrous  power  is  licensed  to  act 
upon  his  judgment:  he  pleads  that  to  the  best  of  his  judgment  the  man 
was  insane:  he  is  thereby  protected.  That  license  indemnifies  him;  his 
signature  indemnifies  the  man  who  employed  him,  and  that  man's 
authority  indemnifies  the  proprietor  of  the  asylum  in  which  the  victim 
is  confined:  and  this  too  in  a  country  whose  free  institutions  form  its 
proudest  boast — in  England,  the  centre,  the  very  heart  of  civilization. 

Look  at  the  position  of  the  proprietor  of  a  private  Lunatic  Asylum. 


PREFACE.  Vll 

It  is  with  him  a  pecuniary  speculation.  He  may  be  an  honourable  man 
— he  may  be — but  look  at  the  temptations  to  dishonour  with  which  the 
system  is  pregnant.  His  object  is  to  obtain  as  many  patients  as  he  can, 
and  to  keep  those  patients  as  long  as  he  can:  his  manifest  duty  is  there- 
fore diametrically  opposed  to  his  interest,  and  when  it  is  so,  experience 
proves  it  to  be  unsafe,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  to  give  a  man  impunity, 
and  trust  to  his  honour.  It  is  his  duty,  when  he  finds  that  a  patient  is 
sane,  to  restore  him  to  society:  his  interest  prompts  him  to  keep  that 
patient,  because  the  sum  which  he  receives,  either  weekly  or  quarterly, 
from  the  person  at  whose  instance  that  patient  has  been  confined,  of 
course  ceases  to  be  paid  on  his  being  discharged.  It  is  his  duty,  when 
the  commissioners  visit  the  asylum,  to  give  every  patient  a  fair  oppor- 
tunity of  proving  that  he  is  of  sound  mind:  his  interest  prompts  him  not 
only  to  misrepresent  the  actions  of  every  sane  patient,  but  to  excite  him 
by  administering  drugs  or  otherwise,  in  order  that  he  may  appear  to 
the  commissioners  to  be  insane.  So  also  is  it  his  duty,  when  his  patients 
are  really  insane,  to  do  all  in  his  power  to  cure  them,  while  it  is  to  his 
interest  to  keep  them  till  death,  by  repudiating  those  means  by  which  a 
cure  might  be  effected.  As  far,  therefore,  as  insane  persons  are  con- 
cerned, the  system  of  private  asylums  is  pernicious,  for  interest  will 
govern  the  actions  of  men  in  the  aggregate;  it  will  trample  down  duty, 
it  will  be  in  the  ascendant;  but  looking  at  the  operation  of  that  system 
upon  persons  who  are  absolutely  sane,  it  is  monstrous  that  a  power 
should  exist  which  places  every  man  in  a  position  to  be  deprived  of 
liberty  for  life,  for  the  pure  gratification  of  private  avarice  or  revenge. 

As  far  as  regards  the  statement  that  men  can  be  incarcerated  for  life 
without  any  friend  or  relative  disposed  to  assist  them  having  the  slightest 
knowledge  of  where  they  are,  it  may  be  urged  that  on  application  being 
made  to  the  commissioners  such  knowledge  may  be  obtained;  and  so  in 
ordinary  cases  it  may;  but  when  a  man  is  missing,  who  ever  dreams  of 
applying  to  these  commissioners?  His  friends  in  such  a  case  are  apt  to 
suppose  him  to  have  committed  suicide  or  to  have  been  murdered:  in 
scarcely  one  case  out  of  a  thousand  would  they  suppose  him  to  have 
been  stolen  from  society  and  confined  as  a  lunatic.  But  if  even  they  do 
suspect  this  to  be  the  case,  what  security  does  the  Act  afford  against 
his  perpetual  imprisonment?  What  power  does  it  impart  to  his  friends 
to  aid  him?  By  the  thirty-fourth  section  it  is  enacted,  "That  if  any 


Vlil  PREFACE. 

person  shall  apply  to  one  of  the  commissioners,  or  any  justice  of  the 
peace  of  the  county  in  which  any  house  of  reception  for  two  or  more 
insane  persons  is  situate,  in  order  to  be  informed  whether  any  particular 
person  is  confined  in  any  of  the  said  houses  of  reception  for  two  or  more 
insane  persons,  and  the  said  commissioner  or  justice  shall  think  it  rea- 
sonable to  permit  such  inquiry  to  be  made,  and  shall  sign  an  order 
directed  to  the  clerk  of  the  commissioners  or  clerk  of  the  visitors  for  that 
purpose,  the  said  clerk  of  the  commissioners  or  clerk  of  the  visitors  is 
hereby  required,  upon  the  receipt  of  such  order,  to  make  search;  and  if 
it  shall  appear  upon  search  that  the  person  so  inquired  after  is  or  has 
been  confined  in  any  of  the  said  houses,  the  said  clerk  of  the  commis- 
sioners or  clerk  of  the  visitors  shall  immediately  deliver  to  the  person 
so  applying,  in  writing,  the  name  of  the  keeper  in  whose  house  the 
person  so  inquired  after  is  or  has  been  confined,  the  situation  of  such 
house,  and  a  copy  of  the  order  and  certificate  upon  which  such  person 
was  received  into  such  house,  upon  payment  of  the  sum  of  seven  shil- 
lings, and  no  more,  for  his  trouble." 

Well:  he  obtains  this  information — provided  the  asylum  in  which  he 
is  confined  be  within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  commissioners,  that  is  to 
say,  within  seven  miles  of  London — he  ascertains  where  his  friend  is, 
and  what  then  can  he  do?  He  cannot  see  him,  he  cannot  visit  him:  no 
man  is  permitted  to  enter  an  asylum  save  the  commissioners  and  the 
persons  by  whose  authority  the  inmates  have  been  confined. 

But  assuming  that  he  has  the  means  at  his  command  of  rendering  it 
"inexpedient,"  notwithstanding  the  certificate,  for  the  vile  party  to 
detain  his  friend  any  longer  in  that  asylum,  what  need  that  party  do  in 
order  to  make  all  sure?  Why  he  need  but  remove  him  from  the  asylum 
within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  commissioners  to  an  asylum  beyond  the 
jurisdiction  of  the  commissioners:  that  is  to  say,  he  need  but  send  him 
to  some  country  asylum,  and  if  he  send  him  there  in  another  mime, 
there  is  no  power  on  earth  to  discover  where  lie  is. 

In  vain  the  victim  may  declare  that  the  name  in  which  he  is  entered 
is  not  his  right  name— that  it  is  for  instance  Roberts,  when  he  is  entered 
as  Jones— the  very  tenacity  with  which  he  adheres  to  his  right  name, 
will  be  held  to  be  an  additional  proof  of  his  delusion:  he  cannot  be  con- 
sidered then  otherwise  than  mad,  and  thus  is  he  lost  to  the  world  for  ever. 

It  must  not  be  supposed,  because  cases  of  this  kind  are  seldom  brought 


PREFACE.  IX 

to  light,  that  they  seldom  occur:  the  secrecy  in  which  everything  con- 
nected with  a  Private  Asylum  is  involved,  renders  frequent  exposition 
of  individual  cases  impossible;  but  if  even  they  occurred  less  frequently 
than  they  do,  the  fact  would  not  diminish  the  enormity  of  the  system; 
it  is  enormous  that  in  a  country  like  this,  it  should  be  possible  for  a  case 
of  the  kind  to  occur  at  all:  but  the  facility  with  which  it  can  be  done  is 
amazing. 

In  France,  before  the  incarceration  or  interdiction  of  a  person  assumed 
to  be  of  unsound  mind  can  take  place,  there  must  be  a  conseil  defamille, 
and  subsequently  the  decree  of  a  tribunal,  before  which — when  three 
physicians  appointed  by  the  tribunal  have  examined  the  patient — he 
appears,  and  his  acts  of  insanity  are  proved.  And  thus  ought  it  to  be 
in  England.  Instead  of  dragging  a  man  to  perpetual  imprisonment,  by 
virtue  of  the  purchased  signature  of  an  apothecary,  he  ought,  before  he 
is  permanently  confined,  to  be  publicly  proved  to  be  insane.  It  is  in 
the  last  degree  disgraceful  to  this  country,  that  men  can  be  for  ever  shut 
out  from  the  world,  and  from  all  communication  with  the  world,  with- 
out having  at  least  undergone  some  public  examination. 

With  respect  to  the  treatment  experienced  by  patients  in  these  Private 
Asylums,  I  need  only  refer  to  the  published  Reports  of  the  various  Com- 
mittees of  the  House  of  Commons  for  proved  cases  of  the  most  frightful 
cruelty;  but  as  the  cause  of  those  who  are  afflicted  or  who  are  assumed  to 
be  afflicted  with  this  the  most  dire  calamity  which  can  befall  man,  has 
never  been  made  a  party  question,  why  of  course,  no  step  has  been 
taken  to  put  an  end  to  such  brutalities,  and  the  system  continues  in  full 
operation  still.  It  is,  however,  to  be  hoped  that  philanthropy  and  faction 
may,  with  a  view  to  the  removal  of  this  blot  upon  civilization,  be  con- 
joined, or  that  faction  alone  may  take  the  matter  in  hand;  for  while 
faction,  without  the  aid  of  philanthropy,  can  thunder  forth  its  fierce 
denunciations,  with  amazing  effect,  philanthropy,  I  fear,  unsupported 
by  faction,  has  there  but  a  still  small  voice. 

I  have  been  induced  thus  to  dwell  upon  this  terrible  subject  by  the 
conviction  of  its  being  one  of  great  importance;  and  if,  in  these  hastily 
written  pages,  the  dreadful  system  shall  have  been  sufficiently  illustrated 
to  induce  the  legislature  to  take  it  into  serious  consideration,  it  must  of 
necessity  be  the  means  of  effecting  a  revision,  and  of  thereby  accomplish- 
ing one  of  the  highest  objects  proposed  by  THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

CHAP.  I. — The  birth  and  education  of  Valentine,  with  the  parental  peculiarities  and 

premature  death  of  his  immediate  ancestor,  ...  17 

CHAP.  II. — The  genius  and  characteristic  honour  of  a  great  magician:  Valentine 

inspires  the  spirit  of  his  art,  ......  19 

CHAP.  III. — Valentine  makes  rapid  progress.  His  first  grand  public  display.  Strik- 
ing development  of  political  injustice.  A  sanguinary  local  rebellion  sub- 
dued, -  ^  22 

CHAP.  IV. — Maternal  solicitude.  Great-uncle  John  in  convulsions.  The  chastity  of 

a  maiden  impugned,  .......27 

CHAP  V. — Explains  how  Valentine  started  for  London;  how  entertaining  travelling 
companions  can  be;  how  a  valiant  blacksmith  can  be  a  dead  shot;  how  firm 
may  be  the  faith  of  a  coachman  in  witchcraft;  and  how  it  is  possible  for  a 
journey  to  be  protracted,  -  .  .-•  29 

CHAP.  VI.— Peculiar  liberality  of  the  gentleman  in  black. — The  green-eyed  monster 

prevents  the  performance  of  a  most  disinterested  act  of  friendship,  -  35 

CHAP.  VII. — Introduces  great-uncle  John's  friend  and  his  affectionate  relatives,  with 
a  knight  of  a  new  order,  two  invisible  burglars,  and  one  most  remarkable 
sweep,  -  39 

CHAP.  VIII. — The  consultation  of  an  interesting  family  party,  at  which  it  is  decided 

that  something  must  be  done,  ......  44 

CHAP.  IX. — Valentine's  visit  to  the  House  of  Commons,        ....          45 

CHAP.  X. — In  which  Goodman  is  honoured  with  a  peculiar  visit,  and  subsequently 

seized  in  the  most  mysterious  manner  possible,  53 

CHAP.  XI. — The  mysterious  seizure— a  gentleman  drowned  in  imagination — first 

appearance  of  Valentine  upon  the  stage  of  the  Italian  Opera,  55 

CHAP.  XII.— Valentine's  trip  to  Gravesend,  ....          67 

CHAP.  XIII. — In  which  Valentine  is  introduced  to  three  new  friends,  with  one  of 

whom  he  passes  a  very  pleasant  night,  -  -  -  -  75 

CHAP.  XIV. — Goodman  is  conducted  to  his  new  residence — the  liberty  of  the  subject 
illustrated — the  commencement  of  an  exposition  of  a  system  which  cannot 
be  generally  known,  ....  •  -  81 

CHAP.  XV. — Valentine  visits  the  British  Museum — imparts  breath  to  Memnon  and 

raises  a  voice  from  the  tomb,  .  .  84 

CHAP.  XVI.— The  sale  of  Goodman's  property  by  Walter,  and  the  extraordinary  stop. 

page  thereof  by  Valentine,  ......  90 


Xll  CONTENTS. 

Page. 

CHAP.  XVII. — Valentine  visits  Guildhall — Becomes  acquainted  with  those  ancient  and 
respectable  warriors,  Gog  and  Magog,  to  whom  he  imparts  speech  pro  tern., 
and  then  proceeds  to  discuss  matters  of  personal  importance  with  the  elo- 
quent members  of  the  Court  of  Common  Council,  94 

CHAP.  XVIII.— Shows  what  a  conscience  Goodman's  brother  had,     -  -        101 

CHAP.  XIX.— The  widow's  victim,     -  -         104 

CHAP.  XX. — Contains  a  bird's-eye  view  of  Goodman's  unenviable  position,     -  -         108 

CHAP.  XXI. — The  equalrightites'  mighty  demonstration,       -  110 

CHAP.  XXII.— In  which  Horace  sets-to  with  the  ghost  of  Goodman,  and  Walter  burns 

the  spectre  out,        -  ----114 

CHAP.  XXIII. — Valentine  attends  a  phrenological  lecture,  and  inspires  a  murderer's 

skull  with  indignation,        -  ...         117 

CHAP.  XXIV. — Brings  the  reader  back  to  Goodman,  who  boldly  conceives  a  particular 

plan,  the  execution  of  which  is  unavoidably  postponed,        -  -         121 

CHAP.  XXV. — Valentine  visits  the  Victuallers'  fancy  fair.      ....         124 
CHAP.  XXVI. — In  which  Valentine  visits  the  London  docks,  and  most  reprehensibly 

induces  a  wicked  waste  of  wine,     -  -  -  134 

CHAP.  XXVII. — Valentine  becomes  acquainted  with  a  frightful  calamity,  and  has  a 

heart-rending  interview  on  the  subject  with  Horace,  ...         143 

CHAP.  XXVIII.— The  masquerade  at  Vauxhall,  -  147 

CHAP.  XXIX. — In  which  Valentine  has  the  pleasure  of  meeting  two  persons  in  whom 

he  takes  great  interest,  and  whom  he  accompanies  to  a  wax-work  exhibition,       154 
CHAP.  XXX.— Goodman  matures  his  plan  of  escape.     The  commissioners  arrive.     He 
prepares  to  convince  them  of  his  absolute  sanity,  and  is  goaded  on  to  mad- 
ness.    He  recovers;  and  having  reorganized  his  forces  resolutely  makes  the 
attack,         -  -         158 

CHAP.  XXXI.— Uncle  John  announces  his  intention  of  running  up  to  town,  and  Valen- 
tine visits  a  wealthy  individual,  to  whom  he  fails  to  impart  much  pleasure,         165 
CHAP.  XXXII. — The  first  concert  given  by  the  native  talent  association,       -  -         173 

CHAP.  XXXIII.— In  which  Walter  and  his  amiable  family  have  a  highly  characteristic 

conversation  on  the  subject  of  Goodman's  release,  -         178 

CHAP.  XXXIV. — Uncle  John  arrives  in  town,  and  with  Valentine  attends  the  civic 

pageant  and  feast,  ...  -         181 

CHAP.  XXXV. — Valentine  recovers  the  highly  valued  card,  and  proceeds  with  Uncle 

John  to  the  exhibition  of  fat  cattle,  -         193 

CHAP.  XXXVI. — The  mutual  recognition  and  the  interview — The  polite  invitation, 

and  the  dinner,       -  -         198 

CHAP.  XXXVII. — Shows  how  Uncle  John  and  Valentine  managed  to  ascertain  that 
Goodman  was  confined  as  a  lunatic,  and  how  they  also  managed  to  introduce 
themselves  bodily  into  the  asylum,  ....  205 

CHAP.  XXXVIII. — A  forcible  expulsion,  und  a  totally  unexpected  escape*     -  -        213 

CHAP.  XXXIX.— Valentine  becomes  initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  the  anti-legal-mar. 

riagc  association,  •  .217 

CHAP.  XL. — Uncle  John  hns  another  important  interview  with  Walter,  to  whom  ho 

declares  his  intentions  with  force  and  effect,  -         221 

'  ii  \r.  XLI. — Valentine  becomes  a  little  better  acquainted  with  the  character  of  Louise, 

of  whom  he  takes  his  first  lesson,  .....        226 


CONTENTS.  Xlll 

Page. 

CHAP.  XLTI, — In  which  Goodman  is  liberated  from  the  Lunatic  Asylum,    -            -  232 

CHAP.  XLIII.  •— Contains  an  account  of  a  breach  of  the  privileges  of  the  Commons' 

House  of  Parliament,           ...                          .                          -  238 

CHAP.  XLIV. — Shows  what  curious  creatures  ladies  in  love  may  appear,      -            *  242 

CHAP.  XLV.— Valentine  visits  the  Zoological  Gardens,                                                 -  247 

CHAP.  XLVI. — Wherein  Whitely  explains  the  real  cause  of  all  his  misery,  -  251 
CHAP.  XL VII. — Shows  how  Valentine  tried  an  experiment  in  the  House  of  Lords  and 

failed,          *  .255 

CHAP.  XLVIII. — Returns  to  Walter  and  his  amiable  family,  whose  position  becomes 

quite  alarming,        ......                          .  258 

CHAP.  XLIX. — Goodman  holds  a  consultation  with  his  friends,  at  which  Uncle  John 

finds  his  judgment  fettered,  .  -  .  .  -  262 

CHAP.  L. — Explains  the  possibility  of  making  a  man  dig  an  extraordinary  hole,  -  264 
CHAP.  LI. — In  which  Valentine  argues  a  point  in  opposition  to  the  views  of  many 

thousands,  .  '••  -  .  -  -  .  .  .  273 

CHAP.  LI  I.— Valentine  at  Greenwich  fair,  -  -  ..  -  -  277 

CHAP.  LIII. — In  which  a  certain  interesting  question  is  proposed,  -  286 
CHAP.  LIV. — Valentine  visits  the  Royal  Academy,  and  Raven  astonishes  the  faculties 

of  Uncle  John,  ....  ;  *  .  .  .  293 
CHAP.  LV. — The  day  is  named. — Echo  insists  upon  forming  an  alliance  with  Lle- 

wellen,        -            .            .            .                                      .            .            .  301 

CHAP.  LVI. — The  preparations  for  the  marriage. — A  surprise,  -  -  -  304 

CHAP.  LVIL— Explaining  various  matters  touching  the  ill-timed  recognition,  -  310 
CHAP.  LVIII — The  interview  of  Uncle  John  and  Whitely  with  Mr.  Writall,  an  attor- 

ney-at-law,  -  -  -  -  .  -  .  317 

CHAP.  LIX. — In  which  Valentine  proves  a  good  moral  physician,  -  .  -  320 

CHAP.  LX. — Valentine  visits  Ascot  races,  -  -  -  .  -  -  323 
CHAP.  LXI. — Describes  several  interviews,  but  more  particularly  one  between  Writall 

and  Raven,  -  .....  333 

CHAP.  LXII. — Explains  a  variety  of  matters  of  importance  to  the  parties  concerned,  340 

CHAP.  LXIII. — Goodman  quits  the  scene  for  ever,  .....  350 

CHAP.  LXIV.— Horace  announces  the  fact  to  Walter,  -  -  .  ,  .  351 

CHAP.  LXV. — In  which  the  day  is  fixed  again,  .....  354 

CHAP.  LXVI. — In  which  another  important  secret  is  revealed,  -  -  -  363 

CHAP.  LXVII. — In  which  a  variety  of  matters  are  explained,  .  .  .  369 

CHAP.  LXVIIL— In  which  the  history  draws  to  a  conclusion,  •  -  384 
CHAP.  LXIX.— Brings  the  history  to  a  close,  .  .  .  .  .391 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


The  Family  Party,  .      Frontispiece. 

Valentine  recognises  Horace,      -  •            -                         -       Vignette. 

The  invisible  Burglars  about  to  be  ejected,  -                                                                          42 

Persecution  of  Beagle,     -        *•'  - '  79 

A  new  feature  in  Phrenology,  .         121 

The  Head  driven  in  to  look  after  the  Voice,  .                                                                 142 

False  alarmjit  the  Cattle  Show,        -  -197 

The  Sheriffs'  Levee,         -  240 

The  Proposal,  -        290 

Valentine  at  Ascot,  326 

Mr.  Todd  attracts  Valentine's  attention,  -                                                                  -        341 

The  Roasting  of  Joseph,  -^                         374 


THE 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES 


OF 


VALENTINE     VOX, 

THE  VENTRILOQUIST. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    BIRTH     AND     EDUCATION    OF     VALENTINE,    WITH     THE     PARENTAL     PECULIARITIES    AND 
PREMATURE    DEATH    OF    HIS    IMMEDIATE    ANCESTOR. 


IN  one  of  the  most  ancient  and  populous 
boroughs  in  the  county  of  Suffolk,  there  re- 
sided a  genius  named  Jonathan  Vox,  who, 
in  order  to  make  a  fortune  with  rapidity, 
tried  everything,  but  failed  to  succeed  in 
anything,  because  he  could  stick  long  to 
nothing. 

At  the  age  of  five-and-twenty,  this  gentle- 
man, who  was  held  to  be  a  highly  respecta- 
ble Christian  in  consequence  of  his  regular 
attendance  at  church  twice  every  Sabbath 
day,  became  enamoured  of  the  expectations 
of  Miss  Penelope  Long,  a  young  lady  who 
had  an  uncle  supposed  to  have  made  a  mint 
of  money  somehow,  and  an  aunt  who  was 
believed  to  have  another  mint  somewhere. 

To  the  best  of  Miss  Penelope's  belief,  she 
had  not  another  relative  in  the  world,  and 
as  this  belief  was  singularly  enough  im- 
parted to  Jonathan,  he  at  once  became  in- 
spired with  the  conviction  that  he  could  not 
conveniently  do  better  than  secure  Miss  Pe- 
nelope, seeing  that,  if  even  he  were  not 
made  wealthy  at  once,  there  was  wealth  in 
the  family,  which  must  at  some  period  or 
other  be  his,  as  neither  uncles  nor  aunts, 
though  they  live  much  too  long  for  the  con- 
venience of  many,  are  immortal. 

Accordingly  Jonathan  embraced  the  very 
earliest  opportunity  of  assailing  Miss  Pene- 
lope's heart,  and  this  he  managed  to  do  with 
considerable  comfort  to  himself,  and  with 
no  inconsiderable  satisfaction  to  the  lady  ; 
for  while  on  the  one  hand  Jonathan  had 
been  cast  in  an  insinuating  mould,  on  the 
Other,  he  and  Penelope  were  of  the  self-same 
3 


"  order,"  a  circumstance,  which  in  a  town 
where  the  eighteenpenny  people  cannot  as 
sociate  with  the  shilling  individuals,  with- 
out being  regularly  cut  dead  by  the  half- 
crowners,  clearly  renders  the  first  advances 
in  matters  of  this  description  peculiarly 
agreeable. 

Jonathan,  therefore,  at  once  manfully  com- 
menced the  attack  with  an  original  remark, 
having  reference  to  the  weather ;  but  as  he 
found  this  a  somewhat  barren  topic,  for  a  man 
cannot  well  keep  on  talking  about  the  wea- 
ther, and  the  weather  only,  for  many  hours 
in  succession,  he  adroitly  changed  it  to  that 
of  the  eloquence  of  the  minister  of  St.  James's 
—  a  subject  with  which  they  were  both  of 
course  perfectly  conversant,  and  which  last- 
ed them,  with  sundry  affectionate  interpola- 
tions, until  prudence  compelled  them  to 
separate  for  the  night. 

The  next  evening,  by  appointment,  the 
attack  was  renewed,  and  the  thing  was  fol- 
lowed up  with  appropriate  ardour  for  a  period 
of  fifteen  years,  Jonathan  being  naturally 
anxious  to  defer  the  consummation  of  his 
happiness  as  long  as  he  possibly  could,  in 
expectation  of  an  event  which  might  cause 
both  Penelope  and  himself  to  sport  "the 
trappings  and  the  suits  of  wo."  At  the 
expiration  of  this  period,  however,  it  having 
been  delicately  suggested  by  Penelope,  that 
they  had  known  each  other  long  enough  to 
know  each  other  well,  the  day  was  fixed, 
and  in  the  presence  of  Uncle  John  and 
Aunt  Eleanor,  Jonathan  and  Penelope  were 
united. 


18 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


In  less  than  twelve  months  from  this 
period,  Jonathan  was  generously  presented 
with  an  interesting  pledge  of  affection  in  the 
perfect  similitude  of  a  son.  The  presenta- 
tion, of  course,  made  his  heart  glad.  He 
kissed  his  heir,  sang  to  him,  danced  him  on 
his  knee,  and  would  inevitably  have  killed 
him,  but  for  the  timely  interposition  of  the 
nurse,  who  insisted  upon  taking  the  child 
away  just  as  Jonathan  was  urging  him  to 
drink  his  pa's  health  in  a  glass  of  hotbrandy- 
and-water. 

Now  Jonathan,  as  we  have  stated,  could 
never,  in  pecuniary  matters,  get  on,  —  a  cir- 
cumstance which  was  not  attributable  solely 
to  his  inability  to  adhere  for  any  length  of 
time  to  any  one  pursuit,  but  also  to  the  fact 
that,  with  all  his  ardent  love  of  independ- 
ence —  with  all  his  eager  anxiety  to  realize 
a  rapid  and  a  splendid  fortune,  he  was  ex- 
ceedingly improvident,  and  had  a  really 
great  contempt  for  all  small  sums  of  money. 
He  was  not  a  man  capable  of  being  prevailed 
upon  exactly  to  ram  a  twenty-pound  note 
down  his  gun  if  he  wanted  wadding,  but  he 
would  lend  twenty-pounds  at  any  time,  with- 
out the  most  remote  prospect  of  its  ever 
being  returned,  or  accept  a  bill  of  exchange 
for  that  or  any  other  amount  without  a 
chance  of  its  being  honoured  by  the  drawer. 
This  kept  him  perpetually  poor.  The  more 
money  he  got,  the  more  he  thus  got  rid  of: 
indeed  he  was  always  in  debt,  and  that 
always  in  proportion  to  the  amount  of  his 
income. 

Uncle  John  knowing  this  to  be  one  of  the 
chief  characteristics  of  Jonathan,  and  con- 
ceiving it  to  be  high  time  to  convince  him 
of  the  propriety  of  acting  with  less  impro- 
vidence in  future,  sought  immediately  after 
the  christening  of  his  heir,  who  at  the  in- 
stance of  Aunt  Eleanor,  was  named  Valen 
tine  —  to  impress  upon  his  mind  the  expe- 
diency of  reforming.     Of  course  Jonathan 
saw  the  force  of  the  suggestion  in  a  moment. 
He  promised  to  reform  ;  and  he  did  reform 
He  was  inexorable  for  a  month.     He  would 
not  lend  a  shilling;  nor  would  he  accept  a 
bill  to  accommodate  any  man.     He  had  a 
family,  and  in  justice  to  that  family  he  would 
not  consent  to  do  it.     At  the  expiration  o 
the  month,  however,  his  resolution  vanished 
He  was  induced  by  a  friend  to  do  that  which 
he  had  often  done  before,  but  which  he  hat 
promised  Uncle  John  that  he  would   neve 
do  again,  and   when  the  time  came  for  ho- 
nouring the  instrument,  neither  he  nor  hi.- 
friend  could  make  up  the  amount,  and  th 
consequence  was  that  he  was  immediately 
arrested. 

Valentine  was  of  course  then  too  young 
to  be  actively  engaged  in  promoting  the 
release  of  the  author  of  his  being ;  but  it  i 


lotwithstanding  a  fact,  that  he  caused  him 

0  be  released,  seeing  that  through  him,  and 
hrough  him  alone,  Uncle  John  paid  the  bill, 
ind  thus  set  him  at  liberty.     This  event  had 

1  salutary  effect  upon   Jonathan.     He  had 
no  more  to  do  with  those  dangerous  instru- 
ments.    What  he  lent  was  lent  in  specie  ; 
le  would  not  lend  his  name  to  any  man  after 
hat. 

Now,  in  obedience  to  nature's  immutable 
aw,  Master  Valentine  gradually  grew  older; 
and  when  he  had  arrived  at  the  age  of  nine 
years,  he  was  placed  by  Uncle  John  under 
the  care  of  the  Reverend  Henry  Paul,  a 
•entleman,  who  being  unable  with  any  great 
egree  of  comfort  to  support  himself,  a  wife, 
and  seven  children  upon  the  50/.  a-year 
which  he  derived  from  his  curacy,  took  a 
"imited  number  of  pupils,  that  is  to  say,  of 
course,  as  many  as  he  could  get,  at  twelve 
guineas  per  annum,  and  no  extras. 

The  academy  of  Mr.  Paul  was  in  the  5m-  . 
mediate  vicinity  of  Newmarket,  and  Mr. 
Paul  himself  was  an  extremely  benevolent 
and  virtuous  man.  He  would  shrink  from/ 
even  the  semblance  of  a  dishonourable 
action,  and  would,  rather  than  be  guilty  of 
one,  no  matter  how  venial  in  the  eye  cf  the 
world  it  might  be,  live  glorying  in  the  rec- 
titude of  his  conduct,  on  starvation's  brink. 
His  father  had  been  an  eminent  merchant, 
and  so  successful  in  the  early  part  of  his 
career,  that  he  had  at  one  time  realised  a 
fortune  of  at  least  200,000/.  He  did  not, 
however,  relinquish  business.  Determined 
to  do  all  in  his  power  for  his  son,  who  after 
having  received  a  sound  preparatory  educa- 
tion, was  sent  to  Cambridge;  he  continued 
to  pursue  his  old  course  of  amassing  wealth 
with  as  much  zeal  and  energy  as  if  he  had 
been  labouring  to  procure  the  bare  means  of 
existence.  The  year,  however,  in  which 
his  son  left  Cambridge,  was  a  disastrous 
year  to  him.  A  series  of  unsuccessful 
speculations  completely  ruined  him.  He 
not  only  lost  every  guinea  he  possessed,  but 
was  plunged  into  debt  so  deeply,  that  extri- 
cation was  impossible.  He  therefore  became 
a  bankrupt,  and  in  the  room  in  which  his 
creditors  met  for  the  first  lime,  the  conscious- 
ness of  his  position  overpowered  him,  and 
he  died  of  a  broken  heart. 

Mr.  Henry  Paul  was  thus  thrown  at  once 
upon  the  world  without  a  shilling,  and  with- 
out a  friend.  lie  had  neglected  to  make 
friends  while  at  college,  by  being  subser- 
vient to  mere  rank,  with  a  view  to  patronage, 
and  had  therefore  no  prospect  of  promotion. 
For  some  considerable  time  JIP\V,IS  literally 
starving  ;  but  he  at  length  obtained  a  curacy, 
and  soon  after  became  enamoured  of  an  ac- 
complished young  creature,  who  was  a 
governess  in  the  rector's  family,  and  just  as 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


19 


poor  as  himself,  whom  he  married,  and  thus 
in  a  pecuniary  point  of  view  sealed  the  fate 
of  both  for  ever. 

From  such  a  man  Valentine  need  not  have 
expected  severity,  albeit  he  had  a  lively 
apprehension  of  it  at  first.  Mr.  Paul  re- 
garded  his  pupils  with  the  most  considerate 
tenderness.  Had  they  been  his  own  children 
his  treatment  of  them  could  not  have  been 
marked  with  more  affection.  His  chief 
anxiety  was  to  impart  to  them  a  knowledge 
of  the  right  course,  and  a  full  appreciation 
of  the  advantages  of  which  its  pursuit  is 
productive.  His  censure  was  embodied  in 
his  praise  of  others  ;  his  only  punishment 
consisted  in  withholding  reward. 

When  Valentine  had  been  at  this  academy 
five  years,  during  which  time  he  had  made 
very  considerable  progress,  his  father,  while 
trying  some  nautical  experiment  in  a  nar- 
row-bellied water-butt,  pitched,  to  the  un- 
speakable  mortification  of  an  extensive  circle 
of  friends,  headlong  to  the  bottom  and  was 
drowned. 

This  event  was  to  Valentine  a  source  of 


deep  affliction  as  a  natural  matter  of  course  ; 
and  he  left  school  in  consequence,  nominally 
for  a  month,  but  in  reality  never  to  return, 
for  after  the  solemn  deposit  of  the  remains 
of  the  departed  in  the  family  vault,  the 
afflicted  widow,  as  the  only  means  of  ob- 
taining the  slightest  consolation,  kept  Valen- 
tine at  home. 

His  grief,  however,  speedily  vanished. 
He  had  everything  he  wished  for —  was 
petted  and  spoiled.  Uncle  John  allowed 
the  widow  a  respectable  annuity,  and  the 
widow  allowed  Val  to  do  just  what  he 
pleased.  He  was  usually  from  home  the 
greater  part  of  the  day,  either  shooting, 
hunting,  fishing,  driving,  bathing,  or  crick- 
eting, and  as  he  soon  became  an  adept  at 
almost  every  active  game,  he  invariably  had 
some  match  or  other  on  hand. 

Thus  matters  went  on  for  the  space  of  four 
years,  when  a  circumstance  happened  which, 
influenced  his  conduct  through  life  so  mate- 
rially, that  had  it  not  occurred,  the  proba- 
bility is  that  his  adventures  would  never 
have  been  published  to  the  world. 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE    GENIUS    AND    CHARACTERISTIC    HONOUR   OF    A    GREAT    MAGICIAN:     VALENTINE    INSPIRES 

THE    SPIRIT    OF    HIS   ART. 


WHEN  the  birth-place  of  Valentine  was 
visited  by  Signor  Antoni#  Hesperio  de  Bel- 
lamoniac,  juggler  extraordinary  to  the  King 
of  Naples,  and  teacher  of  the  black  art  to 
Gwang  Foo  Twang,  the  Grand  Emperor  of 
China,  it  was  announced  that  a  wonderful 
exhibition  of  the  noble  science  of  legerde- 
main, of  which  the  signor  was  for  the  nonce 
an  Italian  professor,  would  take  place  in  a 
room  at  the  back  of  the  Bull,  an  inn  cele- 
brated for  the  extreme  antiquity  of  its  beer. 

Now  the  Bull,  in  consequence  of  the 
peculiar  celebrity  it  had  acquired,  was  the 
nightly  resort  of  a  select  number  of  towns- 
men, of  whom  the  chief  in  the  estimation  of 
the  company  was  a  Mr.  Timotheus  Ironsides, 
the  reporter  and  sub-editor  of  one  of  the 
journals  —  a  gentleman  whom  the  signor  so 
delighted  the  evening  previously  to  the 
wonderful  exhibition,  that  he  voluntarily 
promised  to  give  him  "  a  lift" —  in  consider- 
ation of  which  promise  the  signor  gave  him 
a  carte  blanche  to  send  in  as  many  friends 
as  he  pleased. 

Well,  the  hour  at  which  the  performances 
were  to  take  place  arrived,  and  the  signor 
saw  with  considerable  dismay  that  he  had 
embarked  in  a  most  atrocious  speculation. 


There  were  not  more  than  five-and-twenty 
patrons  of  art  present,  of  whom  seven  only 
paid  the  admission  fee  ;  namely,  the  small 
charge  of  3d.  and  therefore,  as  the  gross 
receipts  amounted  to  no  more  than  Is.  9c?., 
Signor  Antonio  Hesperio  de  Bellamoniae 
determined  on  starting  the  next  morning  for 
some  place  in  which  genius  was  more  highly 
appreciated,  and  somewhat  more  liberally 
patronised. 

On  mentioning  this,  his  fixed  determina- 
tion, after  the  performance,  to  Mr.  Ironsides, 
that  gentleman  on  the  instant  pointed  out 
the  extreme  madness  of  the  idea,  explained 
to  him  that  Wednesday  was  the  grand  mar- 
ket-day, that  his  paper  was  published  on  the 
Tuesday,  that  hundreds  of  farmers  with, 
their  wives  and  daughters  would  then  be  in 
town,  and  that  he  was  perfectly  certain  to 
have  an  audience  crammed  to  the  ceiling 
after  the  just  and  impartial  criticism  he  in- 
tended to  give.  To  this  the  signor  listened 
with  somewhere  about  half  a  smile,  which 
was  clearly  indicative  of  the  existence  of  a 
species  of  incredulity,  which  they  who  are 
in  the  habit  of  gulling  others,  invariably  re- 
gard those  who,  as  they  imagine,  are  desirous 
of  gulling  them.  He  didn't  see  it  exactly. 


20 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


He  had  not  the  smallest  doubt  about  its 
being  all  correct,  and  he  knew  that  he  was 
able  to  astonish  them  ;  but  how  were  they 
to  be  caught?  What  sort  of  critique  could 
be  written  to  bring  them  1  These  were  the 
questions  which  the  signor  regarded,  and, 
very  naturally,  as  of  infinite  importance. 

"I'll  show  you,"  said  Ironsides,  "how 
we'll  proceed  :  step  here,  and  you  shall 
judge  for  yourself." 

They  accordingly  retired  to  a  little  back 
parlour,  in  which  they  remained  somewhat 
more  than  two  hours  concocting  a  criticism 
on  the  evening's  performance,  which  cer- 
tainly was,  according  to  the  signer's  own 
acknowledgment,  *'a  regular  flamer." 

'»  Now,"  said  the  Signor,  "  can  you  get 
this  in?" 

"  Certain,"  cried  Ironsides,  "  my  ho- 
nour!" 

"  1  don't  doubt  your  honour,"  said  the 
Signor ;  "  but  have  you  the  power  ?" 

"  Beyond  every  species  of  doubt !"  replied 
the  journalist. 

"  Good,"  said  the  Signor  —  "  good,  very 
gocd  :  the  justice  of  it  pleases.  Excellent 
good  !  Now  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do. 
That  there's  safe  to  draw  'em  —  there  can't 
he  two  opinions  about  that.  Vot  say  you, 
then  :  I'll  hire  the  large  concert  room  upon 
the  Market  Hill,  and  you  shall  go  reg'lars 
in  the  profits." 

**  Agreed  !"  shouted  Ironsides.  "  So  cer- 
tain am  I  that  we  shall  have  a  good  house, 
that  I'll  bear  half  the  losses  whatever  they 
may  be." 

"That's  precisely  the  game!"  said  the 
Signor  —  "  I'm  delighted  !  —  Have  you  got 
such  a  thing  as  a  crown  ?  I  'spected  some 
remittances  this  morning,  which  can't  now 
be  here  before  to-morrow." 

44  With  pleasure !"  cried  Ironsides,  and 
the  money  changed  hands  in  an  instant. 

**  I  want  to  get  some  bills  out,"  continued 
the  Signor,  "  werry  airly  in  the  morning." 

*'  Leave  all  that  to  me,"  observed  Iron- 
sides, "  I'll  undertake  to  do  that.  I'll  have 
some  flamers,  my  boy,  struck  off;  aye,  and 
posted  before  you  are  up." 

•*  Good  again  !"  cried  the  Signor.  "  You 
know  more  about  them  than  I  do.  I'll 
leave  it  to  you  entirely  —  even  as  a  child 
•will  I  go  by  thy  direction." 

44  You'll  find  no  nonsense  about  me," 
observed  Ironsides,  rising  and  taking  ihe 
Signor  by  the  hand  — 4t  Good  night." 

44  Be  stirring  with  the  lark,  good  Nor- 
folk !"  cried  the  Signor,  as  the  journalist 
his  exit. 

"  Is  this  to  go  down  to  Mr.  Ironsides  ?" 
anxiously  inr|nirr*<l  UIH  landlord. 

**  Of  course!"  replied  the  Sijrnor —  "of 
course.  Now  a  light !"  In  the  space  of 


three  minutes  Signor  Antonio  Hesperio  de 
Bellamoniac — whose  real  name,  it  may  per- 
haps be  proper  to  observe,  was  John  Tod  — 
submitted  to  the  embrace  of  Morpheus  with 
all  the  Christian  resignation  at  his  com- 
mand. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Ironsides  wrote 
the  placards,  and  had  them  printed  and 
posted  with  so  much  expedition,  that  before 
twelve  o'clock  they  illuminated  the  town. 

The  great  magician  beheld  these  flamers 
with  delight,  and  when  in  the  evening  Iron- 
sides, whose  whole  soul  was  centred  in  the 
spec,  brought  a  paper  down  to  show  him, 
the  impartial  critique,  he  applauded  him 
even  to  the  very  echo  that  did,  we  have  no 
doubt,  applaud  again.  Everything  was  that 
night  arranged.  The  room  was  swept,  the 
chandelier  polished,  and  the  money-taker 
hired,  while  the  cups,  and  the  balls,  and 
the  thimbles,  and  the  swords  were  placed 
in  order  to  the  infinite  satisfaction,  not  only 
of  Ironsides,  but  of  Signor  Antonio  Hesperio 
de  Bellamoniac  himself. 

In  due  course  of  time,  the  market  morning 
arrived,  and  the  town  was,  as  usual,  at  an 
early  hour,  thronged.  The  Signor  was  in 
ecstacies,  when  he  found  so  many  gaily- 
dressed  persons,  whose  countenances  seemed 
to  indicate  that  their  possessors  were  per- 
fectly ready  to  be  duped,  walking  leisurely 
up  and  down  the  principal  streets,  with  their 
mouths  wide  open,  and  ready  to  swallow 
anything.  He  therefore  employed  himself 
during  the  day  in  going  round  and  round 
the  town  with  the  view  of  witnessing  the 
avidity  with  which  the  contents  of  the  pla- 
cards were  read,  and  took  especial  care  in- 
cog, to  impress  upon  each  group  a  mysterious 
idea  of  the  wonderful  exhibition. 

Well,  seven  o'clock  came,  and  the  Signor 

—  sporting  a  pair  of  huge  moustaches  which 

he  had  purchased  for  this  occasion  expressly      v 

—  wriggled    his   way  through   the    crowd 
already  assembled.   The  arrangements  were 
admirable.     Only  one  could   pass  in  at  a 
time,   and  there  stood  the  magician,   who 
drew  a  shilling  from  each  person  until  the 
room  was  nearly  filled,  when,  with   an  in- 
junction to  suffer  no  one  to  pass  without 
paying,    he   surrendered    his    post    to    the 
responsible  individual  whom  Ironsides  had 
liberally  engaged. 

Now  the  Signor  was  what  the  world 
would  call  an  exceedingly  clever  fellow. 
He  knew  that  he  was  perfectly  uneducated, 
and  was  conscious  of  the  construction  of  his 
sentences  being  anything  but  strictly  gram- 
matical. To  conceal  this,  therefore,  on  the 
"in-  hand,  and  to  inspire  the  audience  with 
a  belief  of  his  being,  what  he  represented 
himself  t<>  be,  an  Italian,  on  the  other,  he 
had  recourse  to  a  jargon  of  his  own  compo- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


sition  —  an  indiscriminate  mixture  of  Cock- 
ney English  and  Yankee  French — which 
never  by  any  chance  failed  him,  for  when 
he  happened  to  be  "  at  home  "  he  could 
make  himself  well  understood,  and  when 
abroad,  he  had  only  to  resort  to  his  un- 
known tongue,  to  render  himself  as  myste- 
riously unintelligible  as  possible. 

At  eight  o'clock  precisely  the  curtain  went 
up  and  discovered  the  great  magician  en- 
veloped in  a  horsecloth,  which  he  had  bor- 
rowed for  the  occasion  of  the  ostler  at  the 
Bull,  and  which  was  meant  to  convey  the 
idea  of  a  robe.  His  appearance  was  sin- 
gularly imposing,  for  he  had  tied  on  along 
flowing  beard,  which,  though  black,  had  a 
peculiarly  cabalistic  and  patriarchal  effect, 
while  his  face  —  instead  of  being  vulgarly 
daubed  with  vermilion  —  had  been  carefully 
rubbed  over  with  whitening,  to  give  him  the 
aspect  of  one  much  addicted  to  study ;  and 
lines  had  been  made  with  the  edge  of  a 
burnt  cork,  with  the  view  of  indicating  the 
furrows  which  that  study  had  established. 

As  soon  as  the  enthusiasm  with  which  his 
appearance  was  hailed  had  subsided,  the 
great  magician,  with  due  solemnity,  stalked 
forward  and  addressed  his  audience  briefly 
as  follows : 

"  Ladi  and  Shenteelmongs,  I  have  de 
honnare  to  say  dis,  dat  I  sail  gotroo  warious 
parformong,  and  ven  I  sail  svaller  him  sword 
town  him  troat,  I  vas  give  you  vong  speci- 
ment  ob  venter  et  loquer,  dat  am  to  say, 
speak  in  him  pelly." 

What  was  understood  of  this  gave  great 
satisfaction  ;  but  what  was  most  applauded 
was  that  which  was  most  unintelligible. 

The  performances  then  commenced,  and 
the  Signor  went  through  a  variety  of  old 
tricks  very  cleverly.  But  when  he  came  to 
his  ventriloquism,  he  completely  astounded 
his  audience,  for  never  having-  heard  any- 
thing like  it  before,  they  were  in  doubt  as 
to  whether  there  was  not  in  him  something 
superhuman.  He  then  commenced  playing 
the  violin  ;  and  although  he  was  an  infa- 
mous fiddler,  he  managed  to  ravish  his  au- 
dience by  producing  a  series  of  the  most 
horrible  sounds  that  ever  assailed  the  ears 
of  either  man  or  beast,  and  thus  terminated 
the  wonderful  performances  of  the  evening. 

Signor  Antonio  Hesperio  de  Bellamoniac's 
next  care  was,  of  course,  to  get  the  money 
which  had  been  taken  at  the  door  during 
the  performance,  which  added  to  the  sum 
he  himself  had  received,  made  the  gross 
amount  23/.  15s.  With  this  and  his  imple- 
ments of  jugglery — the  whole  of  which 
were  safely  deposited  in  a  small  cotton 
handkerchief —  he  repaired  to  his  quarters, 
where,  of  course,  he  was  soon  joined  by  his 
partner,  the  journalist. 


"  Oh  !  my  dear  sir  !"  exclaimed  the  Sig- 
nor, as  Ironsides  entered,  "I'm  bound  to 
you  for  never." 

"  Don't  mention  it,  my  boy,"  cried  the 
journalist.  "  You  see  I  was  right." 

"That  talented  notice  of  yourn  did  the 
trick,"  observed  the  Signor,  "  that  vos  the 
game !" 

"You  have  a  pretty  good  haul,"  observed 
Ironsides. 

"  Hexcellent !"  warmly  exclaimed  the 
Signor;  "vords  cannot  hexpress  my  deep 
gratitude.  Vot'll  you  take  ?  I  mean  for  to 
stand  a  good  supper  to-night,  if  I  never  stand 
another." 

Accordingly  supper  was  ordered  and  eaten, 
and  brandy-and-water  ad  libitum  drank,  the 
whole  of  which  was  directed  by  the  Signor 
to  be  put  down  to  the  general  account, 
which  was  accordingly  done  upon  Ironsides' 
sole  responsibility. 

"  Now,"  said  the  Signor,  when  Ironsides 
had  drank  pretty  freely,  "shall  we  divide 
the  receipts  of  this  glorious  night  now,  or  in 
the  morning  1" 

"  As  you  please,  my  dear  boy,"  said  the 
journalist. 

"Well,  I  want  to  get  rid,  you  know,  of 
some  of  it,"  said  the  Signor,  "  but  perhaps 
arter  hall  it  'ud  better  be  done  in  the  morn- 
ing ?" 

"Perhaps  it  had,"  hiccoughed  the  journ- 
alist. 

"Vot  time '11  you  be  down1?"  inquired 
the  Signor. 

"Any  time  you  like,"  replied  Ironsides. 

"Shall  we  say  twelve  then?"  observed 
the  magician,  "  and  by  that  time  you'll  be 
able  to  put  down  all  you  have  paid  for  bills, 
and  sutterer;  and  I  shall  insist  upon  your 
having  a  couple  of  guineas  hextra  for  that 
critic  of  yourn  in  the  paper." 

"  Not  a  copper,"  cried  Ironsides. 

"But  I  insist,"  said  the  Signor. 

"  So  you  may  —  but  not  a  copper  —  not  a 
cop  — ". 

"  Well  I  don't  of  course  want  to  insult 
you.  If  you  vont,  vy  there's  a  hend  off  the 
matter. —  Come,  drink." 

But  Ironsides  could  drink  no  more.  He 
felt  that  he  had  already  drank  more  than 
enough,  and  therefore  left  his  friend  and 
partner  with  the  understanding  that  they 
were  to  meet  the  next  morning  at  twelve. 

The  morning  came  and  the  journalist  was 
as  punctual  as  the  sun;  but  Signor  Antonio 
Hesperio  de  Bellamoniac  was  non  est  inven- 
tus.  He  had  not  been  seen  by  any  one 
connected  with  the  Bull  that  morning.  He 
had  in  short  decamped  with  the  money  and 
his  implements,  without  ever  leaving  so 
much  as  his  card  !  Mr.  Ironsides  had  there- 
fore to  pay  for  the  concert-room,  the  flamers, 

3* 


22 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


the  men,  and  the  supper,  with  the  collateral 
expenses  incurred  at  the  inn,  which  the 
Signor  had  honoured  with  his  patronage  — 
the  whole  of  which  he  paid  too  in  absolute 


silence,  lest  the  facts  of  the  case  should  be- 
come known,  for  he  held  it  to  be  utterly 
inexpedient  to  be  made  the  perpetual  butt  of 
the  town. 


CHAPTER  III. 


YALENTINE  MAKES  RAPID  PROGRESS.       HIS    FIRST    GRAND    PUBLIC    DISPLAY.      STRIKING  DEVE- 
LOPMENT OF  POLITICAL  INJUSTICE.      A  SANGUINARY  LOCAL  REBELLION  SUBDUED. 


OF  all  the  magician's  auditors  on  the  great 
occasion  to  which  we  have  alluded,  Valen- 
tine was  one  of  the  most  attentive,  and  that 
portion  of  the  performances  which  struck 
him  with  the  greatest  force  was  the  Signer's 
display  of  his  power  as  a  ventriloquist.  In- 
deed, so  deep  an  impression  did  it  make 
upon  his  mind,  that  he  firmly  resolved  to 
apply  to  the  magician  the  following  day 
with  the  view  of  ascertaining  if  it  were  pos- 
sible for  him  to  become  a  ventriloquist  him- 
self. Finding,  however,  that  the  Signer  had 
so  unceremoniously  vanished  from  the  town, 
he  was  left  entirely  to  his  own  resources, 
and  after  trying  with  desperation  for  several 
days,  he  discovered,  with  equal  astonishment 
and  delight,  that  he  in  reality  possessed  the 
power  of  speaking  with  an  abdominal  into- 
nation, and  that  zealous  cultivation  would 
cause  that  power  to  be  fully  developed. 

He  accordingly  commenced  a  severe  course 
of  training.  He  rose  early  every  morning 
and  practised  in  the  fields,  and  in  doing  so, 
frequently  startled  himself,  for  the  power 
that  was  within  him,  not  being  quite  under 
control,  would  occasionally  send  the  sound 
in  one  place  when  he  fully  intended  it  to 
have  been  in  another.  The  consciousness, 
however,  of  his  possessing  this  extraordi- 
nary power  urged  him  to  persevere,  and  in 
less  than  six  months  it  was  entirely  at  his 
command. 

He  then  began  to  astonish  all  whom  he 
met.  He  would  call  an  individual  by  name, 
and  cause  the  sound  to  proceed  apparently 
from  the  opposite  side  of  the  street.  If  ladies 
were  walking  before  him  he  would  instantly 
raise  the  dreaded  cry  of  "mad  dog!"  and 
imitate  the  growlings  of  the  animal  in  its 
paroxysms  to  perfection.  If  persons  were 
passing  an  empty  house,  he  would  loudly 
cry  "murder! — thieves!"  when,  if  he  could 
but  persuade  them  to  break  open  the  door, 
he  would  lead  them  from  room  to  room  by 
imitations  of  convulsive  sobs  and  dying 
groans,  until  the  house  had  obtained  the 
reputation  of  being  haunted.  It  enabled 
him  to  be  revenged  upon  all  who  had 
offended  him  ;  ana  so  unscrupulous  was  he 
when  he  had  such  an  object  in  view,  that 


he  absolutely  on  one  occasion  forbade  the 
marriage  of  a  young  lady  by  whom  he  had 
been  insulted,  as  he  imagined,  at  a  dance, 
by  calling  out  in  a  female  voice,  when  the 
minister  had  said,  "If  any  of  you  know  any 
just  cause  or  impediment  why  these  two 
persons  should  not  be  joined  together  in 
holy  matrimony  ye  are  now  to  declare  it"  — 
"  I  forbid  that  marriage." 

"  The  person,"  said  the  minister  on  that 
occasion  with  due  solemnity,  "by  whom 
this  marriage  is  forbidden  will  be  pleased 
to  walk  into  the  vestry." 

The  eyes  of  the  congregation  had  imme- 
diate employment,  but  they  twinkled  and 
strained  to  no  purpose.  Of  course  no  per- 
son appeared  in  the  vestry  ;  but  the  lady 
whose  marriage  had  been  forbidden,  and 
whom  cruel  curiosity  had  prompted  to  be 
present,  at  once  fainted,  and  was  instantly 
carried  away  by  the  sexton. 

Valentine's  first  grand  display,  however, 
in  public,  was  at  a  meeting  convened  at  the 
Guildhall,  for  the  purpose  of  electing  a  fit 
and  proper  person  to  fill  the  vacancy  occa- 
sioned by  the  lamentable  death  of  Mr.  Pav- 
ing Commissioner  Cobb.  Party-feeling  on 
that  occasion  ran  high  ;  and  the  hall  at  the 
appointed  hour  was  crowded  to  excess  by 
the  friends  of  the  candidates,  who  looked  at 
each  other  as  if  the  laws  only  prevented  the 
perpetration  of  cannibalism  on  the  spot. 

As  the  mayor  was  about  to  open  the  im- 
portant business  of  the  day,  with  the  expres- 
sion of  a  lively  hope  that  all  parties  would 
have  a  fair  and  impartial  hearing,  Valentine 
entered  the  hall,  and  having  by  virtue  of 
perseverance,  reached  the  steps  of  the  ros- 
trum from  which  the  electors  were  to  be 
addressed,  prepared  at  once  to  commence 
Din-rations. 

The  first  speaker  was  Mr.  Creedale,  an 
extremely  thin  gentleman,  with  an  elah.i- 
rately-chisseled  nose,  who  came  forward 
on  the  liberal  side  to  nominate  Mr.  Job 
Stone. 

"  Gentlemen  !"  said  Mr.  Creedale. 

"  Nonsense  !"  cried  Valentine,  in  an  as- 
sumed voice  of  course,  which  appeared  to 
proceed  from  a  remote  part  of  the  hall. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


"  Gentlemen  !"  repeated  Mr.  Creedale, 
with  some  additional  emphasis. 

44  Pooh,  pooh  !"  exclaimed  Valentine, 
changing  the  tone. 

"  It  may,"  said  Mr.  Creedale,  "  be  non- 
sense, or  it  may  be  pooh,  pooh  !  but,  gentle- 
men, I  address  you  as  gentlemen,  and  beg 
that  I  may  not  be  interrupted." 

41 0  don't  mind  Tibbs ;  go  on!"  cried 
Valentine. 

44  Oh!  Tibbs;  indeed!"  observed  Mr. 
Creedale,  with  a  contemptuous  curl  of  the 
lip.  "It's  Mr.  Tibbs,  is  it!" 

44  No !  no  !"  cried  the  accused  individual, 
who  was  a  highly  respectable  grocer,  and 
remarkable  for  his  quiet  and  unassuming 
demeanour. 

44 1  am  surprised  at  Mr.  Tibbs,"  said  Mr. 
Creedale  in  continuation — 44 1  have  until  now 
regarded  him  as  an  individual — " 

44  No,  no  !"  again  vociferated  Tibbs,  44It 
arn't  me,  1  arn't  spoke  a  synnable." 

44  If  Mr.  Tibbs,"  observed  the  mayor,  "  or 
if  any  other  gentleman  be  desirous  of  address- 
ing the  meeting  he  will  have  an  opportunity 
of  doing  so  anon." 

44  Upon  my  honour  !"  exclaimed  Tibbs, 
"I've—  " 

Here  there  were  general  cries  of  "Order, 
order !  chair !"  when  Mr.  Creedale  con- 
tinued : — 

44  Gentlemen  ;  without  adverting  to  any 
extraneous  matter,  it  gives  me  unspeakable 
pleasure  to  propose — " 

44  A  revolutionist!"  growled  Valentine  in 
a  heavy  bass  voice. 

44  That's  me,  I  s'pose  !"  exultingly  cried 
Tibbs,  shaking  his  head  and  giving  a  most 
triumphant  wink. 

44 1  know  whose  voice  that  is,"  said  Mr. 
Creedale,  44  That's  the  voice  of  the  conser- 
vative bully.  Yes,  that's  Mr.  Brownrigg." 

44  What !"  shouted  Brownrigg,  in  a  voice 
of  indignant  thunder. 

44  What?"  echoed  Mr.  Creedale. 

44  Say  it's  me  again,"  shouted  Brownrigg, 
44  just  only  so  much  as  say  it's  me  again." 

44  Mr.  Brownrigg,"  observed  the  mayor, 
4'will  please  to  conduct  himself  here  with 
propriety." 

44  What  do  you  mean  !"  exclaimed  Brown- 
rigg. 44  Why  fix  upon  me]" 

44  That  is  not  the  first  time,"  observed  Mr. 
Creedale,  "that  Mr.  Brownrigg  has  been 
here  with  the  view  of  blustering  for  the 
Conservatives;  but  it  won't — " 

4»  As  true  as  life  !"  exclaimed  Brownrigg, 
44 1  never  opened  my  lips.  If  I  did — " 

Loud  cries  of  "  Order,  order  !  Question  ! 
Chair,  chair !"  drowned  the  conclusion  of  the 
sentence,  however  interesting  it  might  have 
been,  and  Mr.  Creedale  resumed  :  — 

4t  As  I  was  about  to  observe,  gentlemen, 


when  disgracefully  interrupted,  it  gives  me 
great  pleasure  to  propose  Mr.  Stone  as — " 

44  A  Dickey !"  screamed  Valentine,  assum- 
ing the  shrill  voice  of  a  female — "  Don't  have 
him  !  he's  a  dickey  !"* 

Here  the  entire  meeting  cried  4'  Shame  !" 
and  the  candidate  rose  to  repel  the  insinua- 
tion. 

44  Officers !"  shouted  the  mayor, "  instantly 
turn  that  depraved  woman  out !" 

Hereupon  a  corps  of  corporate  constables 
entered  with  their  staves,  and  rushed  to  the 
spot  from  which  the  sound  appeared  to  pro- 
ceed ;  but  no  woman  was  discoverable. 

44  Whoop  !"  cried  Valentine,  throwing  his 
voice  to  another  part  of  the  hall :  and  the 
officers  rushed  to  that  part  with  the  most 
praiseworthy  precipitation,  legally  assault- 
ing every  elector  who  stood  in  their  way; 
but  no  sooner  had  they  reached  the  spot  pro- 
posed than  "  the  depraved  woman  "  appeared 
to  be  laughing  outright  in  the  very  body  of 
the  meeting.  Away  went  the  constables, 
following  the  sound,  and  enraged  beyond 
measure  at  their  inability  to  catch  her,  when 
in  an  instant  another  "  Whoop  !"  was  heard 
to  proceed  from  the  spot  they  had  just  quitted. 
Back  went  the  constables,  knocking  aside 
every  man  whom  ihey  came  near,  and  thus 
creating  a  scene  of  indescribable  confusion. 

44  Turn  her  out !"  cried  the  mayor  in  loud 
tones  of  insulted  dignity,  "  Turn  her  out!" 

"  Blarm  me  !"  cried  the  fattest  of  the  con- 
stables foaming  with  rage,  "  We  can't  find 
her !" 

Again  loud  laughter  was  heard,  in  which 
at  length  the  entire  rneetingjoined  on  behold- 
ing the  laudable  ardour  with  which  the  con- 
stables kept  up  the  chase. 

44  You  abandoned  creature !"  cried  the 
mayor,  "  why  dont  you  leave  the  hall  1" 

44  Let  me  alone  !  let  me  alone !"  cried  the 
4  creature,'  "  and  I'll  be  quiet " —  and  imme- 
diately a  scream  was  heard,  succeeded  by 
sounds  indicative  of  the  4  creature  '  being 
just  on  the  point  of  fainting.  The  consta- 
bles fancied  that  they  were  sure  of  her  then, 
and  therefore  made  another  rush  ;  but  with- 
out more  success.  At  length  the  mayor 
exclaimed,  "  Let  her  be  :  leave  her  to  her 
own  conscience,"  when  the  constables  with 
the  greatest  reluctance  withdrew,  and  com- 
parative silence  was  restored. 

Mr.  Creedale  then  resumed  :  — 44  A  weak 
invention  of  the  enemy —  [No,  no!  and  loud 
cheers]  —  I  repeat — " 

44  Y'ou're  a  fool  !"  cried  Valentine  in  a 
singularly  gruff  tone,  on  which  there  were 
again  loud  cries  of"  Shame  !"  and  "  Order !" 

44  I'll  commit  the  first  man,"  cried  the 

*  It  will  probably  he  necessary  here  to  observe 
that  in  Suffolk  a  "  dickey  "  is  the  short  for  an  ass. 


24 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


mayor  with  a  swell  of  indignation,  "  who 
again  interrupts  these  important  proceed- 
ings, he  he  whomsoever  he  may." 

"  You  can't  old  boy  !"  cried  Valentine. 

"  Who,  who  is  that?"  said  the  mayor  — 
"  I  demand  to  know  instantly  who  it  is  that 
dares  thus  to — " 

"  Dares  !"  exclaimed  Valentine. 

"  Dares !  aye  dares  !"  cried  the  mayor. 
"  I'll  give  five  pounds  to  any  man  who  will 
point  out  to  me  that  atrocious  individual." 

The  electors  at  this  moment  stared  at 
each  other,  and  all  appeared  lost  in  amaze- 
ment. 

The  mayor  again  rose,  and  assuming  a 
more  tranquil  tone,  said,  "  Really,  gentle- 
men, this  conduct  is  perfectly  disgraceful. 
Jn  the  course  of  rny  experience  I  never  met 
with  anything  even  remotely  comparable 
to—"  ' 

"  Jonathan  Sprawl,"  cried  Valentine, "  He 
is  the  man." 

"If,"  said  the  mayor,  "  I  thought  that  — 
but  no,  no,  I  am  certain,  Mr.  Sprawl  — " 

"  1  assure  you,"  said  Jonathan,  "  inter- 
ruption did  not  proceed  from  me,  on  my 
honour.  He  who  says  that  it  did,  is  a  slan- 
derer and  no  gentleman  ;  and  I  tell  him  so 
openly  to  his  teeth." 

"  I  am  satisfied,"  said  the  mayor,  "  quite 
satisfied,  and  therefore  do  trust  that  we  shall 
now  be  permitted  to  proceed." 

Mr.  Creedale,  who  was  still  in  possession 
of  the  chair,  again  resumed  : — "  I  am  not 
inclined,"  said  he,  "  to  indulge  on  this  occa- 
sion in  anything  which  may  tend  to  create 
feelings  of  irritation  ;  but  I  must  be  permit- 
ted to  say  that  I  am  utterly  astonished  at  the 
conduct  of — " 

"  Mr.  Maxill !"  said  Valentine,  imitating 
the  voice  of  Mr.  Creedale  the  speaker. 

44  Demme !"  cried  Maxill,  who  was  a  short 
stumpy  man,  with  a  remarkably  raw-beefy 
face,  "I  begs  to  rise  to  order.  Demme  !  I 
claims  the  protection  of  the  cheer,  and  if  so 
be  as  Mr.  Creedale  means  for  to  mean  as  it's 
me,  why,  demme,  I  repels  the  insiniwation 

—  [Applause] — I  repels  the  insiniwation, 
and  means  for  to  say  this,  that  all  I  can  say  is 

—  [Bravo  Maxill]  — all  I  can  say  is,  demme, 
is  this—" 

"  You're  an  ass  !"  cried  Valentine,  throw- 
ing his  voice  immediately  behind  Mr.  Maxill, 
"hold  your  tongue!" 

Within  the  sphere  of  the  reader's  obser- 
vation, it  has  in  all  probability  occurred, 
that  a  man,  being  in  nautical  phraseology, 
three  sheets  in  the  wind,  and  writhing  under 
the  lash  of  some  real  or  imaginary  insult, 
has  made  desperate  efforts  to  reach  an  oppo- 
nent through  the  barrier  composed  of  mutual 
friends :  if  so,  if  the  reader  should  ever  have 
beheld  an  individual  in  that  interesting  posi- 


tion, foaming,  and  plunging,  and  blustering, 
and  occasionally  striking  his  dearest  friend, 
in  his  efforts  to  get  at  the  enemy,  he  is  quali- 
fied to  form  some  conception  of  the  scene  of 
which  "little  fatty  Maxill"  was  the  hero. 
He  fancied  that  he  had  discovered  the  delin- 
quent. Nothing  could  shake  his  faith  in 
the  assumed  fact,  that  an  individual  named 
Abraham  Bull,  who  happened  to  be  standing 
at  the  time  in  his  immediate  vicinity,  was 
the  person  by  whom  he  had  been  insulted. 
He  therefore  sprang  at  him  with  all  the 
ferocity  at  his  command;  but  being  checked 
by  those  around,  who  were  conscious  of 
Bull's  perfect  innocence,  he,  bent  upon  ven- 
geance, continued  kickingand  bullying,  and 
dealing  out  his  blows  right  and  left,  with  the 
most  perfect  indiscrimination,  until  the  con- 
stables lifted  him  clean  off  his  legs,  and 
without  any  further  ceremony  rolled  him 
into  the  street. 

The  mayor  now  fondly  imagined  that  this 
would  have  the  effect  of  restoring  perfect 
order;  he  believed  that  after  such  an  exam- 
ple as  that,  no  individual,  or  body  of  indi- 
viduals would  dare  to  offer  the  slightest 
interruption  to  the  proceedings  of  the  day  ; 
and  having  expressed  himself  quietly  to  that 
effect,  he  bowed  and  waved  his  hand  to  Mr. 
Creedale. 

That  gentleman  accordingly  came  forward 
once  more,  and  said  — "  Gentlemen,  it  is 
with  unspeakable " 

"  Blarney  !"  cried  Valentine. 

"  Silence!"  exclaimed  the  Mayor  with  a 
melodramatic  stamp  that  shook  the  pla^- 
form. 

"The  eye  of  England,"  said  Mr.  Cree- 
dale, "  nay  the  eye  of  all  Europe  [Asia, 
Africa,  and  America,  added  Valentine]  are 
upon  you,  and  I  can  only  say  that  anything 
more " 

"  Laughable,"  cried  Valentine,  assuming 
the  voice  of  a  respectable  plumber  who  stood 
near  him. 

"  Good  heavens  !"  exclaimed  the  Mayor, 
"  to  what  a  depth  of  degradation  have  \ve 
dived  !  For  the  love  of  grace  permit  me  to 
say  that  anything  more  disgraceful  never 
came  within  the  pale  of  my  experience.  Am, 
I  to  be  supported  1  (loud  cries  of  yes,  yes  !) 
Then  in  the  name  of  mighty  reason,  I  call 
upon  you  loudly,  boldly,  emphatically,  and 
that  with  all  the  energy  of  which  I  am 
capable  to  do  so.  ("  We  will,  we  will!" 
'*  Down  with  the  lory  myrmidons  !"  "  Down 
with  the  rank  revolutionary  raff!"  and  loud 
cheers.) 

At  this  stage  of  the  proceedings  the  mayor 
quietly  intimated  to  Mr.  Creedale,  that  it 
would  perhaps  be,  under  the  circu instances, 
expedient  to  cut  it  short ;  and  Mr.  Creedale 
having  with  half  an  eye  perceived  the  pro- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


priety  of  that  suggestion,  concluded  amidst 
general  uproar,  with  the  following  most 
pointed  remark  :  — 

•*  Gentlemen,  since  you  will  not  hear  me 
speak,  I  shall  beg  at  once  to  nominate  my 
friend  Mr.  Stone,  a  man  whose  equal  as  a  fit 
and  proper  person  to  be  a  Paving  Commis- 
sioner is  not  to  be  found." 

Hereupon,  there  were  loud  cheers  from 
the  liberal  party,  and  hisses  and  groans  from 
the  tories,  and  when  Mr.  Leechamp  rose  to 
second  the  nomination,  the  cheering,  and 
hissing,  and  groaning,  were  renewed. 

Mr.  Mac  Ireling  then  came  forward  to 
propose  Mr.  Slabb,  who  had  the  whole  of 
the  conservative  interest  on  his  side;  but 
the  moment  he  appeared  in  front  of  the  plat- 
form, Valentine  cried,  "  Now  for  a  signal 
retaliation  !  now  for  our  revenge  1" 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Mae  Ireling. 

"You'll  not  let  a  rank  tory  speak,  if  you 
are  men  !"  exclaimed  Valentine  ;  and  Mr. 
Mac  Ireling  was  immediately  assailed  with 
a  tremendous  volley  of  groans  from  the 
liberals,  who  naturally  believed  that  the 
conservatives  had  created  the  whole  of  the 
previous  disturbance. 

"  Gentlemen  ! —  Gentlemen  !  —  GENTLE- 
MEN !"  reiterated  the  mayor  at  intervals  ap- 
propriately filled  up  with  hissing,  groaning, 
cheering,  whistling,  and  yelling.  "I  demand 
to  be  heard.  I  insist —  I  insist  upon  silence. 
('  Order,  order  !  chair,  chair !')  In  the  name 
of  all  that's  gracious  let  it  not — let  it  not,  oh  ! 
let  it  not  go  forth  to  the  world,  that  the  men 
of  this  ancientand  enlightened  borough, in  the 
nineteenth  century,  in  the  heart  of  the  British 
empire  ;  in  the  centre,  ihe  very  bull's-eye  of 
civilisation,  are  slaves  to  passion,  idiots, 
madmen,  and  fools,  (loud  cheers.)  Am  I 
a  cipher?  (hear,  hear!)  On  this  instant 
would  I  dissolve  this  most  outrageous  meet- 
ing, were  it  not  that  I  am  determined  to 
maintain  inviolate  the  dignity  of  the  office 
I  have  the  honour  to  hold,  and  not  to  be 
intimidated,  frightened,  alarmed,  or  put  down 
by  mere  clamour,  (vehement  cheering.)  If 
we  are  to  proceed,  in  the  name  of  blind  and 
impartial  justice,  of  mighty  and  immortal 
reason,  of  invincible  and  sound  constitutional 
common  sense,  in  the  name  of  all  that  is 
mighty, respectable,  and  just,  let  us  do  so." 

This  pointed  and  poetic  appeal,  delivered 
as  it  was,  in  tones  of  the  most  eloquent 
indignation,  had  the  effect  of  inspiring  the 
audience  with  awe,  which  induced  some- 
thing bearing  the  semblance  of  order  to  pre- 
vail. 

Mr.  Mac  Ireling  then  again  stepped  for- 
ward, and  said,  "Gentlemen,  I  hope  that 
my  conduct  has  been  of  a  character  to  com- 
mand the  esteem  of " 

"  The  Tories  !"  shouted  Valentine. 


"  Heavens  !"  exclaimed  the  mayor,  with 
his  hands  clenched,  and  raising  his  voice  to 
the  highest  raging  pitch  —  "by  all  that  is 
powerful  and  pure,  I'll  commit  that  man 
who  presumes  again  to  utter  a  single  sylla- 
ble for  the  purpose  of " 

Valentine  here  sent  into  the  body  of  the 
meeting  an  awfully  melodramatic  "  Ha ! 
ha!  ha!"  which  appeared  absolutely  to 
electrify  his  worship,  who  loudly  cried 
"  Officers  !  now  do  your  duty  !" 

In  vain  those  respectable  functionaries, 
sweating  with  indignation,  rushed  to  the 
middle  of  the  hall,  with  the  laudable  view 
of  arresting  the  delinquent.  Loud  laughter 
was  still  heard,  but  invariably  behind  them, 
whichever  way  they  happened  to  turn.  The 
perspiration  poured  down  their  cheeks,  for 
their  exertions  were  really  terrific.  They 
stamped,  and  puffed,  and  tore,  and  shook 
their  fists,  and  looked  eternal  daggers  at 
every  man  in  their  vicinity.  The  laughter 
was  heard  still ;  and  away  they  went  again 
with  fresh  energy,  inspired  by  his  worship's 
reiterated  cries  of  "  Officers,  now  do  your 
duty  !"  At  length,  fairly  driven  to  despera- 
tion, and  being  in  a  state  of  the  most  excru- 
ciating mental  agony,  they  resolved  on  seiz- 
ing some  one,  and  accordingly  collared  Mr. 
Lym,  a  highly  reputable  baker,  whom  they 
happily  discovered  in  the  atrocious  act  of 
smiling  at  the  ridiculous  character  of  their 
appearance.  In  vain  Mr.  Lym  proclaimed 
his  innocence  !  —  they  had  caught  him  in  the 
act !  and  hence  proceeded  to  drag  him  to- 
wards the  door  with  all  possible  violence. 
In  the  space  of  one  minute  Mr.  Lym  was 
divested  of  his  top  coat,  under  coat,  waist- 
coat, and  shirt! — those  articles  of  apparel 
having  been  torn  completely  off  by  the  en- 
raged functionaries  in  the  due  execution  of 
their  duty.  Lym  would  have  left  the  hall 
quietly  enough,  but^the  radicals  would  by  no 
means  suffer  him  to"  do  so.  They  rushed  to 
the  rescue;  and  on  Valentine  shouting  out 
"  Down  with  the  republicans !"  in  one  voice, 
and  "  Down  with  the  tories !"  in  another,  a 
general  battle  ensued,  wyhich  was  kept  up 
on  both  sides  with  infinite  spirit,  while  the 
mayor,  duly  mounted  on  the  table,  was  en- 
gaged in  denouncing  the  irregular  proceed- 
ings with  all  the  indignant  energy  at  his 
command. 

The  voice  of  Valentine  was  now  no  longer 
needed.  The  electors  were  making  amply 
sufficient  noise  without  his  aid.  He  there- 
fore mounted  the  rostrum,  partly  for  safety 
and  partly  with  a  view  to  the  full  enjoy- 
ment of  the  scene,  and  then  for  the  first  time 
discovered  that  instead  of  the  combatants 
being  divided  into  two  grand  political  par- 
lies, as  they  ought  to  have  been,  they  were 
levelling  their  blows  with  indiscriminate 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


fury,  regardless  utterly  of  everything  but 
the  pleasure  of  conferring  upon  some  one 
the  honour  of  a  hit.  In  one  corner  of  the 
hall  there  was  a  dense  mass  of  electors,  of 
whom  the  majority  were  extremely  corpu- 
lent, hugging  and  hanging  on  each  other, 
like  bees  when  they  swarm,  with  such 
remarkable  tenacity,  that  the  entire  body 
formed  a  most  interesting  exemplification  of 
a  perfectly  dead  lock.  In  another  corner 
there  were  two  lines  of  amateur  gladiators, 
hitting  out  as  hard  as  they  could  hit,  but  as 
they  all,  very  discreetly,  closed  their  eyes 
to  preserve  them,  and  went  in  head  fore- 
most, like  bucks,  their  evolutions  were  not 
strictly  scientific,  although  the  hardest  heads 
did  the  greatest  amount  of  execution.  In  a 
third  corner  of  the  hall,  there  was  a  phalanx 
of  individuals  who  formed  a  complete  Gor- 
dian  knot,  and  who  contented  themselves 
with  elbowing  and  grinning  at  each  other 
with  most  praiseworthy  zeal ;  while  in  the 
fourth  there  were  two  distinct  ranks  of  inde- 
pendent electors,  one-half  of  whom  were 
striving  to  protect  their  friends,  by  striking 
over  the  shoulders  of  those  friends  whom 
they  kept  with  appropriate  consideration  in 
the  front,  to  receive  all  the  blows.  The 
grand  point  of  attraction,  however,  was  in 
the  centre.  Here  a  circle  of  about  two-and- 
twenty  feet  in  diameter  was  strewed  with 
quick  bodies,  horizontally  twisting  in  and 
out — sometimes  above  the  surface,  and  some- 
times below — like  so  many  eels  in  a  tub, 
without  even  the  possibility  of  any  one  of 
them  achieving  his  perpendicular.  They 
could  not  rise.  The  more  desperate,  the 
more  abortive  were  their  efforts  to  do  so. 
They  writhed,  and  kicked,  and  blustered, 
and  rolled,  but  still  preserved  the  true  cha- 
racter of  the  scene,  namely,  that  of  a  general 
sprawl. 

While  these  really  delightful  proceedings 
were  being  conducted,  certain  well-inten- 
tioned persons,  who  had  escaped,  conceiving 
it  to  be  the  commencement  of  a  sanguinary 
revolution,  rushed  with  breathless  haste  to 
the  Bull,  which  they  knew  to  be  the  head- 
quarters of  a  troop  of  dragoons,  then  tem- 
porarily stationed  in  the  town,  and  at  once 
gave  the  alarm,  that  the  rebellion  might  be 
nipped  in  the  bud.  Before  the  awful  tale 
could  be  told  twice,  the  trumpet  sounded  on 
the  Market  Hill,  to  horse !  and  in  less  than 
five  minutes  the  entire  troop,  headed  by  a 
mounted  magistrate,  galloped  to  the  scene 
of  action. 

On  reaching  the  hall,  the  revolutionists 
were  to  the  soldiers  invisible.  A  tumultuous 
din  was  heard — a  din  which  threatened  to 
burst  the  casement ;  but  nothing  could  be 
seen.  The  doors  were  fast.  Not  one  of  the 
rebels  within  knew  how  to  open  them  ;  nor 


could  they  be  conveniently  opened  from 
without.  Mr.  Alldread,  the  magistrate, 
however,  in  the  king's  name,  commanded 
hem  to  be  instantly  broken  down,  which 
command  was  obeyed  with  much  alacrity 
>y  the  alarmists.  But  here  another  difficulty 
>resented  itself;  the  rebels  either  would 
lot,  or  could  not  come  out !  Mr.  Alldread, 
herefore,  determined  to  surmount  every 
obstacle,  in  the  king's  name  commanded  the 
soldiers  to  gallop  in.  He  was  for  checking 
the  rebellion  ere  it  got  to  a  head  !  so  certain 
was  he,  that  if  energetic  measures  were  not 
jromptly  taken,  the  British  empire  would 
je  crumbled  into  one  chaotic  mass  of  revo- 
ntionary  ruin. 

Now,  for  a  troop  of  dragoons  to  gallop 
Dell-mell  into  a  densely  crowded  hall,  was 
•egarded,  very  naturally,  by  Captain  Cope- 
and,  the  officer  in  command,  as  somewhat 
of  a  novelty  in  military  tactics;  however, 
partly  to  humour  the  alarmed  magistrate, 
and  partly  because  he  felt  that  the  mere 
sight  of  the  soldiers  would  be  sufficient  to 
put  an  end  to  all  civil  hostilities,  he  ordered 
bis  men  to  follow  him  with  all  possible 
care,  and  accordingly  in  they  all  went. 

The  eyes  of  the  majority  of  the  insurgents 
were  at  this  crisis  closed,  and  as  those  of 
the  rest  were  fixed  firmly  upon  their  anta- 
gonists, the  quiet  entrance  of  the  soldiers, 
except  by  a  few  near  the  door,  was  for  a 
moment  disregarded.  Captain  Copeland, 
however,  ordered  the  trumpet  to  sound,  and 
the  trumpeter  blew  a  shivering  blast,  so 
loud,  that  in  an  instant,  as  if  by  magic,  hos- 
tilities ceased. 

"Upon  em!"  loudly  shouted  Mr.  All- 
dread  ;  •*  char-r-r-r-ge !" 

The  gallant  captain  smiled;  and  his  men 
had  absolutely  the  oold-blooded  audacity  to 
wink  at  each  other  with  gleeful  significance. 

"Heavens!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Alldread, 
utterly  astonished  at  the  manifest  indisposi- 
tion of  the  soldiers  to  cut  the  rebels  indi- 
vidually into  mince-meat.  "  Why,  what  do 
you  fear1?  In  the  king's  name,  again  I 
command  you  to  mow  the  traitors  down  !" 

Captain  Copeland,  perceiving  every  eye 
fixed  upon  him,  at  once  gracefully  waved 
his  bright  sword  until  the  point  rested  op- 
posite the  door,  when  the  rebels,  viewing 
this  as  an  intimation  that  they  &ould  all  be 
permitted  to  depart  unscotched,  rushed  with 
all  the  alacrity  at  their  command  into  the 
street,  and  in  the  space  of  five  minutes  the 
entire  body  of  the  hall  was  deserted. 

A  council  of  war  was  then  held  on  the 
spot,  at  which  the  mayor  was  too  exhausted 
to  utter  an  audible  sentence,  but  Mr.  All- 
dread  could  not  withhold  the  loud  expression 
of  his  unspeakable  surprise  at  Captain  Cope- 
land's  peculiarly  unconstitutional  indisposi- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


27 


tion  to  promote  the  circulation  of  rank  re- 
bellious blood.  It  was,  however,  eventually 
decided  that  no  further  steps  need  be  taken 
in  the  matter,  and  as  the  captain  wished  to 
spend  a  merry  evening,  he  invited  the  mayor 
and  every  member  of  the  corporation  present 
to  dine  with  him  forthwith  at  the  Bull.  The 
invitation  was  accepted,  and  as  they  left  the 
hall,  certain  straggling  knots  of  rebels  who 
were  discussing  the  cause  of  the  disturbance 
with  great  energy,  took  to  their  heels  and 
ran  to  the  various  public  houses  they  were 
in  the  habit  of  frequenting,  each,  of  course, 


with  the  view  of  contending  for  the  correct- 
ness of  his  own  version  of  the  origin  of  the 
fray.  The  soldiers  smiled  as  they  saw  the 
rebels  running  ;  but,  although  Mr.  Alldread 
insisted  upon  the  propriety  of  the  troop  giv- 
ing them  chace,  the  party  proceeded  with 
due  dignity  to  dinner,  after  which  the  bottle 
went  round  merrily  till  midnight,  when  the 
mayor  and  the  rest  of  the  members  of  the 
corporation,  at  the  particular  desire  of  Mr. 
Alldread,  were  conducted  to  the  doors  of 
their  respective  residences,  under  a  most 
formidable  military  escort. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


MATERNAL  SOLICITUDE. 


GREAT-UNCLE  JOHN  IN  CONVULSIONS. 
IMPUGNED. 


THE  CHASTITY  OF  A  MAIDEN 


NOTHING  could  exceed  the  delight  with 
which  Valentine  contemplated  the  result  of 
the  first  grand  display  of  his  latent  power. 
He  went  home  in  ecstacies,  and  exercised 
his  voice  with  so  much  violence,  and  imi- 
tated the  contortions  of  the  constables  so 
grotesquely,  that  his  affectionate  parent  ab- 
solutely believed  him  to  be  possessed  of 
the  same  spirit  as  that  which  inhabited  the 
swine.  Again  and  again  she  implored  him 
to  explain  to  her  what  had  occurred  ;  but, 
inspired  with  the  conviction  that  his  power 
would  lose  a  great  portion  of  its  value  if  its 
existence  in  him  became  known,  he  confined 
himself  to  a  statement  of  the  fact  of  his  hav- 
ing been  at  the  meeting  and  upset  them  all. 
The  singular  style,  however,  in  which  this 
statement  was  made,  and  the  loud  and  irre- 
pressible laughter  by  which  it  was  accom- 
panied, caused  serious  apprehensions  on  the 
part  of  Mrs.  Vox  that  her  Valentine  had 
eaten  of  the  insane  root,  and  prompted  her 
to  go  for  advice  to  Uncle  John,  while  Val 
was  doing  Justice  to  the  cold  remains  of  a 
fillet  of  veal  and  a  knuckle  of  ham. 

Now,  for  somewhat  more  than  two-and- 
twenty  years,  without  a  day's  intermission, 
Uncle  John  had  reclined  on  three  well- 
cushioned  chairs,  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth 
and  a  glass  of  remarkably  stiff  brandy-and- 
water  by  his  side,  from  the  time  that  the 
cloth  was  removed  at  two  o'clock  until  five. 
From  this  position  he  never  by  any  chance 
moved  until  old  Hannah  brought  up  the  tea- 
tray,  and  it  was  in  this  position  that  Mrs 
Vox  found  him. 

«  Well,  Pen !"  said  Uncle  John,  as  the 
poor  lady  entered,  "  come  to  see  me  — eh 
There's  a  good  girl." 

Mrs.  Vox  approached  the  chair  on  which 
his  head  was  reclining,  and  as  she  kissec 


lis  shining  brow  a  tear  dropped  upon  his 
nose. 

"  What's  that !  "  cried  Uncle  John  — 
'  What's  the  matter,  my  girl  !  —  what  has 
appened  ?  Come,  come,  sit  you  dow'n  and 
et's  know  all  about  it." 

"  Oh,  Uncle  !"  said  Mrs.  Vox,  "  do,  pray, 
see  my  Val." 

"Why,  what's  the  young  dog  been  up  to 
now?"  cried  Uncle  John. 

"Once  for  all,"  said  Mrs.  Vox,  having 
aken  a  deep  inspiration,  "  I  believe  thai 
le's  mad." 

1  Pooh,  pooh,  pooh — nonsense,  child  !" 
cried  Uncle  John,  "  Mad  !  Fiddledeedee, 
looh,  pooh,  pooh — what  has  he  been 
after?" 

14  I  have  told  you  before,"  said  the  af- 
flicted lady,  u  what  singular  noises  I  have 
tieard  about  the  house  when  he  is  in  it." 

"I  know,  1  know,"  interrupted  Uncle 
John,  "imagination,  child,  mere  imagina- 
tion —  pooh,  pooh,  pooh  —  don't  be  supersti- 
tious." 

"But  to  day,"  continued  Mrs.  Vox,  sob- 
bing— "  to  day,  uncle,  when  he  came  home, 
not  only  did  I  hear  dreadful  noises  all  over 
the  house,  but  he  made  up  such  horrible 
faces  thathe  frightened  me  out  of  my  senses  ; 
and  all  I  could  get  from  him  was,  that  he 
had  done  it  —  that  he'd  been  to  the  meeting 
and  had  upset  them  all !" 

"  The  meeting  !  WThat  right  has  he  to 
interfere  with  politics  ?"  cried  Uncle  John, 
ringing  the  bell  with  unusual  violence. 
"  Surely  there's  plenty  of  politicians  in 
the  town  without  him!  Upset  'em!  — 
Here,  Hannah,"  he  continued  as  the  old 
servant  entered  —  "  go,  and  tell  that  boy 
Valentine  to  come  to  me  instantly.  Bring 
him  with  you :  don't  come  without  him. 


28 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


Upset  'em  indeed  !  What  right  has  a  boy  ' 
like  that —  he's  not  twenty  yet  —  " 

44  No,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Vox,  "he  was 
only  nineteen  the  14th  of  last  February — " 

"  What  right  has  a  lad  like  him  to  go  to 
meetings  1  /never  go  to  such  places  ;  that 
boy'll  be  ruined." 

"But  it  isn't  only  that,"  said  Mrs.  Vox, 
"I  shouldn't  care,  but  I'm  sure  that  he's 
'touched:  I'm  quite  certain  the  poor  boy's 
possessed." 

"  Pooh,  rubbish,  child,  rubbish  !"  ob- 
served Uncle  John,  "  the  boy's  a  splendid 
boy,  a  fine  high-spirited  boy.  '  I'd  not  break 
his  spirit  for  the  world  :  —  but  he  mustn't  be 
spoiled  —  no,  he  mustn't  be  spoiled.  If  the 
devil  be  in  him,  why  the  devil  shall  come 
out  of  him:  I'll  not  have  him  there;  but 
we'll  see,  child  —  we'll  see." 

Uncle  John  then  proceeded  to  refill  his 
pipe,  and  having  directed  Mrs.  Vox  to  mix  a 
leetle  more  brandy-and-water,  looked  earn- 
estly at  the  fire,  and  prepared  for  the  attack. 

"  Well  !  young  gentleman !"  said  he, 
.knitting  his  brows  and  looking  desperate. 

Mrs.  Vox  turned  quickly  towards  the  door, 
and  found  that  Uncle  John  was  only  rehears- 
ing. Valentine,  however,  immediately  after 
entered,  and  Uncle  John  commenced  :  — 

"  Well !  young  gentleman  !  Now,  sir, 
what  does  all  this  mean1?" 

"All  what,  uncle  V  quietly  asked  Valen- 
tine. 

"All  what,  sir  !"  exclaimed  Uncle  John 

—  "  Why  all  this  —  this  —  conduct,  sir !  — 
that's  what  I  mean." 

"  What  conduct?"  said  Val,  with  perfect 
calmness. 

"  What  conduct,  sir  !"  cried  Uncle  John 

—  "  why,  your  conduct.     Are  you  mad?" 
"I  hope   not,"   said  Valentine.     "I  am 

not  aware  that  I  am." 

"Don't  tell  we,  sir,  that  you  are  not 
aware  of  it!"  shouted  the  old  gentleman. 
"  Here's  your  poor  mother  here  fit  to  break 
her  heart  about  your  horrible  noises.  I'll 
have  you  put  into  the  lunatic  asylum,  sir  ! 
You  want  a  strait  jacket !  —  but  where  have 
you  been  all  day? — what  have  you  been 
after?" 

"I've  been  at  the  meeting,"  said  Valen- 
tine. 

"The  meeting !"  said  Uncle  John — "  pray, 
what  business  had  you  at  the  meeting  ]" 

"  Come,  uncle,  don't  be  angry,"  said 
Valentine,  smiling.  "  I'll  tell  you  all  about 
it :  but  you'll  not  be  cross,  will  you  ]" 

"  Cross,  sir!"  exclaimed  Uncle  John. 
"  I  am  not  cross  :  I  never  am  cross." 

Valentine  then  drew  a  chair  near  the  fire, 
and  commenced  an  explanation  of  all  that 
had  occurred.  At  first  he  utterly  astounded 
Uncle  John,  by  the  development  of  his 


power,  and  then  proceeded  with  the  relation 
of  its  effects  upon  the  meeting.  In  ten 
minutes  Uncle  John  had  swallowed  more 
smoke  than  he  had  done  during  the  whole 
thirty  years  he  had  been  a  smoker.  Seven 
several  times  did  the  brandy-and-water  go 
the  wrong  way,  and  as  he  had  a  perfect 
knowledge  of  almost  every  man  present  at 
the  hall,  his  imagination  entered  with  so 
much  spirit  into  the  scene,  and  he  laughed 
at  the  description  of  their  movements  so 
immoderately,  that  at  length  he  could  nei- 
ther drink,  smoke,  nor  sit,  but  paced  the 
room  holding  his  back  and  chest  together  — 
at  intervals  ejaculating  "  stop  !  stop  !  stop  !" 
The  more,  however,  Uncle  John  laughed, 
the  more  spirit  did  Valentine  infuse  into  his 
tale,  and  at  length  in  an  absolute  convulsion 
of  mirth,  the  delighted  old  gentleman  threw 
himself  upon  the  sofa,  and  rolled  to  and  fro 
like  a  butt  in  a  groove. 

"You  young  dog!"  cried  Uncle  John, 
when  he  had  recovered  sufficient  steadiness 
of  breath  to  speak  :  "  Don't  you  know,  sir, 

it  was  wrong,  very  wrong  thus  to ." 

Here  he  was  seized  with  another  fit  of  laugh- 
ter, so  loud  and  so  painful,  that  for  relief  he 
moved  his  body  first  backwards  and  for- 
wards, and  then  from  side  to  side,  while  he 
literally  mopped  the  perspiration  from  his 
face,  which  was  as  red  as  that  of  the  sun, 
when,  through  a  dark  hazy  atmosphere,  he 
is  seen  to  approach  the  horizon. 

Nor  did  Mrs.  Vox  fail  to  enjoy  the  relation 
of  the  scene,  for  burying  her  face  in  her 
handkerchief,  she  was  equally  convulsed, 
although  not  quite  so  loud  in  the  manifesta- 
tion of  her  mirth. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  young  rascal !" 
was  the  command  of  Uncle  John,  whenever 
Valentine  re-opened  his  lips  to  relate  any 
incident  that  had  previously  escaped  him. 
Valentine,  however,  was  not  to'be  silenced. 
So  long  as  he  found  the  old  gentleman  en- 
joyed it,  so  long  did  he  keep  up  the  fire, 
until  at  last  Uncle  John  declaring  solemnly 
that  he  could  stand  it  no  longer,  commanded 
him  to  leave  the  room,  which  he  did  with 
the  view  of  alarming  old  Hannah  in  the 
kitchen. 

No  sooner  had  Val  made  his  exit  from 
the  parlour,  than  it  occurred  to  Mrs.  Vox, 
that  if  the  thing  became  known  to  the  au- 
thorities, the  result  might  be  anything  but 
pleasing,  and  as  Uncle  John  fell  at  once  into 
her  views,  he  began  to  think  of  the  best 
mode  of  avoiding  the  discovery.  At  first 
he  thought  it  sufficient  to  enjoin  silence 
upon  Valentine,  but  subsequently  fancying 
that  the  "young  dog"  would  deem  the  joke 
infinitely  too  good  to  be  concealed,  he 
thought  that  as  he  intended  soon  to  send 
him  to  Mr.  Goodman,  an  old  friend  of  his  - 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


who  resided  in  London,  the  safest  plan 
would  be  to  start  him  off  at  once. 

"  But  what  am  /to  do?"  inquired  Mrs, 
Vox  anxiously. 

"  Why,  come  and  live  with  me,"  said 
Uncle  John.  "  Now  make  no  objections. 
He'll  be  well  taken  care  of  by  Goodman, 
I  know,  or  of  course  I  wouldn't  send 
him." 

It  was  accordingly  decided  that  he  should 
start  on  the  Wednesday  morning,  and  when 
all  the  preliminaries  had  been  arranged, 
Uncle  John  called  Valentine  just  as  he  was 
charging  old  Hannah  with  having  concealed 
a  child,  whose  half  stifled  cries  and  convul- 
sive sobs,  in  one  of  the  large  dresser-drawers, 
he  had  been  imitating  to  perfection.  Of 
course,  on  being  called,  Val  left  the  surprised 


and  indignant  old  maid  in  the  kitchen,  to 
prosecute  her  search  ;  and  after  having  had 
a  few  words  with  Great-Uncle  John,  on  the 
subject  of  his  journey,  with  the  idea  of 
which  he  was  delighted,  the-little  family 
separated  for  the  night. 

The  whole  of  the  morning  of  the  follow- 
ing day,  being  Tuesday,  was  occupied  by 
Valentine  and  Mrs.  Vox  in  packing  up, 
while  Uncle  John  was  engaged  for  several 
hours  in  the  composition  of  a  letter  to  Mr. 
Goodman  ;  a  document  written  with  infinite 
care,  and  in  a  style  of  course  peculiarly  his 
own  ^  and  in  the  evening  Valentine  and  his 
mother  again  visited  the  old  gentleman^ 
who  employed  himself  till  bed-time  in  giv- 
ing Val  instructions,  having  reference  to  his 
conduct  in  London. 


CHAPTER  V. 


EXPLAINS  HOW  VALENTINE  STARTED  FOR  LONDON;  HOW  ENTERTAINING  TRAVELLING  COM- 
PANIONS CAN  BE  J  HOW  A  VALIANT  BLACKSMITH  CAN  BE  A  DEAD  SHOT  J  HOW  FIRM  MAY  BE 
THE  FAITH  OF  A  COACHMAN  IN  WITCHCRAFT  J  AND  HOW  IT  IS  POSSIBLE  FOR  A  JOURNEY  TO 
BE  PROTRACTED. 


THERE  ar.e  probably  no  feelings  at  all  com- 
parable with  those  which  are  experienced 
by  a  sanguine  country  youth,  on  the  eve  of 
his  first  departure  for  London.  His  mind 
is  all  excitement.  The  single  idea  of 
visiting  a  place  of  which  he  has  heard  so 
much,  and  known  so  little,  engenders  thou- 
sands. Asleep  or  awake,  his  whole  soul  is 
set  upon  the  journey,  and  were  it  necessary 
for  him  to  rise  at  four  in  the  morning,  though 
he  failed  to  go  to  sleep  before  two,  he  would 
be  just  as  certain  to  wake  in  time  to  hear  the 
clock  strike  four,  as  if  the  "  warning  "  wire 
communicated  with  a  galvanic  battery  suf- 
ficiently powerful  to  force  him  out  of  bed, 

Valentine,  after  dreaming  all  night  of  the 
great  city  and  its  glories,  rose  some  hours 
before  his  usual  time,  but  not  before  Mrs. 
Vox,  who  had  not  slept  at  all,  had  re-ran- 
sacked every  drawer  and  every  box  in  the 
house,  with  the  view  of  ascertaining  if 
anything  had  been  forgotten. 

About  an  hour  and  a  half  before  the  time 
for  starting  arrived,  in  rushed  Uncle  John 
with  a  view  of  expressing  his  firm  convic- 
tion, that  if  Valentine  didn't  look  sharp  the 
coach  would  certainly  go  without  him,  and 
of  explaining,  moreover,  that  the  coachman, 
whom  he  knew,  was  like  the  eternal  tide, 
seeing  that  he  would  wait  for  no  man. 
Breakfast  was  therefore  immediately  pre- 
pared, during  the  preparation  Uncle  John 
compared  watches,  and  having  made  them 
agree,  compared  them  with  the  house-clock, 
4 


and  then  sent  the  servant,  and  then  went 
himself  to  ascertain  if  the  house-clock 
agreed  with  the  church.  All  this  being 
eventually  arranged  to  his  entire  satisfaction, 
down  they  sat  to  breakfast,  with  the  watches 
of  course  upon  the  table.  Valentine  had  no 
appetite.  An  egg  however  at  length  was 
seduced  dowr>his  throat  by  the  preliminary 
introduction  of  a  piece  of  broiled  ham,  but 
even  this  was  unconsciously  swallowed, 
while  with  the  coffee  in  his  hand  he  was 
pacing  the  room.  He  could  not  keep  his 
chair;  nor  could  Mrs.  Vox  keep  in  hers, 
nor  could  Uncle  John  keep  in  his.  They 
were  all  three  in  motion,  but  of  course  doing 
nothing,  there  being  in  reality  nothing  to  do. 
A  dozen  times  the  girl  was  despatched  to 
see  if  the  horses  were  in,  and  after  much 
feverish  excitement  it  was  atjast  announced 
that  two  females  were  standing  by  the  side 
of  three  boxes  in  the  gateway  !  That  was 
sufficient.  Off  went  the  luggage  in  a 
wheelbarrow,  on  went  Val's  two  upper 
coats,  round  went  a  large  lambs-wool  com- 
forter, and  down  went  a  glass  of  raw  brandy, 
and  all  in  the  space  of  thirty  seconds.  Mrs. 
Vox  had  been  prohibited  from  seeing  Va- 
lentine off;  they  therefore  at  once  bade  each 
other  adieu,  while  Uncle  John,  standing  at 
the  door,  was  expressing  his  opinion  that  the 
coach  would  be  gone ;  but  no  sooner  had  he 
succeeded  in  dragging  Val  away,  than  in 
spite  of  the  prohibition,  Mrs.  Vox  hurried  on 
her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  started  round  the 


30 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


corner  of  the  street,  which  she  knew  the 
coach  would  pass,  for  the  purpose  of  catch- 
ing a  last  glance  of  Valentine,  and  waving 
her  hand. 

"Now  then,  look  alive  there!"  shouted 
the  coachman  from  the  booking-office  door, 
as  Uncle  John  and  his  charge  approached. 
"  Have  yow  got  that  are  mare's  shoe  made 
comforble,  Simon]" 

"All  right,  sir,"  said  Simon,  and  he 
went  round  to  see  if  it  were  so,  while  the 
luggage  was  being  secured. 

**  Jimp  up,  genelman  !"  cried  the  coach- 
man, as  he  waddled  from  the  office  with  his 
whip  in  one  hand  and  his  way-bill  in  the 
other  ;  and  the  passengers  accordingly 
proceeded  to  arrange  themselves  on  the 
various  parts  of  the  coach  —  Valentine,  by 
the  particular  desire  of  Uncle  John,  having 
deposited  himself  immediately  behind  the 
seat  of  the  coachman. 

"If  you  please,"  said  the  old  lady,  who 
had  been  standing  with  her  daughter  in  the 
gateway  for  up  wards  of  an  hour;  "will  you  be 
good  enow  please  to  take  care  of  my  darter  ]" 

"All  safe,"  said  the  coachman,  untwist- 
ing the  reins.  "She  shaunt  take  no  harm. 
Is  she  going  all  the  way  ]" 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  old  lady;  «*  God 
bless  her!  she's  got  a  place  in  Lunnun  an 
I'm  told." 

"  Hook  on  them  ere  two  sack  o'  wheats 
there  behind,"  cried  the  coachman,  "I 
marnt  go  without  'em  this  time." 

"  God  bless  you,  my  dear  !  God  bless 
you  !"  exclaimed  the  old  lady,  and  the  tears 
gushed  from  her  eyes  as  she  kissed  her  poor 
girl,  whose  heavy  sobs  choaked  her  ut- 
terance. "  Heaven  will  protect  you  :  I 
know  it  will,  my  child.  You'll  think  of 
your  poor  old  mother]  There,  cheer  up, 
my  dear  —  it's  all  for  the  best;  I  shall  be 
very  happy.  You  are  all  the  world  to 
me ;  but  indeed  I  shall  be  very  happy,"  and 
the  tears  burst  forth  in  fresh  streams,  while 
she  tried  to  reanimate  the  spirits  of  her 
child  by  affecting  to  smile. 

"  Now,  all  right  there  ]"  cried  the 
coachman. 

"  Good  bye,  my  dear,"  sobbed  the  old 
lady,  almost  heartbroken,  kissing  her  child 
again  as  she  stepped  upon  the  ladder. 
"God  bless  you !  do  write  to  me  soon,  be 
sore  you  do  —  I  only  want  to  hear  from  you 
often.  Take  care  of  yourself.  Here,  my 
love,"  she  added,  taking  a  handkerchief 
from  her  neck,  "  tie  this  round  your  poor 
dear  throat." 

"  No,  mother,  no,"  said  the  poor  girl 
cryinir  bitterly,  "that's  the  only  one  you 
have  left.  I'll  be  plenty  warm  enough." 

•»  Yes,  do,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  I'm  sure 
you'll  takn  cold." 


"  Hold  hard  !"  cried  the  coachman  as  the 
horses  were  dancing,  on  the  cloths  being 
drawn  from  their  loins.  "Whit,  whit!" 
and  away  they  pranced,  as  merrily  as  if  they 
had  known  that  /Airload  was  nothing  when 
compared  with  the  load  they  had  left  behind 
them.  Even  old  Uncle  John,  as  he  cried 
"  Good  bye,  my  dear  boy,"  and  waved  his 
hand  for  the  last  time,  felt  the  tears  trickling 
fast  down  his  cheeks. 

"  No,  no  room,  marm  !"  said  the  coach- 
man, shaking  his  head  as  he  approached  the 
corner  of  the  street  at  which  Mrs.  Vox  was 
standing. 

Valentine's  attention  was  thus  directed  to 
his  mother,  who  was  kissing  her  hand  with 
considerable  rapidity,  when  the  salute  was 
returned,  and  the  coach  passed  on. 

The  fulness  of  Valentine's  heart  caused 
him  for  the  first  hour  to  be  silent;  but  after 
that,  the  constant  change  of  scene,  and  the 
pure  bracing  air  had  the  effect  of  restoring 
his  spirits,  and  he  felt  a  very  powerful  in- 
clination to  sing.  Just,  however,  as  he  was 
about  to  commence  for  his  own  amusement, 
the  coach  stopped  to  change  horses,  when 
Tooler,  the  coachman,  of  course  got  down, 
and  as  several  of  the  passengers  followed 
his  example,  Valentine  got  down  too,  and 
as  they  all  went  into  the  road-side  house, 
and  called  for  glasses  of  ale,  why  Valentine 
called  for  a  glass  like  the  rest,  and  drank  it 
with  equal  enjoyment.  In  less  than  two 
minutes  they  started  again,  and  Valentine, 
who  then  felt  ready  for  anything,  began 
to  think  seriously  of  the  exercise  of  his 
power 

"Whit,  whit!"  said  Tooler,  between  a 
whisper  and  a  whistle,  as  the  fresh  horses 
galloped  up  the  hill. 

"  Stop  !  hoa  !"  cried  Valentine,  assuming 
a  voice,  the  sound  of  which  appeared  to  have 
travelled  some  distance. 

"You  have  left  one  behind,"  observed  a 
gentleman  in  black,  who  had  secured  the 
box-seat. 

"  O  let  mi  run  a  bit,"  said  Tooler. 
"  Whit !  It'll  give  un  a  winder  up  this  little 
hill,  and  teach  un  to  be  up  in  time  in  future. 
If  we  was  to  wait  for  every  passenger  as 
chooses  to  lag  behind,  we  shouldn't  git  over 
the  ground  in  a  fortnit." 

"Hoa!  stop!  stop!  stop!"  reiterated 
Valentine  in  the  voice  of  a  man  pretty  well 
out  of  breath. 

Tooler,  without  deigning  to  look  behind, 
retickled  the  haunches  of  his  leaders  and 
gleefully  chuckled  at  the  idea  of  how  he  was 
making  a  passenger  sweat. 

The  voice  was  heard  no  more,  and  Tooler 
on  reaching  the  top  of  the  hill  pulled  up  :iml 
looked  round,  but  could  see  no  man  running. 

»•  Where  is  he]"  inquired  Tooler. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


31 


"  In  the  ditch  !"  replied  Valentine,  throw- 
ing his  voice  behind. 

"In  the  ditch!"  exclaimed  Tooler. 
"Blarm  me,  whereabouts  ?" 

"There,"  said  Valentine. 

**  God  bless  my  soul !"  cried  the  gentle- 
man in  black,  who  was  an  exceedingly 
nervous  village  clergyman.  "  The  poor 
person  no  doubt  has  fallen  down  in  an  abso- 
lute state  of  exhaustion.  How  very,  very 
wrong  of  you,  coachman,  not  to  stop." 

Tooler,  apprehensive  of  some  serious 
occurrence,  got  down  with  the  view  of 
dragging  the  exhausted  passenger  out  of  the 
ditch,  but  although  he  ran  several  hundred 
yards  down  the  hill,  no  such  person  of 
course  could  be  found. 

"  Who  saw  un  ?"  shouted  Tooler  as  he 
panted  up  the  hill  again. 

"I  saw  nothing,"  said  a  passenger  behind, 
"  but  a  boy  jumping  over  the  hedge." 

Tooler  looked  at  his  way-bill,  counted 
the  passengers,  found  them  all  right,  and 
remounting  the  box,  got  the  horses  again 
into  a  gallop,  in  the  perfect  conviction  that 
some  villanous  young  scarecrow  had  raised 
the  false  alarm. 

"Whit!  blarm  them  'ere  boys!"  said 
Tooler,  "stead  o'  mindin  their  crows  they 
are  allus  up  to  suffen.  I  only  wish  I  had 
un  here,  I'd  pay  on  to  their  blarmed  bodies ; 

if  I  wouldn't ."  At  this  interesting 

moment,  and  as  if  to  give  a  practical  illus- 
tration of  what  he  would  have  done  in  that 
case,  he  gave  the  off-wheeler  so  telling  a  cut 
round  the  loins,  that  the  animal  without 
any  ceremony  kicked  over  the  trace.  Of 
course  Tooler  was  compelled  to  pull  upagain 
immediately ;  and  after  having  adjusted 
the  trace,  and  asking  the  animal  seriously 
what  he  meant,  at  the  same  time  enforcing 
the  question  by  giving  him  a  blow  on  the 
bony  part  of  his  nose,  he  prepared  to  re- 
mount; but  just  as  he  had  got  his  left  foot 
upon  the  nave  of  the  wheel,  Valentine  so 
admirably  imitated  the  sharp  snapping  growl 
of  a  dog  in  the  front  boot,  that  Tooler  started 
back  as  quickly  as  if  he  had  been  shot,  while 
the  gentleman  in  black  dropped  the  reins 
and  almost  jumped  into  the  road. 

"  Good  gracious  !"  exclaimed  the  gentle- 
man in  black,  trembling  with  great  energy  ; 
"  how  wrong,  how  very  horribly  wrong  of 
you,  coachman,  not  to  tell  me  that  a  dog  had 
been  placed  beneath  my  feet." 

"  Blarm  their  carcases  !"  cried  Tooler, 
"  they  never  told  me  a  dog  was  shoved  there. 
Lay  down  !  We'll  soon  have  yow  out  there 
together !" 

"Not  for  the  world!"  cried  the  gentle- 
man in  black,  as  Tooler  approached  the  foot- 
board in  order  to  open  it.  "  Not  for  the 
world  !  un-un-un-unless  you  le-le-let  me  get 


down  first.    I  have  no  desire  to  pe-pe-perish 
of  hydropho-phobia." 

"  Kip  yar  fut  on  the  board  then  sir,  please," 
said  Tooler,  "  we'll  soon  have  the  varmint 
out  o'  that."  So  saying,  he  gathered  up  the 
reins,  remounted  the  box,  and  started  off  the 
horses  again  at  full  gallop. 

The  gentleman  in  black  then  began  to  ex- 
plain to  Tooler  how  utterly  inconceivable 
was  the  number  of  persons  who  had  died 
of  hydrophobia  within  an  almost  unspeak- 
ably short  space  of  time,  in  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  the  residence  of  a  friend  of  his 
in  London  ;  and  just  as  he  had  got  into  the 
marrow  of  a  most  excruciating  description 
of  the  intense  mental  and  physical  agony  of 
which  the  disease  in  its  worst  stage  was 
productive,  both  he  and  Tooler  suddenly 
sprang  back,  with  their  feet  in  the  air,  and 
their  heads  between  the  knees  of  the  pas- 
sengers behind  them,  on  Valentine  giving  a 
loud  growling  snap,  more  bitingly  indica- 
tive of  anger  than  before. 

As  Tooler  had  tightly  hold  of  the  reins 
when  he  made  this  involuntary  spring,  the 
horses  stopped  on  the  instant,  and  allowed 
him  time  to  scramble  up  again  without  ren- 
dering the  slow  process  dangerous. 

"I  cannot,  I-I-I  positively  cannot,"  said 
the  gentleman  in  black,  who  had  been 
thrown  again  into  a  dreadful  state  of  excite- 
ment. "I  cannot  sit  here  —  my  nerves  can- 
not endure  it;  it's  perfectly  shocking." 

"  Blister  their  bowls  !"  exclaimed  Tooler, 
whose  first  impulse  was  to  drag  the  dog  out 
of  the  boot  at  all  hazards,  but  who,  on  see- 
ing the  horses  waiting  in  the  road  a  short 
distance  a-head  for  the  next  stage,  thought 
it  better  to  wait  till  he  had  reached  them. 
"I'll  make  un  remember  this  the  longest 
day  o'  thar  blessed  lives  —  blarm  un  !  Phih  ! 
I'll  let  un  know  when  I  get  back,  I  warrant. 
I'll  larn  un  to ." 

"  Hoa,  coachman  !  hoa!  my  hat's  off!" 
cried  Valentine,  throwing  his  voice  to  the 
back  of  the  coach. 

"Well  may  I  be  phit!"  said  Tooler. 
"  I'll  make  yow  run  back  for't  any  how  — 
phit!" 

In  less  than  a  minute  the  coach  drew  up 
opposite  the  stable,  when  the  gentleman  in 
black  at  once  proceeded  to  alight.  Just, 
however,  as  his  foot  reached  the  plate  of  the 
roller  bolt,  another  growl  from  Valentine 
frightened  him  backwards,  when  falling 
upon  one  of  the  old  horse-keepers,  he  knocked 
him  fairly  down,  and  rolled  over  him  hea- 
vily. 

"  Darng  your  cloomsy  carkus  !"  cried  the 

horse-keeper,  gathering  himself  up,  "  carn't 

you  git  oof  ar  cooarch   aroat  knocking  o' 

\  pipple  darn  1" 

I      "  l-I-I  beg  pardon,"  trembling,  observed 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


the  gentleman  in  black  ;  "  I  hope  I- 
I — ." 

"  Whoap  !  pardon  !"  contemptuously 
echoed  the  horse-keeper  as  he  limped  to- 
wards the  bars  to  unhook  the  leaders' 
traces. 

"  Now  then,  yow  warmint,  let's  see  who 
yow  belong  to,"  said  Tooler,  approaching 
the  rnouth  of  the  boot ;  but  just  as  he  was  in 
the  act  of  raising  the  foot  board,  another 
angry  snap  made  him  close  it  again  with 
the  utmost  rapidity. 

"  Lay  down  !  blarm  your  body  !"  cried 
Tooler,  shrinking  back.  "  Here  yow  Jim, 
kirn  here,  boi,  and  take  this  'ere  devil  of  a 
dog  out  o'  that." 

Jim  approached,  and  the  growling  was 
louder  than  before,  while  the  gentleman  in 
black  implored  Jim  to  take  care  that  the 
animal  didn't  get  hold  of  his  hand. 

"  Here  yow  Harry  !"  shouted  Jim,  "  yare 
nootafeared  o'  doogs  together —  darng  un  / 
doont  like  un." 

Accordingly  Harry  came,  and  then  Sam, 
and  then  Bob,  and  then  Bill,  but  as  the  dog 
could  not  be  seen,  and  as  the  snarling  con- 
tinued, neither  of  them  dared  to  put  his  hand 
in  to  drag  the  monster  forth.  Bob  therefore 
ran  off  for  Tom  Titus  the  blacksmith,  who 
was  known  to  care  for  neither  dog  nor  devil, 
and  in  less  than  two  minutes  Tom  Titus 
arrived  with  about  three  feet  and  a  half  of 
rod  iron  red  hot. 

"Darng  un!"  cried  Tom,  "  this  'ere  '11 
maake  un  quit  together!" 

"  Dear  me !  my  good  man,"  said  the 
gentleman  in  black, "  don't  use  that  unchris- 
tianlike  implement!  don't  put  the  dumb 
thing  to  such  horrible  torture  !" 

"  It  don't  siggerfy  a  button,"  cried  Tooler, 
«'  I  marnt  go  to  stop  here  all  day.  Out  o' 
that  he  must  come." 

Upon  this  Tom  Titus  introduced  his  pro- 
fessional weapon,  and  commenced  poking 
about  with  considerable  energy,  while  the 
snapping  and  growling  increased  with  each 
poke. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  Tom  Titus, 
turning  round  and  wiping  the  sweat  off  his 
brow  with  his  naked  arm,  "  this  herecretur 
here's  stark  raavin  mad." 

•*  I  knew  that  he  was,"  cried  the  gentleman 
in  black,  getting  into  an  empty  wagon 
•which  stood  without  horses  just  out  of  the 
road  ;  "  I  felt  perfectly  sure  that  he  was 
rabid." 

"  II e's  a  bull-terrier  too,"  said  Tom  Titus, 
"I  knows  it  by's  growl.  It's  the  worsest 
and  dargdest  to  goo  maad  as  is." 

"  Well  what  shall  us  do  wi*  th*  war- 
ment  1"  said  Tooler. 

"  Shoot  him  !  shoot  him  !"  cried  the  gen- 
tleman in  black. 


"  O  I've  goot  a  blunderbuss,  Bob  !"  said 
Tom  Titus,  "yow  run  for't  together,  it's 
top  o'  the  forge." 

Bob  started  at  once,  and  Tom  kept  on  the 
bar,  while  Tooler,  Sam,  Harry,  and  Bob 
held  the  heads  of  the  horses. 

"He's  got  un;  all  right!"  cried  Tom 
Titus,  as  Bob  neared  the  coach  with  the 
weapon  on  his  shoulder.  "  Yow'll  bedoon 
for  in  noo  time,"  he  added,  as  he  felt  with 
his  rod  to  ascertain  in  which  corner  of  the 
boot  the  bull-terrier  lay. 

"Is  she  loarded?"  asked  Bob,  as  he 
handed  Tom  Titus  the  instrument  of  death. 

"  Mind  you  make  the  shot  come  out  at 
bottom,"  shouted  Tooler. 

"  I  hool,"  said  Tom  Titus,  putting  the 
weapon  to  his  shoulder.  "  Noo  the  loord 
ha'  marcy  on  yarsool,  as  joodgesays  sizes," 
and  instantly  let  fly. 

The  horses  of  course  plunged  considerably, 
but  still  did  no  mischief;  and  before  the 
smoke  had  evaporated,  Valentine  introduced 
into  the  boot  a  low  melancholy  howl,  which 
convinced  Tom  Titus  that  the  shot  had  taken 
effect. 

"He's  give  oop  the  ghost;  darng  his 
carkus!"  cried  Tom,  as  he  poked  the  dead 
body  into  the  corner. 

"  Well,  let's  have  a  look  at  un,"  said 
Tooler, "  let's  see  what  the  warment  is  like." 

The  gentleman  in  black  at  once  leaped 
out  of  the  wagon,  and  every  one  present 
drew  near,  when  Tom,  guided  by  the  rod 
which  he  had  kept  upon  the  body,  put  his 
hand  into  the  boots,  and  drew  forth  a  fine 
hare  that  had  been  shattered  by  the  shot  all 
to  pieces. 

"  He  arnt  a  bull-tarrier,"  cried  Bob. 

"  But  that  arnt  he,"  said  Tom  Titus. 
"  He's  some'er  aboot  here  as  dead  as  a 
darng'd  nail  :  I  know  he's  a  corpse." 

"Are  yow  sure  on'tl"  asked  Tooler. 

"  There  arnt  any  bairn  dooor  deader," 
cried  Tom.  "  Here,  I'll  lug  um  out  an 
show  yar." 

"  No,  no !"  shouted  Tooler,  as  Tom  pro- 
ceeded to  pull  out  the  luggage.  "  I  marnt 
stay  for  that :  I'm  an  hour  behind  now, 
blarm  un  !  Jimp  up,  genelmen  !" 

Tom  Titus  and  his  companions,  who 
wanted  the  hull-terrier  as  a  trophy,  entreated 
Tooler  to  allow  them  to  have  it,  and  having 
ni  length  gained  his  consent,  Tom  proceeded 
to  empty  the  boot.  Every  eye  was,  of 
course,  directed  to  every  thing  drawn  out, 
and  when  Tom  made  a  solemn  declaration 
that  the  boot  was  empty,  they  were  all,  at 
once,  struck  with  amazement.  Kach  looked 
at  the  other  with  astounding  incredulity,  and 
overhauled  the  luggage  again  and  agnin. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  s;iid  Tooler, 
"  that  there  arnt  nufl'm  else  in  the  bootl" 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


33 


"  Darnged  a  thing!"  cried  Tom  Titus, 
"coom  an  look."  And  Tooler  did  look, 
and  the  gentleman  in  black  looked,  and  Boh 
looked,  and  Harry  looked,  and  Bill  looked, 
and  Sam  looked,  and  all  looked,  but  found 
the  boot  empty. 

"Well,  blarm  me!"  — cried  Tooler  — 
"  But  darng  it  all,  he  must  be  somewhere  !" 

"  I'll  taake  my  solum  davy,"  said  Bill, 
"that he  was  there." 

"I  seed  um  myself,"  exclaimed  Bob, 
"  wi  my  oarn  o}res,  an  didn'tloike  the  looks 
on  um  a  bit." 

"There  cannot,"  said  the  gentleman  in 
black,  "be  the  smallest  possible  doubt 
about  his  having  been  there  ;  but  the  ques- 
sion  for  our  mature  consideration  is,  where 
is  he  now  1" 

"I'll  bet  a  pint,"  said  Harry,  "you 
blowed  um  away." 

"  Blowed  um  away,  you  fool!  —  how 
could  I  ha  blowed  um  away  1"  said  Tom 
Titus  in  tones  of  contempt. 

"  Why  he  was  there,"  said  Bob,  "  and 
he  baint  there  noo,  and  he  baint  here  nayther, 
so  you  must  ha  blowed  um  out  o't  th'  boot : 
sides  look  at  the  muzzle  o'  this  ere  blunder- 
bust!" 

"  Well,  of  all  the  rummest  goes  as  ever 
happened,"  said  Tooler,  thrusting  his  hands 
to  the  very  bottom  of  his  pockets  —  "this 
ere  flogs  'em  all  into  nuffin  !" 

"  It  is  perfectly  astounding  !"  exclaimed 
the  gentleman  in  black,  looking  again  into 
the  boot,  while  the  men  stood  and  stared  at 
each  other  with  their  mouths  as  wide  open 
as  human  mouths  could  be. 

"  Well,  in  wi'  em  agin,"  cried  Tooler. 
"  In  wi'  em  !  —  Blarm  me  if  this  here  arnt 
a  queer  'un  to  get  over." 

The  luggage  was  accordingly  replaced, 
and  Tooler,  on  mounting  the  box,  told  the 
men  to  get  a  gallon  of  beer,  when  the  gentle- 
man in  black  generously  gave  them  half-a- 
crown,  and  the  horses  started  off,  leaving 
Tom  with  his  blunderbuss,  Harry,  Bill, 
Sam,  and  their  companions,  bewildered 
with  the  mystery  which  the  whole  day 
spent  in  the  ale-house  by  no  means  enabled 
them  to  solve. 

Valentine  chuckled  so  desperately  over 
the  success  of  this  scheme,  that  he  dared  not, 
for  fear  of  being  suspected,  commence  an- 
other for  some  considerable  time.  The  ab- 
surd surmises  of  the  puzzled  Tooler,  and 
the  inferences  of  the  gentleman  in  black, 
which  were  scarcely  less  ridiculous,  kept 
him  in  a  perpetual  fever  while  they  met  the 
"  down  coach." 

"  You  leave  us  here,  of  course  !"  observed 
the  gentleman  in  black. 

'•Noo,"  said  Tooler,  "worse  look,  I'm 
agoin  right  through.  I've  made  a  'range- 


ment  wi'  Waddle,  tother  coachman.  He 
wants  to  goo  darn  and  I  wants  to  goo  up. 
It  taint  often  I  do  goo  to  tarn,  but  whens'ever 
I  do,  suffin's  sure  to  be  the  matter.  I've 
got  a  'pointmentat  seven  to  goo  wi'  moi  gals 
to  the  play  an  noo  you  see,  blarm  it  —  phit ! 
phit !  —  I'm  a  cupple  o'  hours  behind." 

"  Hallo,  my  cherry  bounce !"  shouted 
Waddle,  as  he  and  Tooler  pulled  up. 
"  What's  the  natur  o'the  game  now  ?  Here 
a  matter  o'  sixteen  mile  out!" — Tooler 
shook  his  head  thoughtfully.  "A  spill  my 
old  wegitable  ?  —  Anything  broke  1"  —  con- 
tinued Waddle  —  "Any  haccidentl" 

"About  the  rummest  go,"  replied  Tooler, 
"as  yow  ever  had  any  notion  on  yet.  But 
I  marnt  stop  noo.  I'll  tell  yow  ool  about  it 
to-morrow  —  phit !  phit !" 

"  Well,  ta  ta,  my  turnip  !"  observed  Mr. 
Waddle,  and  away  the  coaches  rattled  in 
opposite  directions,  Tooler  lashing  his  lead- 
ers with  unparalleled  severity. 

Valentine,  having  regained  full  command 
over  his  muscles,  and  perceiving  that  Tool- 
er's  nerves  were  so  perfectly  unstrung,  that 
the  slightest  thing  would  seriously  annoy 
him,  now  began  to  indulge  in  his  favourite 
imitations  of  a  fretful  child,  upon  the  exact- 
ness of  which  he  prided  himself  especially. 
He  sobbed,  and  squalled,  and  coughed,  and 
hooped,  and  strained,  and  held  his  breath, 
and  then  struggling  convulsively  with  his 
voice  again,  with  all  the  vehemence  of  which 
he  was  capable,  while  Tooler  was  whipping, 
and  shuffling,  and  fretting  himself  into  a 
fever  of  excitement. 

"  Blarm  that  'ere  child  !"  exclaimed 
Tooler  looking  round,  "  If  yow'd  keep  that 
ere  little  un  o'  yourn  quiet,  marm,  I'd  thank 
yar."  Valentine,  however,  still  continued 
to  persevere  in  his  interesting  imitations 
until  Tooler,  having  worked  himself  up  to 
such  a  pitch  of  excitement,  that  he  could 
scarcely  hold  the  reins,  shouted  angrily, 
"  Marm  !  yow  must  keep  that  'ere  child  o' 
yourn  a  leetle  matter  still.  My  horses 
carnt  stand  it :  they  carntget  along.  Phit ! 
Darng  me,  if  it  beant  enow  to  drive  a  man 
mad  !" 

"I  dare  say  it's  after  its  teeth,  poor 
thing  !"  observed  the  gentleman  in  black. 

"It's  teeath !"  cried  Tooler,  "It  ony 
wants  the  breast.  Jist  listen  to  it !  Blarm 
my  body." 

"I  can't  keep  it  quiet!"  cried  Valentine, 
assuming  the  voice  of  a  female.  "It  arnt 
o'  no  use  :  I  must  throw  it  away,"  and  he 
immediately  uttered  a  piercing  shriek,  and 
exclaimed,  "The  child,  the  child!  —  the 
child's  off !" 

Tooler,  of  course,  stopped  on  the  instant, 
and  having  given  the  reins  to  the  gentleman 
in  black,  got  down  with  the  view  of  rescuing 


34 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


the  infant  from  its  perilous  position,  and  of 
pointing  out  to  its  mother  in  terms  of  just 
indignation  the  extreme  inhumanity  of  her 
conduct. 

"  Where  is  it,  yow  baggage ;"  cried 
Tooler,  looking  anxiously  along  the  road. 

"  Ha  yow  drapped  onythin  cooarchmanl" 
inquired  a  countryman,  sitting  behind. 

•*  Drapped  any  thin  1"  angrily  echoed  Tool- 
er. "  Where,  where  is  the  child  ]" 

"  Woot  choild  ?"  inquired  the  country- 
man. 

"Why  that  wumman's  child  asshejist 
throw'd  away  !"  shouted  Tooler. 

"  We  arnt  had  noo  choild  here,"  said  the 
countryman  —  a  fact  to  which  all  who  sat 
behind  bore  instant  testimony. 

"What!"  exclaimed  Tooler,  "do  yow 
mean  to  say  1  do  yow  mean  to  tell  me  yon 
beant  had  a  child  there  that's  been  cryin'  the 
last  hour,  an'  puttin'  my  horses  into  this 
eredarng'd  sweat  1" 

"I  tell  yow,"  replied  the  countryman, 
"we  arnt  had  no  choild;  we  arnt  seen 
nuffin  like  a  choild  here." 

"  Well,  may  I  be  darngd  !"  exclaimed 
Tooler,  scratching  his  head  very  violently, 
and  swinging  his  right  arm  with  great  force 
through  the  air.  "  This  beats  all  as  I  ever 
did  hear  on  afore.  It  doant  siggerfy 
tawking,"  added  he,  on  remounting  the  box; 
"the  devil's  aither  an  inside  or  an  outside 
passenger.  I've  got  'un,  to-day,  sure 
enow."  And  Tooler  drew  out  his  way-bill 
•with  the  view  of  ascertaining  which  was 
likely  to  be  his  Satanic  Majesty  incog., 
•while  the  gentleman  in  black,  the  three 
passengers  who  sat  on  the  same  seat  with 
Valentine,  and  Valentine  himself,  were 
expressing  to  each  other  their  utter  aston- 
ishment at  the  extraordinary  character  of 
the  occurrence,  with  great  eloquence  and 
warmth. 

"  That's  it !  —  I  have  it !"  said  Tooler  to 
himself  as  a  countrywoman  passed  with  a 
basket  on  her  arm.  "She  said  so — she 
said  she  would.  Blarm  her  old  body  !" 

It  was  easy  to  perceive  that  at  that  moment 
something  had  flitted  across  Tooler's  mind, 
which  had  proved  to  him  a  source  of  fresh 
annoyance,  for  he  appeared  to  be  in  a  state 
of  extreme  agitation,  and  continued  to  be 
BO,  muttering  short,  and  bitter  sentences, 
scratching,  his  head,  striking  the  crown  of 
his  hat,  and  violently  grinding  his  teeth, 
until  he  arrived  at  the  end  of  the  stage,  when 
he  ran  into  the  stable  with  breathless  haste, 
and  returned  before  a  second  idea  of  his 
object  could  be  conceived,  with  a  box  of 
tools  in  one  hand  and  a  horse-shoe  in  the 
other. 

'•  Hold  hard  a  bit,  Bill/'  said  he,  kneeling 
upon  the  pole  and  nailing  the  horse-shoe  to 


the  foot-board.  "There!  now  do  your 
worst !  Blarm  yar  carkus  !  I  defy  yar !" 
While  horses  were  being  put  in,  Tooler 
shook  his  head  most  triumphantly  and 
smiled  at  the  horse-shoe  with  intense 
satisfaction. 

"  What,  in  the  name  of  goodness,"  said 
the  gentleman  in  black,  when  Tooler  had 
re-mounted,  **  have  you  nailed  to  the  foot- 
board 1" 

"  Hold  hard  !  Phih  !  a  horse-shoe  !"  cried 
Tooler ;  "  The  cooarch  is  bewitched,  sir !  — 
least  ways  it  was,-  but  I've  cured  it  now  — 
that's  a  settler!" 

"Awful!"  exclaimed  the  gentleman  in 
black,  with  due  solemnity.  "  How  can  you, 
coachman,  entertain  so  impious  a  thought?" 

"I  know  it!"  said  Tooler,  "that  wum- 
man  as  we  passed  with  a  basket  then 
brought  it  to  my  mind.  She's,  for  all  the 
world,  like  her." 

"  Like  whom  ?"  inquired  the  gentleman 
in  black. 

"  Why,  like  the  witch  !"  replied  Tooler. 
"  I'll  tell  yow  ool  about  it.  T'other  day, 
when  I  wor  comin'  along  the  rooard,  I  seed 
this  'ere  warmint  a  settin  on  the  path,  with 
a  basket  by  her  side.  Young  Harry,  the 
nevy  of  our  proprietor,  was  on  the  box  wi' 
me,  and  so  says  he,  Tooler,  says  he,  I'll  bet 
yow  a  crown  bowl  o'  punch,  yow  doant 
hook  that  'ere  basket  up  here.  Done,  says 
I.  It's  a  bet,  says  he,  done.  So  I  makes 
my  whip  ready,  and  jist  as  we  come  along 
side  o'the  warmint,  1  winds  it  round  the 
handle  of  the  basket,  and,  sartin  enough, 
up  it  cornes,  when  Harry  catches  it  jist  by 
the  middle  o'the  handle,  and  I  s'pose  it 
mought  ha'  had  in  a  cnpple  o'score  of  eggs, 
wi'  the  yolks  of  which,  in  course,  we  was 
smothered.  Well,  I  pulls  up  at  once,  for  I 
couldn't  see  my  horses  nntil  I  wiped  some 
on  it  off;  and  while  Harry  and  me  was 
laughing  at  aich  other,  fit  to  split,  up  comes 
the  old  warment,  and,  praps,  she  didn't  go 
it  a  good  un  !  Well,  as  soon  as  I  could  get 
through  the  mess,  to  my  pocket,  I  dropped 
her  half-a-crown,  and  Harry  dropped  her 
another  ;  but  even  this  didn't  satisfy  the 
nasty  old  frump ;  she  wanted  them  'ere 
eggs,  pitickler,  it  seemed,  and  no  others 
would  do;  and  she  swore  that  I  should  rue 
the  day  1  broke  'em.  So  says  Harry  ;  Do 
yow  know  who  she  is  1  Noo,  says  I,  I 
carnt  say  as  I  do.  Why,  says  he,  that's  the 
famous  old  witch  !  The  devil  it  is,  says  I, 
and  so  it  was ;  and  this  is  the  way  she's 
been  a  sarvin'  me  out.  But  I've  fixed  her 
wi'  the  horse-shoe,  there,  darng  her  old 
carkus,  she  carnt  do  no  more  mischief  now." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that  ?  Beware  !"  said 
Valentine,  in  an  awfully  hollow  whisper, 
sufficiently  loud  only  to  reach  Toolcr's  ear. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


35 


Tooler  trembled  for  an  instant;  but  his 
faith  in  the  virtue  of  the  horse-shoe  being 
fixed,  he  soon  regained  his  self-possession, 
and,  giving  his  head  a  knowing  devil-may- 
care  twist,  sat  firmly  in  his  seat,  fully 
determined  to  take  no  heed  of  any  thing 
that  might  threaten. 

"  Hoa  !  coarchman  !"  exclaimed  one  of 
the  passengers  at  this  moment ;  "  only  look 
at  this  wheel !" 

Tooler  sat  like  a  statue.  He  did  not 
deign  to  move  a  muscle. 

"Coarchman!  coarchman!"  shouted  the 
countryman  who  was  sitting  behind  ; 
"  lookee  how  this  off-wheel's  a  waddling  !" 

"  Blarm  un  !"  cried  Tooler,  "  let  un 
waddle  !  Phit  !  Phit !"  and  away  went  the 
horses  down  the  hill ;  but  in  an  instant 


the  coach  coming  in  contact  with  the  jutting 
bank,  turned  over  and  deposited  him  and  the 
passengers  upon  a  newly  formed  bed  of 
manure. 

Witchcraft  was,  in  Tooler's  view,  again 
triumphant.  His  faith  in  the  efficacy  of 
horse-shoes  vanished.  He  felt  himself 
perfectly  beaten,  and,  therefore,  after  having, 
with  considerable  difficulty,  managed  to  get 
his  insides  out,  he  left  his  horses,  coach, 
and  luggage  in  the  care  of  the  persons  who 
had  fortunately  witnessed  the  accident,  and 
waddled  with  the  fragments  of  the  whip  in 
his  hand  towards  a  road-side  inn  a  few 
hundred  yards  distant.  On  reaching  the 
house,  of  course,  a  thousand  questions  were 
asked  in  a  breath  :  not  one  of  them,  however, 
did  Tooler  deign  to  answer.  He  threw 


Tooler  saw  the  wheel  whizzing  a-head,  at  himself  carelessly  into  a  large   arm-chair, 
the  rate  of  full  thirty  miles  an  hour.  and,  declaring  that  he  would  not  drive  that 

"Lean  all  to  the  left!"  shouted  Tooler,  'day  another  step,  drank  with  infinite  gusto, 
and  the  passengers  obeyed  him,  but  he  also  in  a  rummer  of  raw  brandy,  "Eternal 
pulled  the  horses  to  the  left  so  violently  that :  perdition  to  the  witch  !" 


CHAPTER  VI. 


PECULIAR  LIBERALITY  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN  IN  BLACK. THE  GREEN-EYED  MONSTER  PREVENTS 

THE  PERFORMANCE  OF  A  MOST  DISINTERESTED  ACT  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


UPON  a  man  unused  to  profound  thinking, 
profound  thought  has  a  peculiarly  somni- 
ferous effect.  No  sooner  does  he  get  below 
the  surface  than  he  falls  fast  asleep,  and 
although  he  dreams  of  his  subject  with 
unspeakable  zeal,  draws  conclusions  from 
his  premises,  solves  collateral  problems, 
establishes  positions,  and  carries  his  designs 
into  imaginary  execution,  his  mind,  when 
he  awakes,  leaps  back  over  the  interesting 
interregnum,  and  begins  to  toil  again  at  the 
point  from  which' it  started. 

Such  had  been  the  workings  of  Tooler's 
vivid  imagination,  and  such  was  precisely 
his  position  when  awakened  by  the  arrival 
of  the  passengers  at  the  Inn.  Having  pro- 
posed with  great  feeling,  and  drank  with 
due  sincerity,  "Eternal  perdition  to  the 
Witch,"  he  fell  at  once  into  a  train  of  deep 
thought  which,  as  a  natural  consequence, 
induced  deep  sleep,  in  which  he  saw  and 
held  a  visionary  conversation  with  the  hag 
whose  unhallowed  influence  he  was  just  on 
the  point  of  overthrowing,  when  the  passen- 
gers entered  the  well-warmed  parlour"  in 
which  he  was  snoring  aloud. 

"  We've  got  un  to  roights,"  said  John 
Brown,  the  landlord,  who  headed  the  group, 
"we've  got  un  up  again,  Sir .'"  continued 
he  in  a  much  louder  tone,  shaking  Tooler 


with  what  in  any  ordinary  case  might  have 
been  deemed  most  unnecessary  violence. 

Tooler  unconsciously  nodded  an  acknow- 
ledgment, and  began  to  snore  again  just  as 
loudly  as  before. 

"  Come  coachman,  come,  come  my  good 
man,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black  ;  but  he 
could  make  no  impression  upon  Tooler  at 
all.  At  length,  however,  by  virtue  of  bawl- 
ing, tickling,  and  shaking,  John  Brown 
succeeded  in  causing  him  to  open  his  eyes, 
which  he  at  once  commenced  rubbing  with 
great  desperation. 

"Now,  Sir!"  said  John  Brown,  "It's 
all  roight !" 

"  O  —  ah  !"  observed  Tooler. 

"We've  got  on  the  wheel,  and  all's 
ready,"  continued  John  Brown. 

"Ah  —  yes  —  jis  so — well,"  remarked 
Tooler  at  intervals,  "  anythin'  brook  1" 

"Nothin  ;  couldn't  ha'  split  on  a  softerer 
place." 

"  Well,  that's  a  blessing  anyhow  !"  said 
Tooler.  "  Is  the  cooarch  locked  up  safe  ?" 

"  Locked  oop !"  cried  John  Brown,  "  noo ! 
she's  standin'  at  the  door  here  all  ready  to 
start." 

"  I  shaunt  stor  another  step  this  blessed 
night  if  I  know  it,"  said  Tooler,  taking  his 
hat  off  and  dashing  it  to  the  ground  with  the 


36 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


air  of  one  whose  mind,  having  been  once 
made  up,  possessed  the  quality  of  being  im- 
mutable. 

"  What !"  exclaimed  the  gentleman  in 
black, — "  but,  no,  no  ;  you  are  jesting." 

In  order  to  prove  that  nothing  bearing 
even  the  semblance  of  a  jest  was  intended, 
Tooler  proceeded  to  pull  off  his  shawl  and 
box-coat,  while  the  passengers  exchanged 
looks  of  utter  amazement. 

**  My  good  man,"  continued  the  gentle- 
man in  black,  you  surely  do  not  mean  to 
remain  here  1  come,  come,  let  us  start." 

"  Here  I  am,  and  here  1  sticks,"  said 
Tooler  firmly  ;  and  after  shaking  his  head, 
he  unbuttoned  his  boot-straps — a  process 
which  caused  the  antique  tops,  which  were 
as  large  as  a  pair  of  moderate-sized  chim- 
ney-pots, to  fall  upon  his  insteps  sans  cere- 
monie. 

44 1  will  not  believe  it,"  said  the  gentle- 
man in  black,  "  I  cannot  believe  that  you 
are  serious  ;  come,  come,  coachman,  come  !" 

44  It  doant  siggerfy  tawkin'  a  button," 
cried  Tooler,  "  we  carn't  get  to  Tarn  noo 
to-night.  'Sides,  if  I  was  to  break  the  wind 
of  all  my  horses,  I  shouldn't  be  up  afore 
twelve  o'clock  now,  and  what  is  the  use 
o'thatl" 

"  Yow'd  be  able  to  do  it  by  ten,"  said 
John  Brown. 

"And  what's  the  use  o'  ten  1"  inquired 
Tooler  indignantly.  "  What's  the  use  o' 
ten,  when  I  ought  to  ha'  bin  in  at  six  1" 

"  I  am  a  man  of  few  words,"  said  the 
gentleman  in  black,  "a  man  of  very  few 
words  ;  and  I  beg  you  to  understand  that 
what  I  say  I  fully  mean.  I  must  be  in  Lon- 
don to-night,  and  therefore,  if  you  are  re- 
solved on  remaining  here,  I  will  post  up  to 
town,  and  make  you  or  your  proprietors  bear 


the  expense." 

Having    tremblingly 


delivered    himself 


thus,  the  gentleman  in  black  turned  exceed- 
ingly white,  and  as  he  prepared  to  leave  the 
room  with  the  view  of  making  certain  ne- 
cessary inquiries,  Valentine,  assuming  his 
voice,  ordered  seven  large  glasses  of  brandy- 
and-water,  and  rump-steaks  and  onions  for 
nine. 

No  sooner  was  this  order  given,  than  the 
whole  of  the  domestic  establishment  of  John 
Brown  was  in  an  uproar.  Dan  was  sent  out 
for  the  steaks ;  Mary  was  told  to  peel  the 
onions ;  Roger  was  directed  to  wipe  the  bars 
of  the  gridiron,  and  Sally  was  ordered  to 
make  the  fire  clear  with  salt,  while  the 
hostess  herself  mixed  the  brandy-and-water, 
and  scolded  all  about  her  with  due  bitterness 
and  force. 

While  these  preparations  were  making 


not  a  single  posting  house  within  seven 
miles  of  the  place.  He,  therefore,  deemed 
it  expedient  to  alter  his  tone,  and  having 
decided  upon  certain  persuasive  arguments, 
which  he  felt  were  too  potent  to  fail,  lie 
returned  to  employ  them  as  the  hostess  en- 
tered the  parlour  with  the  brandy-and-water 
on  her  best  japanned  tray. 

"  Now,  coachman,"  said  he,  "  my  dear 
man,  do  consider  the  inconvenience  of  which 
this  delay  will  be  productive."  ' 

"  It's  o'  no  use,"  said  Tooler,  "  it's  o'  no 
sort  o'  use.  I  carn't  move  from  this  ere 
blessed  spot.  It's  unpossible.  I  arn't  no 
more  power  over  them  are  four  horses  than 
a  babby.  I  carn't  drive,  and  now  yow've 
the  long  and  the  short  on't." 

"  O  !  for  that  matter,"  cried  Brown,  "  as 
I  never  am  backard  in  coming  forard  to  sarve 
a  friend,  I'll  drive  for  yar." 

"  You're  a  /oo//"  observed  the  hostess, 
in  an  audible  whisper,  at  the  same  time 
tugging  with  great  violence  at  John  Brown's 
coat-tails,  and  giving  him  certain  significant 
sidelong  glances  of  great  import,  as  affecting 
his  conjugal  peace.  John  Brown,  however, 
still  persevered  in  expressing  the  pleasure 
he  should  derive  from  the  performance  of 
this  act  of  disinterested  friendship;  for 
although  he  in  general  held  the  hints  of  his 
spouse  in  high  respect,  and  understood  that 
in  this  particular  instance  she  was  actuated 
by  a  desire  to  make  the  most  of  the  party, 
one  of  whom  had  been  so  liberal  in  his 
orders  at  the  commencement,  he  regarded  it 
as  being  by  no  means  improbable  that  Tooler 
would  be  in  consequence  discharged,  and 
that  he  would  be  put  upon  the  coach  as  his 
successor,  which  happened  to  be  precisely 
what  for  several  years  he  had  been  con- 
stantly on  the  look-out  for. 

44  But  do  you  think  sariously,"  said  Tooler, 
after  a  pause,  "  that  yovv'd  be  able  to  get 
up  by  twelve?" 

44  By  twelve  .'"  cried  John  Brown.  44If 
1  don't  get  in  afore  the  clock  strikes  ten,  I'll 
be  bound  to  be  pisoned.  Ony  jist  say  the 
word,  and  whiles  the  ladies  and  gentlemen 
is  a  having  their  snack,  I'll  be  makin'  myself 
a  leetle  matter  tidy." 

44 Come,  my  good  man;  you'll  agree  to 
it,  will  you  not — come  ?"  said  the  gentleman 
in  black,  in  a  tone  irresistibly  persuasive. 

44  Well,  well,"  said  Tooler,  with  evident 
reluctance,  '4  have  it  as  yow  like  ;"  and  he 
proceeded  to  button  up  his  boot-tops  a<r;iin, 
while  Mary  was  carefully  laying  the  cloth. 

The  grand  point  being  at  length  settled, 
John  Brown  left  the  room,  and  the  hostess, 
assisted  by  her  handmaid*  in  ( -Iran  whim 
aprons,  placed  the  rump-steaks  and  onions 


the  gentleman  in  black   ascertained,  to  his    upon  the  table. 

unspeakable  mortification,  that  there  was!     "  Now  if  you  please,  sir,"  said  the  hostess, 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


37 


bestowing  one  of  her  blandest  smiles  upon 
the  gentleman  in  black,  as  she  gracefully 
placed  a  chair  for  him  at  the  head  of  the 
table.  "  Do'ee  eat  it  while  it's  hot:  there's 
some  more  inguns  doin." 

«'  Not  any  for  me,  1  thank  you,"  said  that 
gentleman  with  great  politeness.  "  I  have 
not  the  smallest  appetite,  I'll  take  a  glass  of 
sherry  and  a  biscuit." 

"  Oh  !  do'ee  eat  a  Jeetle,"  urged  the  fas- 
cinating hostess.  "  It's  done  very  beautiful. 
Look'ee !"  added  the  tempter,  as  she  took 
off  the  cover,  and  displayed  a  fine  steak 
garnished  with  onions,  the  sight  of  which  at 
once  drew  the  rest  of  the  passengers  towards 
the  table. 

44  Do  have  a  bit  with  us  sir,  do  !"  cried 
the  passengers  in  a  chorus.  "  We  shall 
not  enjoy  it  half  so  much  without  you." 

44  Why  not,  my  good  people  ]"  inquired 
the  pastor. 

*4  Cause,"  replied  the  hostess,  44you  was 
kind  enow  to  order  it!" 

"  I*  mv  g°ocl  woman  !"  exclaimed  the 
astonished  gentleman,  peering  over  his 
spectacles  with  a  look  of  amazement.  4'  I 
ordered,  II" 

44  In  course,  sir,  you  did,"  replied  the  hos- 
tess, as  the  pleasing  expression  of  her  coun- 
tenance vanished. 

44  Dear  me!  my  good  woman,"  rejoined 
the  pastor, 44  you  must  have  been  dreaming." 

44 1  'peal  to  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  pre- 
sent," said  the  hostess, 44  whether  you  didn't 
order  seven  glasses  o'  brandy-and-water,  and 
rump-steaks  and  inguns  for  nine." 

44  Oh  that's  right  enough,"  said  one  of  the 
passengers,  "that  wor  the  order  ersackly, 
you  doan't  mean  to  go  for  to  say  as  how  it 
wasn't,  sir,  do  yerl" 

44  Upon  my  honour,  my  good  people,"  re- 
turned the  pastor  ;  44  believe  me,  you  were 
never  more  mistaken  in  your  lives." 

44  Not  a  bit  on't,"  observed  Tooler,  44 1 
heerd  yow  myself." 

44  God  bless  my  soul  !  Impossible  !  im- 
possible !"  cried  the  pastor,  as  he  strove  with 
great  energy  of  mind  to  ascertain  what  sen- 
tence in  the  English  language,  bore  the 
slightest  resemblance  in  point  of  sound  to 
44  seven  glasses  of  brandy-and-water,  and 
rump-steaks  and  onions  for  nine." 

44  Well,  whether  or  no,"  observed  the 
hostess,  4'  there's  what  was  ordered,  and  1 
'spects  to  be  paid  for  it  at  all  events." 

44  Come,"  said  the  farmer,  who  had  occu- 
pied a  seat  at  the  back  of  the  coach,  44  let's 
tackle  it  together,  for  I  feel  raylher  peck- 
ish," and  he  and  Valentine  with  two  other 
passengers  commenced  ;  the  rest  modestly 
keeping  aloof  from  the  table,  lest  payment 
should  be  demanded  of  them  respectively  as 
a  social  matter  of  course. 


44  Yow  may  as  well  just  have  a  mouthful 
as  not,"  said  the  farmer, 44  sin'  yow  do  mean 
to  p-ay  all  the  same  !" 

"  Really,"  observed  the  gentleman  in 
black,  "I  am  unconscious  of  having  made 
such  an  arrangement." 

44  Well,  well,"  said  Valentine,  in  his 
natural  voice;  4*  suppose  we  compromise 
the  matter,  as  there  appears  to  be  some  slight 
misunderstanding  on  the  subject :  yon  settle 
for  the  steaks,  and  I'll  pay  for  the  brandy- 
and-water." 

44  Well,  coom,  that's  handsome  !"  cried 
the  farmer,  44  and  to  show  that  I  doon't  want 
to  shirk  from  my  share,  why  I'll  be  a  couple 
o' bottles  o'  wine,  —  coom,  what  say  yow 
noo?" 

44 1  cannot,  under  the  circumstances,  of 
course  object  to  join  you,"  replied  the  puz- 
zled pastor;  "but  I  must  be  permitted  to 
say  that  those  circumstances  are  in  my  judg- 
ment perfectly  inexplicable  :  I  never  in  any 
case  like  to  be  positive  ;  I  know  that  human 
nature  is  but  human  nature,  and  therefore 
cannot  pretend  to  claim  entire  exemption 
from  those  weaknesses  which  form  its  distin- 
guishing characteristics :  I  may  be  mistaken  : 
I  confess  that  I  may  ;  but  1  nevertheless 
hold  it  to  be  utterly  impossible  for  any  man 
to  give  such  an  order  as  that  without  know- 
ing it." 

44  Oh  !  'pun  my  loife,"  said  the  farmer, 
44  it's  a  postyve  fact." 

"Of  course  I'll  not  presume  to  dispute 
it,"  returned  the  pastor,  whose  scepticism, 
on  the  point  still  developed  itself  strongly. 
44  All  I  can  say  is,  that  I  am  totally  oblivious 
of  the  circumstances;  but  if  I  did  give  the 
order,  I  bow  to  your  decision." 

No  sooner  had  this  arrangement  been 
completed,  than  the  passengers  who  had 
before  kept  so  modestly  aloof,  lost  the  whole 
of  their  interesting  diffidence.  They  made 
themselves  perfectly  at  home,  and  drew 
at  once  towards  the  table,  at  the  head  of 
which,  of  course,  set  the  gentleman  in 
black,  who  appeared  to  have  borrowed,  for 
that  particular  occasion,  the  well-trained 
appetite  of  an  untamed  elephant.  As  all 
social  distinctions  were,  for  the  time  being 
levelled,  Tooler  was  invited  to  join  them  ; 
but  although  he  tried  with  zeal  to  compete 
with  the  rest,  his  gastronomic  powers 
entirely  deserted  him.  He  ate  scarcely  any 
thing,  albeit  the  dish  before  him  was  one 
which  on  ordinary  occasions  he  especially 
favoured.  He  experienced,  however,  no 
difficulty  in  drinking.  Of  the  wine  and 
brandy-and-water  he  partook  freely,  with  the 
view  of  drowning  the  unhallowed  influence 
of  the  witch  ;  but  the  more  deeply  he  drank, 
the  more  strongly  did  he  feel,  that  that 
influence  was  still  in  the  ascendant. 


38 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


As  soon  as  John  Brown  found  the  party 
had  ordered  all  the  spirits  and  wine  they 
were  likely  to  order,  he  entered  the  room  to 
announce  the  fact  of  his  being  ready,  and  to 
explain  the  expediency  of  an  immediate 
start.  The  bill  was  consequently  called  for 
on  the  instant,  when  the  amount  was  di- 
vided as  per  agreement,  and  paid,  and  the 
passengers  prepared  for  the  completion  of 
their  journey. 

The  moment,  however,  John  entered  the 
room,  Valentine  was  led  to  suspect  that  he 
had  some  unfriendly  design  upon  Tooler. 
He  therefore  watched  him  narrowly,  and  as 
his  searching  eye  quickly  discovered  suf- 
ficient to  confirm  his  suspicion,  he  resolved 
on  thwarting  the  objectof  Mr.  John  Brown,  by 
causing  him  to  abandon  his  intention  of 
performing  the  act  of  disinterested  friend- 
ship proposed. 

Accordingly,  Valentine  at  once  left  the 
room,  with  the  view  of  ascertaining  what 
means  were  available ;  and  as  he  saw  the 
hostess  standing  with  a  butcher  in  the  bar, 
whose  conversation  touched  the  toughness 
of  a  certain  leg  of  mutton,  he  awaited  in  the 
passage  the  arrival  of  John  Brown.  He  had 
scarcely,  however,  decided  the  course  to  be 
pursued,  when  John  made  his  appearance 
whip  in  hand.  Valentine  saw  that  no  time 
was  to  be  lost,  and  therefore,  assuming  the 
voice  of  the  hostess,  whispered  loud  enough 
to  leach  John's  ear :  «*  Go  now,  my  love, 
go;  and  return  by-and-bye :  you  have 
nothing  to  fear:  John  will  not  be  back  to- 
night!" 

*'  Indeed  !"  murmured  John,  starting  back 
at  the  sound  of  an  affectionate  kiss  with 
which  Valentine  concluded.  "Indeed!" 
he  repeated,  and  bit  his  lips  violently  and 
breathed  with  vehemence,  as  the  group  in 
the  back  ground  pressed  him  towards  the 
door,  and  thus  forced  him  to  see  the  pride 
of  his  heart  and  home  in  conversation  with 
one  who  happened  to  be  the  identical 
butcher  upon  whom  he  had  long  looked  with 
a  peculiarly  jealous  eye. 

Valentine  now  felt  that  he  had  struck  the 
right  chord,  for  the  complexion  of  John 
turned  as  pale  as  it  could  turn  —  that  is  to 
say,  it  turned  to  a  pale  Prussian  blue,  as  the 
nearest  approach  to  whiteness  of  which 
it  was  capable,  while  his  huge  teeth  rattled 
like  a  pair  of  castanets,  and  indeed  his 
whole  frame  shook  convulsively  with  pas- 


sion pent  up.  Contrary,  however,  to  the 
expectation  of  Valentine,  John,  after  turn- 
ing in  the  direction  of  the  bar,  his  flashing 
eyes,  which  appeared  to  pierce  the  wooden 
partition  with  more  facility  than  could  a 
pair  of  the  brightest  girnblets,  conjured 
up  all  his  courage,  and  mounted  the  box. 
The  start  was  a  false  one,  for  he  dropped 
one  of  the  reins  and  his  whip  at  the  same 
time.  This,  however,  was  soon  remedied  ; 
but  they  had  not  proceeded  far,  before  the 
attention  of  Tooler  was  drawn  to  the  excited 
state  of  John's  nerves. 

"  A'n't  yow  been  havin'  a  drop  o'  suffin 
extra  ?"  inquired  Tooler,  as  they  rolled  from 
side  to  side. 

"Not  a  drain!"  replied  John;  and  the 
coach  gave  another  lunge.  "But  the  fact 
of  the  matter's  this,"  continued  he,  looking 
round  to  ascertain  if  they  could  be  seen  from 
his  once  happy  home  —  "  the  fact  is,  I  feels 
so  uncommon  poorly,  that  I'm  afeered  I 
shan't  be  able  to  go  much  furder  arter  all.*' 

"  Well  give  me  the  ribbons,  then,"  said 
Tooler,  who,  feeling  somewhat  better,  began 
to  be  ashamed  of  his  inactive  position.  "  I 
can  manage,  I  des  say.  Do  yow  go  back  — 
I'm  obleedged  to  yer,  you  know,  all  the 
same." 

"  Well,  if  you  think  you  can  drive," 
observed  John. 

"  Why,"  interrupted  Tooler,  whose  pro- 
fessional pride  had  been  touched  by  that 
remark,  "  if  I  can't  do  it  better  than  that,  I 
can't  do  it  at  all  !" 

This  was  enough  for  John  Brown.  He  pull- 
ed up  on  an  instant;  and  after  apologising  for 
his  inability  to  perform  his  promise,  alight- 
ed, with  the  view  of  acquiring  that  know- 
ledge which  would  most  grieve  his  heart, 
and  of  disturbing  the  development  of  the 
assumed  illicit  loves  of  his  amiable  spouse* 
and  the  cold-blooded  butcher. 

The  moment,  however,  Tooler  regained 
possession  of  the  reins,  the  dreaded  influence 
of  the  witch  regained  possession  of  his  soul ; 
but  Valentine,  who  had  removed  to  the 
vacant  seat  on  the  box,  did  all  in  his  power 
to  cheer  him,  and,  as  he  firmly  resolved 
to  annoy  him  no  more,  he  succeeded,  after 
an  infinite  deal  of  persuasion,  in  inspiring 
him  with  the  belief  of  its  being  an  immuta- 
ble ordinance  of  Nature,  that  the  power  of 
no  witch  should  extend  beyond  the  radius  of 
forty  miles. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


39 


CHAPTER  VII. 

INTRODUCES     GREAT-UNCLE    JOHN'S    FRIEND    AND     HIS    AFFECTIONATE     RELATIVES,    WITH    A 
KNIGHT  OF  A  NEW  ORDER,  TWO  INVISIBLE  BURGLARS,  AND  ONE  MOST  REMARKABLE  SWEEP. 


MR.  GRIMWOOD  GOODMAN,  Great-Uncle 
John's  friend,  to  whom  Valentine  had  been 
consigned,  was  a  gentleman  possessed  of 
some  considerable  wealth,  derived  chiefly 
from  a  series  of  successful  speculations  in 
sperm  oil.  He  was  remarkably  thin  — 
so  thin,  indeed,  that  his  heart  beat  against 
his  bare  ribs  with  an  energy  which  alone 
might  have  caused  it  to  be  discovered  that 
that  organ  is  more  insensible  to  feeling  than 
to  sight.  If,  however,  the  heart  of  Goodman 
•was  —  like  the  hearts  of  men  in  the  aggre- 
gate —  physically  insensible,  morally  it 
was  by  far  the  most  sensible  of  all  the 
organs  he  possessed.  A  tear  touched  it 
acutely  ;  a  tale  of  distress  at  once  caused  it 
to  open  :  indeed,  sorrow  in  any  shape  had 
but  to  approach,  to  find  itself  surrounded  by 
feelings  of  benevolence,  which  caused  it  to 
dry  up  its  natural  tears,  and  to  shed  those 
only  of  gratitude  and  joy. 

In  stature,  Grimwood  Goodman — although 
he  boasted  with  pride  of  having  stood  full 
six  feet  without  his  shoes  when  a  private  in 
the  Loyal  Volunteers —  was,  at  the  time  of 
which  we  write,  about  five  feet  eight.  He 
would  never  allow  that  he  had  sunk  so  many 
inches  ;  but  he  could  not  have  been  more, 
for  he  was  able  to  walk  under  the  six  feet 
standard  with  his  military  cap  on  without 
moving  a  hair.  He  had  never  been  married. 
His  relatives  —  the  only  relatives  of  whom 
he  happened  to  have  any  knowledge,  to  wit, 
a  brother,  a  nephew,  and  their  wives  —  had 
disinterestedly  taken  especial  care  of  that, 
for  in  order  that  the  idea  of  marrying  might 
be  effectually  banished  from  his  mind,  he 
never  visited  them,  nor  did  they  ever  visit 
him,  without  the  occurrence  of  those  inter- 
esting family  broils  with  which  the  matri- 
monial state  is  occasionally  enlivened.  Not 
that  his  brother  and  nephew  lived  unhappily 
with  those  whom  they  had  respectively 
pledged  themselves  to  love  and  cherish: 
on  the  contrary,  they  enjoyed  a  greater  share 
of  domestic  comfort  than  commonly  falls  to 
the  lot  of  married  men  ;  but  the  arrangement 
between  them  was  to  appear  to  be  steeped 
to  the  very  lips  in  domestic  misery  whenever 
Grimwood  happened  to  be  present,  with  the 
view  of  deterring  him  from  entering  into 
that  state  of  life  to  which  certain  maids  and 
widows  had  modestly  called  him.  And  the 
scheme  proved  effectual.  He  trembled  at 
the  thought  of  embarking  in  a  business, 
which  they  had  led  him  to  believe  was 


extremely  tempestuous  at  best,-  for  what 
deterred  him  more  than  all,  was  the  earnest 
anxiety  which  they  manifested  on  all  occa- 
sions to  convince  him  that,  although  they 
snarled,  and  frowned,  and  growled,  and 
wished  each  other  dead,  they  in  reality 
lived  as  happily  together,  if  not  more  hap- 
pily, than  married  people  in  general.  He 
therefore  having  no  sort  of  taste  for  the 
loving  specimens  of  matrimonial  felicity, 
which  they  so  constantly  placed  before  his 
eyes,  kept  aloof,  resolved  firmly  to  live  a 
life  of  single  blessedness  unto  the  end. 

Now,  when  these  peculiarly  affectionate 
creatures  heard  that  Valentine  was  t;oming 
to  London,  they  were  thrown,  perhaps  natu- 
rally, into  a  feverish  state  of  alarm  ;  for, 
although  they  had  never  seen  him,  the 
accounts  of  "the  young  wretch"  which  had 
reached  them,  had  been  singularly  flattering, 
and  therefore  they  held  him  to  be  one  who, 
by  making  a  favourable  impression  on  him 
in  whom  the  whole  of  their  expectations 
were  concentrated,  might  "rob"  them,  as 
they  termed  it,  of  some  portion  of  that 
wealth,  for  which,  through  the  medium  of 
Grimwood's  death,  they  so  ardently  panted. 
They  therefore  lost  no  time  in  meeting,  with 
the  view  of  devising  some  scheme  by  which 
the  loudest  of  their  fears  might  be  hushed, 
and  as  Mr.  Walter  Goodman  had  been 
deputed  by  his  brother  Grimwood  to  meet 
Valentine  at  the  Inn,  it  was,  after  a  long 
consultation,  decided  that  he  should  repre- 
sent himself  to  be  Grimwood,  secure  Valen- 
tine in  certain  private  lodgings,  and  eventu- 
ally either  procure  for  him  a  berth  on  board 
some  man-of-war  about  to  sail  for  a  foreign 
station,  or  send  him  out  as  an  adventurer  to 
seek  his  fortune  abroad. 

Accordingly,  Walter  proceeded  to  the  inn 
at  the  appointed  time,  while  his  hopeful  son, 
Horace,  prepared  everything  for  Valentine's 
reception  —  it  being  arranged  that  the  moment 
he  arrived  he  should  be  hurried  away,  and 
that  when  he  had  reached  his  new  residence, 
Grimwood  should  be  informed  that  he  had 
not  arrived  at  all.  Fortunately,  however, 
for  Valentine,  the  coach  was  so  late,  that 
Grimwood,  having  despatched  the  pressing 
business  he  had  in  hand,  became  seriously 
alarmed,  and  on  going  down  himself  to  the 
inn,  he  insisted  upon  relieving  brother  Wal- 
ter from  all  responsibility,  and  to  the  bitter 
mortification  of  that  gentleman,  waited  in 
the  coffee-room  the  arrival  of  the  coach. 


40 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


The  design,  however,  of  the  affectionate 
family-parly  was  not  to  be  frustrated  thus. 
No  sooner  had  Grimwood  determined  on 
waiting  himself  than  Walter  started  off  to 
meet  the  coach,  with  the  view  of  securing 
Valentine  still ;  while  Grimwood  was  seated 
in  the  coffee-room,  drinking,  without  enjoy- 
ment, the  pint  of  claret  he  had  ordered,  and 
mechanically  reading  the  Times.  Although 
his  eyes  were  on  the  paper,  his  thoughts 
were  on  the  coach,  and  he  had  just  drank  his 
last  glass  of  wine,  and  began  to  marvel  at 
the  possibility  of  a  man  reading  for  hours 
without  bringing  his  mind  to  bear  upon  any 
single  sentence,  when  the  clock  struck  ten. 

"  Waiter,"  said  he  to  a  sleek,  round-faced 
person  in  pumps,  "  this  is  very  extraordi- 
nary —  is  it  not?" 

•*  Why,  sir,"  replied  that  interesting  per- 
son, who  being  extremely  fussy,  and  unable 
to  speak  without  using  his  napkin,  com- 
menced wiping  the  bottom  of  Goodman's 
glass  with  great  energy.  "  Why,  sir,  it  is, 
sir,  rayther,  sir ;  but  not  werry  neither,  sir, 
cos  the  down  coachman's  comin'  up,  sir,  to- 
day, and  he's  always  extrornary  late." 

"  I  fear  that  some  serious  accident  has 
occurred,"  observed  Goodman. 

"  Oh,  no  fear  of  that,  sir ;"  cried  the  fussy 
individual,  who  had  commenced  operations 
upon  the  bottom  of  the  decanter;  "  it's  all 
right  enough,  sir:  old  Tooler's  rather  slow, 
but  werry  sure  —  Ineverknowed  him,  how- 
ever, to  be  quite  so  late  as  this,  I  must  say." 

Relieved  somewhat  by  the  fact  of  the 
delay  not  being  deemed,  under  the  circum- 
stances very  extraordinary,  by  the  waiter,  the 
old  gentleman  walked  to  the  door  of  the  inn 
—  not  exactly  with  the  view  of  accelerating 
the  arrival  of  the  coach,  but  in  order  to 
speculate  upon  the  probability  of  every 
vehicle  that  came  in  sight  being  the  one  for 
which  he  was  so  anxiously  waiting.  He 
had  scarcely,  however,  taken  his  position  on 
the  threshold,  when  he  saw  brother  Walter, 
followed  by  his  hopeful  son,  Horace,  bust- 
lino  about  the  place  in  a  state  of  feverish 
excitement,  and  inquiring  again  and  again 
of  the  porters  at  the  gate  if  they  were  per- 
fectly certain  that  the  coach  had  notarrived. 

»»  Walter  !  Horace  !"  shouted  Grimwood  ; 
and  those  gentlemen  for  the  moment  shrank 
back  at  the  sound;  but  finding  no  means  of 
escape,  they  approached,  and  after  falter- 
ingly  muttering  something  having  reference 
to  their  astonishment,  expressed  their  convic- 
tion that  as  the  evening  was  cold,  and  as  the 
coach  might  not  come  in  till  midnight,  he 
had  better  go  home  and  let  one  of  them 
remain  to  take  charge  of  Valentino  when  he 
arrived. 

"  I  consider  it  very  kind  of  you,  Walter 
and  Horace/'  said  Grimwood,  taking  both 


1WOOQ 

Grim-   / 

nnt  trk     ' 


by  the  hand,  "  to  manifest  so  much  anxiety 
about  one  in  whom  1  take  an  interest — I 
shall  not  forget  it.  However,  he  cannot  be 
long  now  ;  therefore,  let  us  wait  together, 
and  have  a  glass  of  mulled  wine." 

Both  Walter  and  Horace  tried  hard  to  be 
excused,  but  Grimwood  resolved  on  secur- 
ing them  as  firmly  as  if  he  had  known  the 
source  from  which  all  their  anxiety  sprang. 
They  had  scarcely,  however,  taken  their 
seats  in  the  coffee-room  when  the  arrival  of 
the  coach  was  announced,  and  Grimwood 
instantly  left  his  affectionate  relatives  in 
order  to  receive  Valentine  in  the  yard 

"  It's  all  up  !"  said  WTalter,  when 
wood  had  left.     "  What  a  fool  I  was  not  to 
remain  at  the  turnpike  ;  but,  Lord,  I  made 
sure  that  the  infernal  coach  had  passed." 

"/couldn't  imagine  what  the  devil  was 
the  matter,"  cried  Horace,  "  so  I  pelted 
down  here  like  the  devil  to  see." 

"Well,  it's  of  no  use  now,"  observed 
Walter ;  "  we  are  completely  done  this 
time.  But  never  fear,  Horace,"  he  con- 
tinued, after  a  pause,  "  we  shall  be  able  to 
manage  it  yet,"  and  both  father  and  son 
became  mute. 

"  Your  name,  1  believe,  is  Valentine  Vox?" 
said  Mr.  Goodman,  addressing  the  youth 
who  had  just  alighted. 

"  It  is,"  returned  Valentine. 

"My  name  is  Goodman  —  I  am  happy  to 
see  you.  I  hope  that  you  met  with  no  acci- 
dent on  the  road  ?" 

"  Nothing  of  any  very  great  importance," 
replied  Valentine. 

"  Doant  arks  me  any  more  questions," 
cried  Tooler,  as  he  strove  to  emerge  from 
the  group  of  inquiring  horsekeepers  and 
waiters,  by  whom  he  had  been  anxiously 
surrounded.  "  It's  o' no  use  —  blarm  me  if 
I  arnt  sick  and  tired  o'  the  very  thoughts 
on't.  I  have,"  continued  he,  addressing 
Goodman,  "to  thenk  this  young  gentleman 
for  gittin'  up  at  all.  If  it  hadn't  ha'  bin  for 
he  we  shouldn't  ha  done  it  to-night,  any 
how." 

This  remark  had  at  once  the  effect  of  ex- 
torting five  shillings  from  Valentine  instead 
of  half-a-crown,  and  of  creating  a  very 
favourable  first  impression  in  the  mind  of 
Mr.  (Joodman,  who  having  seen  the  luggage 
secure,  presented  Valentine  to  Walter  and 
Horace,  who  received  him  with  looks  indi- 
cative of  anything  but  delight. 

"  Now,  my  young  friend,"  said  Mr.  Good- 
man, taking  Valentine  again  by  the  hand 
and  shaking  it  with  much  warmth,  "I  am 
so  fflad  that  you  are  safe ;  you  are  faint  and 
cold  —  I  know  you  are.  W'aiter !  coffee  for 
this  gentleman  ;  —  what  on  earthcould  have 
detained  you  ?  But  don't  tell  me  now  —  you 
are  fatigued." 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


41 


"  Not  at  all,  I  assure  you,"  said  Valentine, 
who  felt  himself  perfectly  at  home  with  the 
old  gentleman,  although  he  viewed  with  an 
eye  of  suspicion  the  sinister  looks  of  Wal- 
ter and  Horace. 

"  Come,  take  a  glass  of  wine,"  said  the 
warm-hearted  Goodman,  who  felt  as  highly 
delighted  with  Valentine  as  if  he  had  been 
his  own  son.  "  My  dear  boy !"  he  con- 
tinued, pressing  the  hand  of  his  protege,  and 
looking  earnestly  in  his  face.  "  God  bless 
you  !" 

This  was  wormwood  to  Horace  and  his 
father.  They  could  not  conceal  its  effects, 
and  therefore, after  having  addressed  certain 
sneering  observations  to  Valentine,  who 
bowed  without  replying,  they  departed  with 
the  view  of  designing  some  villanous  scheme 
which  might  induce  the  revival  of  those 
hopes  which  appeared  to  them  to  be  on  the 
point  of  being  blasted  for  ever. 

"  Well,  now,"  said  the  old  gentlemen, 
when  his  relatives  were  gone,  and  Valentine 
appeared  to  be  sufficiently  refreshed,  "come, 
tell  me  the  cause  of  this  extraordinary 
delay." 

Valentine  gazed  upon  him  earnestly  and 
smiled.  He  was  at  first  almost  afraid  to 
explain  the  real  cause  ;  but  the  general  ex- 
pression of  the  old  gentleman's  countenance 
was  so  peculiarly  fascinating,  that  it  quickly 
inspired  him  with  confidence:  he  felt  that 
he  might  trust  him  with  the  secret  of  his 
power,  which  might  moreover  be  to  him  a 
source  of  constant  amusement,  and  there- 
fore, after  a  little  hesitation,  confessed  that 
the  delay  was  attributable  solely  to  him. 

"But,"  said  Goodman,  "1  understand 
that  had  it  not  been  for  you,  the  coach  would 
not  have  reached  London  to-night." 

"  That  is  perfectly  true,"  rejoined  Valen- 
tine, "  but  it  is  also  true  that  had  it  not  been 
for  me,  it  would  have  arrived  here  four  hours 
at  least  before  it  did." 

"Indeed  !"  exclaimed  Goodman  with  an 
expression  of  astonishment;  and  Valentine 
hesitated  again  ;  but  at  length,  feeling  cer- 
tain that  the  opinion  he  had  formed  of  Good- 
man's charac'er  was  correct,  he  proceeded 
to  explain  the  whole  of  the  circumstances 
described  in  the  fifth  and  sixth  chapters  of 
this  history —  the  relation  of  which  caused 
the  old  gentleman  to  be  so  irrepressibly  con- 
vulsed, that  his  contortions  alone  were  suffi- 
ciently ridiculous  to  excite  the  mirth  of  all 
present,  and  at  length  the  room  rang  with 
peals  of  sympathetic  laughter. 

"  Now  —  now  —  my  dear  boy,"  observed 
Goodman,  the  very  moment  he  had  regained 
sufficient  command  over  his  muscles,  "be 
sure  that  you  tell  this  to  no  one.  We  shall 
have  such  amusement !  But  keep  it,  my 
boy,  mind  keep  it  a  secret."  And  here  he 
5 


was  seized  with  another  fit  of  merriment  in 
which  the  whole  room  again  most  ridicu- 
lously joined,  while  Valentine  congratulated 
himself  on  the  manner  in  which  he  had 
been  received  by  his  warm-hearted  patron. 

As  soon  as  the  frame  of  Grimwood  Good- 
man became  capable  of  assuming  the  sem- 
blance of  tranquillity,  he  began  to  manifest 
impatience  to  witness  the  effect  of  that  which 
appeared  to  him  still  to  be  almost  impos- 
sible. He  therefore  strongly  urged  Valen- 
tine to  give  him  a  specimen  on  the  spot,  and 
as  Valentine  felt  that  he  would  be  too  much 
amazed  for  the  moment  to  indulge  in  those 
loud  bursts  of  laughter  which  might  tend  to 
create  suspicion,  he  consented  to  do  so  at 
once. 

"  But,  be  careful,  my  dear  boy,  be  care- 
ful," said  Goodman. 

"  Oh  !  there  is  not  the  slightest  danger  of 
discovery. — Waiter!"  said  Valentine, throw- 
ing his  voice  into  a  box  in  which  two  ex- 
tremely stout  individuals  were  eating  devil- 
led kidneys. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  cried  the  person  in  pumps, 
throwing  his  napkin  under  his  arm,  and 
approaching  the  box  in  question. 

"Waiter!"  said  Valentine,  assuming  a 
voice  which  appeared  to  proceed  from  the 
box  opposite. 

"Yes,  sir,"  repeated  the  waiter,  turning 
round  on  ascertaining  that  that  party  had  no 
orders. 

"  Waiter  /"  cried  Valentine  in  precisely 
the  same  voice  as  at  first. 

"  Yes,  sir !"  exclaimed  the  sleek  func- 
tionary returning,  "  you  call,  sir  ]" 

"  No,"  said  the  gentlemen,  "  we  did  not 
call." 

"  WAITER!"  shouted  Valentine,  throwing 
his  voice  to  the  other  end  of  the  room,  to 
which  end  he  of  the  pumps  of  course  imme- 
diately pelted. 

"  Now,  where  is  that  bottle  of  port  ?" 
cried  Valentine,  bringing  the  voice  about 
halfway  back. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,  I'm  sure,  sir,"  said  the 
waiter  addressing  the  person  from  whom  he 
imagined  the  sound  had  proceeded,  "did 
you  order  a  bottle  of  port,  sir?" 

"  No,"  said  the  person  addressed,  "  I'm 
drinking  negus." 

"  WAITER  !"  shouted  Valentine  with  all 
the  force  of  which  he  was  capable. 

"  YES,  SIR  !"  cried  the  waiter  with  cor- 
responding energy,  and  again  he  followed 
the  sound,  and  continued  to  follow  it  until 
Valentine  ceased,  when  the  knight  of  the 
napkin,  whose  blood  began  to  boil,  approach- 
ed the  fire  and  poked  it  with  all  the  power 
at  his  command. 

"Jim!"  cried  Valentine,  sending  his 
voice  up  the  chimney,  while  the  waiter  was 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


taking  his  revenge  —  "  get  up  higher  :  I'm 
roasting." 

"Hush!"  said  Valentine,  assuming  the 
voice  of  "Jim,"  who  appeared  to  be  half- 
choked.  "  Hush  !  — don't  speak  so  loud." 

The  waiter,  who  still  grasped  the  instru- 
ment of  his  vengeanee  with  one  hand,  raised 
the  other  to  enjoin  silence,  and  walked  on 
tip-toe  towards  the  bar,  from  which  in  an 
instant  he  returned  with  the  landlord,  the 
hostess,  the  barmaid,  the  boots,  and  in  fact 
nearly  the  whole  of  the  members  of  the 
establishment,  who  crept  with  the  utmost 
care  upon  their  toes  towards  the  fire,  when 
Valentine  conducted  the  following  interest- 
ing conversation  between  "  Jim"  and  "  Joe," 
in  the  chimney. 

"  It's  flaming  hot  here,  Jim,  but  there — 
that'll  do.  Did  you  ever  in  your  born  days 
see  sich  a  fire  1" 

"  Hold  on  a  bit,  Joe,  our  sweat  '11  soon 
damp  it." 

"  I  wish  he  as  poked  it  was  in  it." 

"  Oh  that  would'nt  do  at  any  price.  His 
fat  'ud  blaze  to  sich  a  hextent,  it  'ud  do  us 
brown  in  no  time." 

The  landlord  approached.  "  So  we've 
caught  you  at  last  then,  you  blackguards. 
Hollo  !"  cried  he,  peering  up  the  chimney. 

"  Hush  !"  said  the  invisible  Jim. 

"Aye,  you  may  say  hush,"  said  the  host, 
"but  you're  trapped  now,  my  tulips  :  come 
down,  d'ye  hear!" 

The  tulips  did  not  condescend  to  reply. 

"  Here  Jerry,"  continued  the  host,  "run 
out  for  the  policeman,"  and  Jerry,  of  course, 
ran  with  all  possible  speed. 

"You'd    better  come   down    there    you 

>ones,"  cried  the  landlord. 
Hexcuse  us,"  said  Jim,  "  you  are  werry 
perlile." 

"If  you  don't,  I'll  blow  you  bang  through 
the  pot !"  cried  the  landlord. 

"  You  haven't  enough  powder,"  said  the 
invisible  Joe. 

The  policeman  here  entered,  and  bustling 
up  to  the  grate,  shouted  "  now,  young  fel- 
lows, come  along,  I  wants  you." 

"Do  you,"  said  one  of  the  young  fellows. 

"  It's  o*  no  use,  you  know,"  cried  the 
policeman,  who  held  his  authority  to  be 
contemned,  and  his  dignity  insulted,  by  that 
tranquil  remark.  "  You'd  better  come  at 
once,  you  know,  my  rum  uns." 

•*  That's  werry  good  advice,  I  des-say," 
said  one  of  the  rum  uns,  "only  we  doesn't 
think  so." 

"  Why,  it  taint  o'  no  use,"  urged  the 
policeman,  "you  an't  got  a  ha'porth  o' 
chance.  Here,  give  us  hold  of  a  stick  or  a 
broom,"  said  he  to  the  waiter,  and  the  cham- 
bermaid ran  to  fetch  one,  when  another 
policeman  entered,  to  whom  the  first  said, 


"  Smith,  go  and  stand  by  them  ere  chimley 
pots,  will  yer,"  and  accordingly  up  Smith 
went  with  the  boots. 

"  Now  then,"  said  the  policeman,  having 
got  a  long  broom,  "  if  you  don't  come  down, 
my  crickets,  in  course  1  shall  make  you,  and 
that's  all  about  it." 

In  reply  to  this  acute  observation,  one  of 
the  "crickets"  indulged  in  a  contemptuous 
laugh,  which  so  enraged  the  policeman,  that 
he  on  the  instant  introduced  the  long  broom 
up  the  chimney,  and  brought  down  of  course 
a  sufficient  quantity  of  sool  to  fill  an  imperial 
bushel  measure.  This  remarkable  descen- 
sion,  being  on  his  part  wholly  unexpected, 
caused  him  to  spit  and  sneeze  with  con- 
siderable vehemence,  while  his  face  was 
sufficiently  black  to  win  the  sympathies  of 
any  regular  philanthropist  going. 

"  Now  then,  you  sirs  !"  shouted  Smith 
from  the  top  ;  "  Do  you  mean  to  come  up 
or  go  down  1  Ony  say  !" 

As  soon  as  the  first  fit  of  sneezing  had 
subsided,  the  policeman  below  was  just 
about  to  give  vent  to  the  indignation  which 
swelled  his  official  breast,  \\hen  he  was 
seized  with  another,  which  in  its  effects 
proved  far  more  violent  than  the  first. 

"  Good  luck  to  you,"  said  he  on  regain- 
ing the  power  to  speak,  "  give  us  some- 
thing to  wash  it  down,  or  I  shall  choke.  It 
'11  be  all  the  worse  for  you,  my  kids,  when 
I  gets  you.  Do  you  mean  to  come  down 
now?  that's  all  about  it.  It's  o'  no  use, 
you  know,  for  in  course  we  don't  leave  you. 
Onc-e  for  all,  do  you  mean  to  come  down  ]" 

"  You  are  werry  perlite,"  replied  one  of 
the  kids,  "  hut  we'd  much  rayther  not." 

"  Why  then,"  said  the  constable  in  dis- 
guise, who  as  far  as  the  making  up  of  his 
face  was  concerned,  appeared  perfectly  ready 
to  murder  Othello  —  "in  course  we  mu^t 
make  you." 

As  this  observation  on  the  part  of  the 
policeman,  was  followed  by  another  con- 
temptuous laugh,  that  respectable  function- 
ary became  so  indignant  that  he  entertained 
thoughts  of  achieving  their  annihilation  by 
virtue  of  fire  and  smoke.  While,  however, 
he  was  considering  whether  a  jury  timlrr 
the  circumstances  would  bring  it  in  justi- 
fiable homicide,  manslaughter,  or  murder,  it 
was  suggested  that  as  there  lived  in  the 
neighbourhood  an  extremely  humane  and 
intellectual  sweep,  who  had  become  par- 
ticularly knock-kneed  in  the  profession,  and 
peculiarly  alive  to  the  hardships  which  the 
corrupt  climbing  system  inflicted  upon  the 
sooty  generation  in  general,  had  a  machine 
which  was  patronized  by  the  nobility  and 
gentry,  and  which  might  in  this  instance 
have  the  effect  of  accelerating  the  process 
of  ejectment.  For  this  remarkable  master 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


43 


sweep,  therefore,  boots  was  despatched, 
while  the  policeman,  bent  upon  a  wicked 
waste  of  coals,  endeavoured  to  persuade  the 
invisibles  to  descend  by  making  the  fire 
blaze  with  a  fury  which  a  couple  of  young 
salamanders  only  could  stand. 

Nothing,  however,  bearing  the  similitude 
of  blazes  could  bring  the  burglars  down, 
and  just  as  Valentine's  guardian  pro.  tern. 
was  declaring  that  he  must  either  laugh 
loudly  or  burst,  a  stout  stumpy  man,  who 
stood  about  five  feet  five,  upon  legs  to 
which  nothing  stands  recorded  in  the  an- 
nals of  legs,  at  all  comparable  in  point  of 
obliquity,  was  led  in  by  boots,  with  the  ma- 
chine on  his  shoulder,  and  at  once  assumed 
the  air  of  an  individual  conscious  of  the  im- 
maculate character  of  his  motives,  and  of 
the  general  integrity  of  his  professional  re- 
putation. 

"  I  understand,"  said  he,  bowling  with 
all  the  importance  of  which  a  master-sweep 
is  comfortably  capable  towards  the  fire  — 
"I  understand  that  you  have  certain  burg- 
larious burglars  up  the  flue.  Well!  as  the 
integral  integrity  of  this  glorious  and  empi- 
rical empire  demands  that  all  sich  dishonest 
thieves  should, be  brought  when  caught  to 
the  barrier  of  judicial  justice,  ergo,  that  is 
for  to  say,  consequently,  therefore,  they 
must  descend  down,  and  this  '11  bring  'em  ! 
It  was  never  known  to  fail,"  he  added, 
drawing  forth  a  huge  bread-and-cheese  knife 
to  cut  the  cord  which  bound  the  machine 
together,  "in  any  thing  successfully  at- 
tempted. It  is  patternised  by  the  titled  no- 
bility, and  clerical  clergy  in  oly  orders,  be- 
sides the  official  officers  of  the  loyal  house- 
hold, and  the  principal  aristocratic  members 
of  the  aristocracy  in  high  life,  and  ought  to 
be  known  in  every  particle  of  the  globe  and 
her  colonies.  It  was  ony  t'other  day  as  I 
was  called  in  to  hoperate  upon  the  chimneys 
of  one  of  our  tip  topmast  dukes,  a  great 
agricultural  proprietor  of  landed  property, 
and  a  petickler  friend  of  mine,  wot  had 
heered  from  some  vagabone  wot  I  holds 
werry  properly  in  contemptuous  contempt, 
that  my  machine  had  turned  out  a  dead 
failure.  *  So,'  says  he,  when  I'd  done  the 
job,  '  Shufflebottom,'  says  he,  you're  a  werry 
ill-used  man,  a  hindiwidual  wot's  werry 
much  respected  uniwersally  by  all,  and 
therefore,  it's  a  werry  great  pitty  that  you 
should  be  sich  a  wictim  of  misrepresenta- 
tion.' *  Why,'  says  I,  '  my  lord  duke,  you 
knows  werry  well  as  how  I  treats  all  sich 
wagabones  with  suitable  contempt.  But 
I'm  obleeged  to  you,  my  lord  duke,  and  I 
feels  werry  grateful  as  I  allus  does  feel  for 
any  favour  as  is  showed,  and  I  allus  likes 
to  return  it  too,  'specially  if  them  as  shows 
it  puts  themselves  you  know  werry  much  out 


of  the  way  in  the  most  friendliest  spirit,  and 
has  their  motives  in  consequence  suspected." 

"  Well,  come,"  said  the  host,  interrupting 
this  remarkable  sweep,  who  displayed  a 
disposition  to  go  on  for  an  hour,  "  let  us 
see  if  we  can  get  these  rascals  out  of  the  flue." 

Shufflebottom  marvelled  at  this  ungentle- 
manlike  interruption,  but  after  hurling  a 
look  of  contempt  at  the  illiterate  landlord, 
he  introduced  the  head  of  his  machine  into 
the  chimney,  and  sent  it  up  joint  by  joint. 
Of  course,  during  its  progress  a  considerable 
quantity  of  soot  descended,  but  when  the 
brush  had  reached  the  pot,  the  policeman 
above  grasped  it  firmly,  conceiving  it  to  be 
the  rough  hair  of  one  ofthe  burglars,and  pulled 
it  completely  out  of  Shufflebottom's  hand. 

"  The  blaggards  is  at  lop  !"  cried  Shuffle- 
bottom  loudly.  "They've  stole  my  ma- 
chine !  — go,  go  upon  the  roof!" 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  the  policeman,  but 
as  Shufflebottom  had  not  sufficient  courage 
for  that,  the  policeman  and  boots  went  up 
together,  with  the  view  of  rendering  all  ne- 
cessary assistance.  On  reaching  the  roof, 
they  of  course  discovered  the  cause  of 
Shufflebottom's  great  alarm,  and  having  sent 
his  machine  down  the  chimney  again,  de- 
scended with  the  view  of  deciding  upon 
some  oilier  course.  It  was  the  conviction  of 
the  policeman  above,  that  no  burglars  were 
in  the  chimney  at  all,  for  he  himself  had 
been  nearly  suffocated  by  simply  looking 
from  the  top ;  but  as  this  very  natural  idea 
was  repudiated  as  monstrous  by  all  below, 
Shufflebottom  in  the  plentitude  of  his  hu- 
manity, suggesied  that  a  sack  should  be  tied 
tightly  over  the  pot,  in  order  that  the  invi- 
sible burglars  might  be  stifled  into  an  uncon- 
ditional surrender.  As  this  appeared  to  be 
decidedly  the  most  effectual  way  of  com- 
pelling ihem  to  descend,  the  policeman 
urged  it  strongly,  and  as  the  host  did  by  no 
means  object  to  its  adoption,  orders  were 
given  for  the  sack  to  be  tied  over  at  once. 

This  humane  and  ingenious  operation  had 
scarcely  been  performed,  when  the  room 
was  of  course  filled  with  smoke,  and  in  less 
lhan  Ihree  minutes,  every  soul  had  departed 
with  the  exception  of  the  policeman  and 
Shufflebottom  the  sweep,  who  soon  deemed 
it  expedient  to  crawl  oul  on  their  hands  and 
knees  to  avoid  suffocation. 

Valentine  and  his  guardian,  with  several 
other  gentlemen,  repaired  to  the  bar,  when 
orders  were  given  for  the  removal  of  the 
sack,  and  on  its  being  decided,  that  when 
ihe  smoke  had  evoporated,  one  policeman 
should  remain  in  the  room,  and  another  on 
the  roof  of  the  house  all  night,  a  coach  was 
ordered,  and  Goodman  with  his  charge  pro- 
ceeded home  irrepressibly  delighted  with 
the  evening's  entertainment. 


44 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


THE  CONSULTATION  OF  AN  INTERESTING  FAMILY  PARTY,  AT  WHICH  IT  IS  DECIDED  THAT 
SOMETHING  MUST  BE  DONE. 


"  WELL,  my  love,"  exclaimed  the  affec- 
tionate Mrs.  Goodman,  as  Walter  and  his 
son  entered  the  room,  in  which  she  and 
Mrs.  Horace  had  been  anxiously  waiting — 
»4we  have  been  in  such  a  way  you  can't 
think,  for  Julia  would  have  it  you  had 
failed." 

"She  was  right,"  muttered  Walter, 
sinking  into  a  chair  heavily. 

"  Right?"  cried  Mrs.  Goodman.  «'  What, 
have  you  not  secured  the  young  wretch? 
Horace!  tell  me?" 

Horace  shook  his  head. 

"Ah!"— said  the  old  lady,  playfully 
patting  the  cheek  of  Walter,  and  giving 
him  a  series  of  matrimonial  kisses— "  he 
has  not  arrived." 

"  But  he  has,"  cried  Horace,  "  and 
Uncle  has  got  him!" 

The  old  lady  sank  into  her  chair. 

"  Dear  me!"  said  Mrs.  Horace,  who  had 
derived  a  latent  feeling  of  satisfaction  from 
the  circumstance  of  her  having  predicted 
a  failure,  "how  could  you  have  been  so 
stupid?" 

Horace  explained,  and  the  old  lady 
wept,  and  Walter  pulled  his  boots  off 
with  desperate  violence. 

"Then  you  did  see  the  wretch?"  said 
the  old  lady  spitefully. 

"Of  course,"  returned  Horace. 

"What  sort  of  a  creature  is  he?"  in- 
quired the  junior  Mrs.  Goodman. 

"Why,  I  don't  know,"  said  Horace, 
'•  a  sort  of  a  rakish-looking  scamp.  What 
struck  me  more  than  all  was  his  eye." 

"  Has  he  but  one?"  cried  the  old  lady, 
somewhat  revived. 

"Not  exactly,"  returned  Horace,  "he 
has  two — " 

"And  they  are  odd  ones?"  interrupted 
the  old  lady,  with  confidence,  which 
seemed  to  be  teeming  with  pleasure. 

"  They  are,"  replied  Horace,  "  the 
oddest  eyes  that  ever  looked  through  a 
man:  such  piercers!  They'd  dart  through 
the  dome  of  St.  Paul's  or  the  earth,  and 
see  what  was  going  on  at  our  antipodes. 
He'd  make  the  money  fly! — he'd  show 
the  world  how  to  spend  it,  if  he  ever  had 
the  chance. 

The  mere  mention  of  money  had  the 
effect  of  arousing  Walter  from  the  le- 
thargy into  which  he  had  fallen.  He 
drew  at  once  towards  the  table,  and  hav- 
ing placed  his  arms  deliberately  upon  it, 


said  firmly  and  emphatically,  "Something 
must  be  done.  I  saw,"  continued  he, 
after  a  pause,  "the  impression  the  young 
scamp  had  made  upon  Grim  wood.  I 
watched  them  both  narrowly,  and  when  I 
perceived  the  extreme  warmth  with  which 
Grimwood  grasped  his  hand,  and  looking 
earnestly  in  his  face,  said,  *  My  dear  boy 
—God  bless  you!' — I  could  not  but  feel 
that  the  boy — the  dear  boy— stood  a  very 
fair  chance  of  becoming  his  heir." 

"  Great  Heaven  forbid!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Goodman,  senior,  turning  up  the  yellows 
of  her  bloodshot  eyes,  and  throwing  one 
of  her  arms  round  the  delicate  neck  of  the 
amiable  Mrs.  Goodman,  junior,  to  express 
affection,  while  the  other  was  raised  as  far 
above  her  head  as  possible,  in  order  to 
express  the  highest  pitch  of  surprise. 
"His  heir!  Good  Gracious!  What  are 
his  claims? — his  pretensions?  W7hat  is 
the  relationship  existing  between  them? 
What  right  has  he  to  rob  us  of  any  portion 
of  that  which  by  every  law  of  nature  be- 
longs to  us  alone?" 

To  this  interesting  string  of  interroga- 
tories Walter  replied  simply  by  remarking, 
that  none  were  ever  robbed  by  right.  "  The 
question  to  be  considered,"  said  he,  "does 
not  apply  to  the  natural  right  of  the  one: 
it  has  reference  solely  to  the  legal  power 
of  the  other." 

"  But  what  a  monstrous  shame  it  is," 
said  Mrs.  Goodman,  "that  a  man  should 
have  the  power  to  leave  his  property  to 
any  but  his  relatives!" 

"It  is  useless  to  talk  about  that,"  ob- 
served Walter.  "  He  has  the  power,  and 
that's  sufficient.  The  question  is,  how  is 
the  exercise  of  that  power  to  be  in  this 
case  prevented?" 

"But  Uncle  may  not  intend  to  do  any 
tiling  of  the  kind,"  said  the  junior  Mrs. 
Goodman. 

"May  not!"  cried  Walter.  "He  may 
not;  but  what  if  he  should?  \Vhat  if  he 
were  to  leave  every  shilling  to  this  follow: 
where  then  should  we  be?  W'hy  instead 
of  living  in  afllucnce  as  we  ought  to  live, 
we  should  be  at  once  reduced  to  a  state  of 
destitution." 

"Aye,  that  is  the  point,  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Goodman,  senior.  "Just  look  at  that!  Fur 
my  I'-'rt  1  tremble  to  think  rm't." 

"  But  do  you  think  it  likely,"  observed 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


45 


the  junior  Mrs.  Goodman,  "that  Uncle  has 
the  heart  to  behave  so  unkindly?" 

"  There's  no  telling1,  child,"  replied 
Walter.  "If  he  happen  to  take  a  fancy 
to  this  boy,  he  may  make  him  the  inheritor 
of  all;  and  if  he  should,  my  pitiful  in- 
come from  the  stamp-office  of  200/.  a-year 
will  be  all  that  we  shall  have  to  exist 
upon;  and  that,  when  I  go,  will  go  too. 
I  must,  however,  say,  what  I  have  said  a 
thousand  times,  that  if  Horace  had  played 
his  cards  well,  he  might  have  been  a 
greater  favorite  of  Grimwood  than  he  is." 

"Why,  .what  could  I  do  with  the  old 
buck?"  cried  Horace,  smoking  a  black  che- 
root with  unequivocal  desperation. 

"Do!"  replied  Walter.  "Why,  you 
should  have  endeavored  on  all  occasions  to 
please  him." 

"Well  I  have,"  shouted  Horace;  "I 
have  tried  just  as  hard  as  any  fellow  could 
try,  and  he  wouldn't  be  pleased.  Haven't 
I  asked  him  fifty  times  to  go  with  me  to 
the  masquerade] — didn't  I  bite  the  best  part 
of  Bulhead's  tail  clean  off  when  he  had 
fast  hold  of  the  old  boy's  boot] — and  when 
I  pitched  him  into  the  water  the  day  they 
rowed  for  the  silver  sculls,  didn't  I  hook 
him  out  again  like  a  Whitechapel  needle] 
And  yet  I'm  no  favorite  because  I've  not 
played  my  cards  well !" 

"  You  have  not  gone  the  right  way  to 
work,"  rejoined  Walter. 

"  Why,  what  would  he  have,"  shouted 
Horace  in  a  rage.  "What's  the  use  of 
blowing  me  up  about  it]  If  he  wont't  be 
pleased,  how  can  I  make  him]  I've  done 
all  I  could,  and  if  he  don't  like  me,  why  he 
must  do  the  other  thing."  And  Horace, 
finding  the  cheroot  during  his  speech  had 
gone  out,  threw  it  indignantly  into  the  fire, 
and  proceeded  to  light  another. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  senior  Mrs.  Good- 
man, "  it  is  useless  to  dwell  upon  that  sub- 
ject now.  What's  done  can't  be  undone, 
and  therefore  we  should  turn  our  thoughts 
to  what  we  have  to  do." 

11  Something  must  be  done,"  repeated 
Walter,  "  and  soon.  The  will  is  in  our 
favor  now.  I  know  it:  I  have  seen  it. — 
How,  then,  are  we  to  keep  him  from  alter- 
ing that  will]" 

"Yes,  that  is  the  question:  that's  just 
the  very  point,"  observed  Mrs.  Goodman 
senior.  "  It  would  be  such  a  very  dreadful 
thing,  if,  after  having  tried  so  hard  all  these 
years  to  secure  it,  we  should  be  robbed  of 
it,  just  as  his  constitution's  breaking  up. — 
I'm  sure  none  could  have  taken  more  pains 
than  we  have:  none  could  have  taken  more 
trouble  to  earn  it.  Heaven  knows  it  has 
cost  us  a  world  of  anxiety.  We  could  not 
have  watched  him  more  closely  than  we 


have,  if  the  sum  had  been  fifty  times  as 
much  as  it  is.  That's  impossible.  He  has 
been  our  thoughts  by  day,  and  our  dreams 
by  night.  He  has  never  been  out  of  our 
heads,  aud  therefore  the  idea  of  being  rob- 
bed of  it  at  last  is  quite  shocking." 

"Let's  persuade  the  old  boy,"  observed 
Horace,  "  that  he  can't  expect  to  sleep  very 
quiet  when  he's  gone,  unless  he  leaves  the 
whole  of  his  blunt  to  those  who  have  the 
greatest  right  to  it." 

"  Pooh!"  said  Walter  contemptuously: 
"Grimwood's  no  fool!" 

"  Well,  I'm  sure,"  remarked  the  senior 
Mrs.  Goodman,  "  that  he  ought  to  be  made 
to  feel  that  he  cannot  be  so  happy." 

"  Of  course  he  ought,"  said  Horace; 
"  and  that's  just  the  way  the  old  boy's  to 
be  walked  over,  too!  Why,  look  at  old 
Thingermybob  there— what's  his  name] — 
Sniggers! — he  had  left  nearly  the  whole  of 
his  dubs  to  build  a  jolly  lot  of  alms-houses, 
for  a  crew  of  old  women  that  didn't  belong 
to  him  at  all.  Well,  what  did  his  son 
Harry  do  when  he  heard  of  it]  Why,  he 
no  sooner  found  that  he  was  to  be  pensioned 
off  at  so  much  a-month,  that  he  sent  old 
Fizgig  there— Simpkinson — to  talk  about 
the  old  buffer's  ghost,  and  the  result  was 
that  Harry  got  it  all]" 

"  Well,  look  at  the  late  Mr.  Lucas,"  said 
the  senior  Mrs.  Goodmnn,  in  order  to  give 
an  additional  illustration  of  the  position  as- 
sumed: "  He  had  very  correctly  left  the 
whole  of  his  property  to  his  relatives;  but 
no  sooner  did  he  connect  himself  with  Can- 
tail's  congregation,  than  Cantall  got  hold 
of  him,  and  worked  up  his  feelings  to  a  de- 
_ree  which  induced  him  in  the  first  place 
;,o  build  a  new  chapel,  and  a  large  house 
adjoining,  and  in  the  next,  to  will  them, 
with  the  whole  of  his  other  property,  to  him 
who  had  thus  poisoned  his  mind,  and  now, 
while  the  Cantalls  are  lolling  in  the  lap  of 
uxury,  the  relatives  of  Lucas  are  starving." 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Horace,  lighting  ano- 
ther very  black  cheroot.  "  And  as  the  old 
boy's  not  always  exactly  wide  awake,  he's 
to  be  got  over  just  in  the  same  way.  Only 
make  him  believe  that  if  he  should  be  guilty 
of  so  dirty  and  disreputable  a  swindle,  his 
oily  old  ghost  will  cut  about  in  a  most  un- 
comfortable state  of  excitement  from  gene- 
ration to  generation,  and  we  shall  nail  him 
dead  as  a  herring." 

"  And  you  think  that  he  wouldn't  see 
through  it]"  said  Walter,  with  a  sneer. 

*  Not  if  the  thing  were  managed  pro- 
perly," replied  Horace.  "  It  wouldn't  of 
jourse  do  exactly  for  me  to  pitch  the  blar- 
ney, because  I  might  come  it  a  little  too 
strong;  but  a  fellow  with  a  serious  phiz, 
"ike  old  Neversweat — what's  his  name] — 

5* 


46 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


he  who  sits  behind  the  black  barnacles 
perched  upon  the  stool  next  to  yours — the 
fellow  who  won't  die,  you  know,  although, 
aware  that  you  have  been  waiting  about  a 
couple  of  generations  for  his  shoes." 

"  What,  Coggle!"  suggested  Mrs.  Good- 
man senior. 

"  Aye,  that's  the  cove — Goggle:  a  vene- 
rable out-and-out  old  fool,  now,  like  that, 
•who  never  had  above  half  a  laugh  in  him, 
would  be  able  to  do  the  trick  in  no  time." 

"  Pooh!  nonsense!"  cried  Walter. 


"Well,  there  could  be  no  harm,  you 
know,"  said  Horace,  "  in  trying  it  on!" 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  Walter,  "  it  is  not  to 
be  done  in  that  way." 

"  In  what  other  way  is  it  possible  to  do 
ill"  inquired  Horace. 

Walter  Goodman  either  could  not  or 
would  not  explain;  but  after  supper  this 
really  interesting  family  party  separated 
with  the  mutual  understanding  that  SOME- 
THING MUST  BE  DONE. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

VALENTINE'S  VISIT  TO  THE  HOUSE  OF  COMMONS. 


NEITHER  Walter  nor  Grimwood  could  sleep 
during  the  night,  but  oh!  from  what  oppo- 
site causes!  It  were  curious  and  interest- 
ing doubtless  to  inquire  how  many  causes 
are  capable  of  producing  the  same  effect; 
but  as  the  subject  need  not  be  long  dwelt 
upon  here,  it  will  be  perhaps  quite  suffi- 
cient to  explain  that  while  Walter  was 
engaged  in  concocting  certain  intricate 
schemes  of  villany,  Grimwood,  delighted 
with  the  almost  unbounded  prospect  of  hap- 
piness which  had  opened  before  him,  lay 
stretched  in  the  unrestrained  indulgence  of 
those  pleasing  anticipations  which  sprang 
from  the  conception  of  innumerable  scenes 
that  crowded  to  tickle  his  vivid  imagina- 
tion. 

Having  wished  for  the  morning  all  night, 
night  avenged  itself  by  introducing  morn- 
ing just  as  Grimwood  had  begun  to  wrish 
morning  at  a  distance'.  His  head,  howev- 
er, continued  to  stick  to  its  pillow  with  all 
the  tenacity  of  the  polypus  until  he  heard 
the  church  clock  strike  eleven,  when  he 
rang  for  his  water,  and  rolled  out  of  bed. 

Now  Valentine,  who  had  slept  like  a  dor- 
mouse all  night,  and  whose  usual  hour  for 
rising  had  been  six,  could  not  understand 
this  eleven  o'clock  business  at  all.  He  had 
been  five  hours  awake,  and  was  as  hungry 
as  a  wolf;  but  as  Grimwood's  last  injunc- 
tion the  previous  night  had  been,  "  do  not 
get  up  on  any  account  until  you  are  called," 
he  felt  bound  to  act  in  obedience  to  that  in- 
junction, and  to  await  the  call  with  all  the 
Christian  patience  he  could  muster.  For 
the  first  three  hours  he  amused  himself  tole- 
rably well  by  endeavoring  to  understand 
•what  the  fellows  had  to  dispose  of,  who 
kept  continually  bawling  out,  "  Yar  sto!" 
"Meyarc  mickrell!"  "clo!  clo!""weep!" 
•*  ool  ar  rowin  an  ool  ar'  lowin!"  and  from 


nine  o'clock  till  ten  he  listened  attentively 
to  the  strains  of  a  barrel  organ,  with  a  re- 
markably shrill  whistling  accompaniment; 
but  when  he  heard  the  clock  strike  eleven, 
he  fancied  he  might  as  well  give  the  thing 
up.  He  had,  however,  no  sooner  turned 
upon  his  side  to  compose  himself,  if  possi- 
ble, for  another  night's  rest,  than  he  heard 
the  knock  of  Grimwood,  who  had  come  to 
inquire  if  he  would  like  to  have  breakfast 
in  bed.  The  very  knock  was  sufficient. — 
He  felt  himself  free;  and  having  answered 
the  question  in  the  negative,  proceeded  to 
dress  with  all  possible  speed. 

His  reception  in  the  parlor  was  most  ar- 
dent. The  delighted  old  gentleman  pressed 
his  hand  again  and  again,  and  during  break- 
fast reviewed  the  occurrences  of  the  pre- 
vious evening  with  rapture. 

"  Well  now,  my  dear  boy,"  said  he, 
when  Valentine  had  satisfied  his  appetite, 
"  what  shall  we  do  to-day1?" 

"I  have  but  to  write  home,"  returned 
Valentine,  "  and  then  I  am  entirely  at  your 
disposal." 

*'  You  have  never,"  said  Goodman,  "  been 
in  the  Commons!  of  course  you  have  not. 
Would  you  like  to  go?" 

"  Exceedingly,"  returned  Valentine. 

"  Well,  then,  remember  me  at  home;  seal 
your  letter;  and  we'll  call  upon  a  member 
who  will  take  us  to-day,  I  have  no  doubt." 

Accordingly,  an  early  dinner  was  ordered, 
and  Valentine  and  his  guardian  proceeded 
without  delay  to  the  residence  of  a  highly 
distinguished  member  of  parliament. 

Valentine's  spirit  had  never  been  broken. 
His  tongue  had  never  learnt  to  assume  the 
accents  of  a  slave,  nor  had  his  soul  !>•  ( n 
taught  to  shrink  from  the  presence  of  a 
man,  however  high  might  be  his  station  in 
society,  or  however  severe  and  piercing 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


47 


might  be  his  glance.  He  did,  however, 
feel  in  some  slight  degree  tremulous  on 
entering  the  house  of  this  eminent  senator, 
of  whom  he  had  frequently  heard,  whose 
speeches  he  had  frequently  read,  and  whom 
he  knew  to  have  been  distinguished  for 
years  in  a  place  in  which  pretenders  so  soon 
find  their  level. 

Conceive  then  his  astonishment  on  being 
ushered  into  the  sanctnm  of  this  eminent 
personage,  whose  indefatigable  exertions 
he  had  heard  so  many  curse,  when,  instead 
of  beholding  in  a  magnificent  library  stud- 
ded with  richly  bound  volumes,  a  stately 
individual  enveloped  in  a  long  flowing  robe, 
with  whose  splendor  the  carpet  alone  miWht 
be  comparable,  he  saw  a  stout  common 
looking  person  in  a  singularly  short  jacket, 
whose  tightness  developed  to  perfection  a 
tremendous  swell  a  posteriori,  perched  upon 
a  stool  with  his  toes  dangling  down  within 
half  a  dozen  inches  of  a  piece  of  old  oil 
cloth,  which  as  some  sort  of  an  apology  for 
a  carpet  had  been  nailed  to  the  floor. 

At  first,  Valentine  naturally  imagined 
that  the  creature  whom  he  beheld  was  the 
senator's  butler,  for  he  saw  that  he  was 
anxiously  casting  up,  what  he  felt  might 
be  the  baker's  account,  and  was  just  on  the 
point  of  concluding,  that  if  the  consumption 
of  the  family  were  not  immense,  the  baker 
gave  very  long  credit,  when  the  person  in 
question  said,  "  Seventy-nine— nine  and 
carry  seven,  how  are  you? — nine — seven, 
how  do1?"  And  he  cocked  a  stumpy  pen 
into  his  mouth,  and  extending  his  inky 
hand,  added,  "  Glad  to  see  you:  what  can 
I  do  for  you]" 

"  We  want  to  go  to  the  House  to-night," 
said  Goodman. 

"Yes;  will  you  call  for  me  or  meet  me 
in  the  lobby!" 

"  We  may  as  well  meet  you." 

"  I  shall  be  down  at  a  minute  to  four. 
Good  day."  And  Goodman,  who  seemed 
to  expect  nothing  more,  dragged  Valentine 
out  of  the  studio,  as  the  senator  muttered 
in  a  sonorous  wobble,  "  Seven:  seven  nine 
sixteen,  twenty-four,  thirty-one,  forty,  forty- 
six,  fifty-two,  sixty-seven,  seventy-six, 
eighty,  eighty-three,"  arid  was  thus  going 
on  with  amazing  rapidity,  when  the  door 
closed  and  shut  in  the  sound. 

"Is  that  the  man?"  said  Valentine,  when 
he  had  got  fairly  out. 

"  It  is — the  very  man!"  replied  Good- 
man. 

"  Well,  I  shouldn't  have  supposed  it 
possible,"  said  Valentine,  who  had  still  in 
his  mind's  eye  the  singular  jacket,  and  that 
which  it  set  off  to  so  much  advantage. 

•'You  will  see  him  in  a  different  charac- 
ter to-night,"  observed  Goodman.  "  He 


has  something  important  to  effect,  I  can  see 
by  his  manner." 

Without  being  impressed  with  any  ele- 
vated notions  having  reference  to  the  style 
and  address  of  a  British  senator,  by  the 
eminent  specimen  whorn  he  had  seen,  Val- 
entine was  led  by  his  guardian  towards 
home,  from  which,  after  having  had  a 
somewhat  hasty  dinner,  they  proceeded  at 
at  once  to  the  house. 

It  wanted  precisely  a  quarter  to  four 
when  Goodman  and  his  charge  passed 
Westminster  Hall,  and  as  the  eminent 
statesman  who  was  about  to  introduce  them 
was  certain  to  be  neither  a  moment  before 
nor  a  moment  behind  the  time  appointed, 
they  continued  to  walk  opposite  the  Abbey, 
endeavoring  to  discover  in  the  countenances 
of  the  various  members  who  approached 
the  house,  something  indicative  of  extraor- 
dinary talent,  until  finding  that  they  were 
within  one  minute  of  the  time,  they  walked 
through  a  room,  in  which  they  saw  two 
functionaries,  who  looked  as  if  the  mending 
of  an  additional  pen  would  very  seriously 
annoy  them,  and  thence  into  a  passage,  in 
which  were  several  hundred  hooks,  from 
each  of  winch  was  suspended  a  piece  of 
dirty  pasteboard,  on  which  the  name  of 
some  honorable  member  was  written. 

They  had  scarcely  reached  the  stairs  at 
the  end  of  this  passage  when  the  statesman 
whom  they  had  seen  in  the  morning  arri- 
ved. He  had  exchanged  his  short  jacket 
for  a  yellow  waistcoat  and  a  blue  coat  with 
gilt  buttons;  and  having  hurried  them  up, 
he  went  into  a  room  in  which  sat  a  select 
committee,  the  members  of  which  were  im- 
mediately informed  that  the  Speaker  was  at 
prayers.  From  this  room  they  proceeded 
at  once  into  the  house,  and  when  their 
guide  had  placed  them  upon  an  elevated 
seat  near  the  entrance,  they  began  to  look 
round  them. 

"And  is  this  the  British  House  of  Com- 
mons]" thought  Valentine.  "  Can  it  be 
possible  that  these  are  our  statesmen]" 

Whatever  surprise  the  dimensions  of  the 
house,  or  the  mean  appearance  of  its  mem- 
bers, might  tend  to  create,  he  felt  that,  as 
there  could  be  no  doubt  about  the  matter, 
he  might  as  well  direct  the  whole  of  his 
attention  to  what  was  going  forward. 

In  the  first  place,  the  Speaker  cried 
"Order,  order!  order  at  the  table!  order, 
order!"  and  a  mob  of  honorable  members 
who  had  been  standing  round  the  table, 
immediately  repaired  to  their  seats.  It  was 
interesting  to  Valentine  to  behold  the  re- 
spect which  the  members  paid  the  Speaker. 
When  seated,  they  kept  their  hats  on;  but 
if  they  moved  but  a  yard,  they  pulled  them 
off,  and  replaced  them  the  moment  they 


48 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


•were  seated  again;  and  if  they  passed  from 
one  side  of  the  house  to  the  other,  they 
bowed  to  the  chair  as  they  passed,  if  they 
went  over  even  but  for  an  instant. 

When  a  spare  individual,  who  sported  a 
court-dress,  and  whose  only  occupation  ap- 
peared to  be  that  of  bowing  profoundly, 
and  carrying  a  mace  which  was  nearly  as 
large  and  as  heavy  as  himself,  had  been 
trotting  about  for  some  time  behind  the  bar, 
"  Order,  order!"  was  called  again;  and  a 
certain  bundle  of  parchment  having  been 
placed  in  the  hand  of  the  Speaker,  he  gave 
a  brief,  a  very  brief  description  of  its  title, 
and  then  observed,  "This  bill  be  read 
second  time  many's  'pinion  say  Aye  cont' 
'pinion  s'no  The  Ayes  have  it— this  bill  be 
committed  many's  'pinion  say  Aye  cont 
'pinion  s'no  the  Ayes  have  it;"  without  the 
members  saying  either  Aye  or  No — or  at- 
tending, in  fact,  to  the  matter  at  all ! 

The  speaker  then  called  the  name  of  an 
extremely  spectral  personage,  who  albeit 
the  eldest  son  of  a  duke,  looked  as  if  he 
had  lived  all  his  life  upon  chips,  and  who 
shuffled  up  to  the  table,  in  remarkably  short 
nankeen  trousers,  which  scarcely  reached 
that  part  of  his  leg  at  which  Nature  had 
intended  to  establish  a  calf.  He  had  a 
petition  to  present,  and  in  describing  its 
character,  displayed  as  much  eloquence  as 
Demosthenes  ever  could  display,  before  he 
had  recourse  to  the  pebbles.  "Laid  upon 
the  table,"  said  the  Speaker;  and  a  stout 
red-faced  man  at  once  crushed  it  together, 
and  threw  it  under  the  table,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  when  the  noble  earl  by  whom  it 
had  been  presented  returned  to  his  seat, 
and  having  cocked  upon  his  head  an  ex- 
tremely small  hat,  put  his  left  leg  carefully 
over  his  right,  with  the  air  of  a  man  con- 
scious of  having  done  all  in  his  power  to 
promote  the  peculiar  objects  the  petitioners 
had  in  view. 

"  Sergeant!"  cried  the  Speaker,  when  this 
job  had  been  jobbed;  and  the  individual  in 
the  court-dress  bowed  three  times  during 
his  progress  towards  the  table,  when,  taking 
up  the  mace  which  had  been  placed  there, 
bowed  three  times  during  his  backward  re- 
treat, and  having  said  something  to  a 
couple  of  masters  in  chancery,  who  were 
the  bearers  of  a  couple  of  documents  from 
the  lords,  he  and  they  walked  abreast  to 
the  bar,  when  they  took  four  steps,  and  then 
bowed  like  a  leash  of  Mandarins,  then  took 
four  steps  more,  and  again  bowed,  and  then 
another  couple  of  brace  of  steps,  which 
brought  them  up  to  the  table,  at  which  they 
bowed  again,  when,  after  mumbling  some- 
thing having  reference  to  something,  and 
putting  the  documents  down,  they  w;ilk«  <1 
backwards  four  steps,  and  then  bowed,  then 


took  four  steps  more,  and  bowed  again, 
when,  by  way  of  a  finish,  they  made  four 
stops  more,  and  having  bowed,  turned 
round,  and  rushed  out  of  the  house,  laugh- 
ing. 

This  proceeding  appeared  to  Valentine  to 
be  supremely  ridiculous,  but  what  tended 
in  some  degree  to  neutralise  his  disgust 
was  the  fact,  that  not  only  were  the  masters 
in  chancery  afraid  to  walk  backwards, 
without  looking  behind  to  see  if  anything 
happened  to  be  standing  in  the  way,  but 
the  person  in  full  dress,  whom  Valentine 
ascertained  to  be  the  deputy-sergeant,  was 
compelled  to  retreat,  just  as  if  he  had  been 
bartdy  from  his  birth,  because  he  could  not 
persuade  his  sword  to  keep  from  between 
his  legs.  Despite,  therefore,  every  other 
feeling  which  this  ceremony  might  natu- 
rr.lly  tend  to  create  in  one  utterly  incapable 
of  perceiving  its  great  national  importance, 
Valentine  could  not  repress  a  smile,  and 
the  moment  he  had  arrived  at  the  conclu- 
sion that  neither  a  sergeant-at-arms,  nor  a 
deputy-sergeant,  nor  a  master  in  chancery, 
could  do  the  thing  well  without  having 
served  an  apprenticeship  to  a  rope-maker, 
"Order!"  was  again  called;  and  then  the 
name  of  a  certain  honorable  member,  who 
at  once  rose  to  direct  the  attention  of  the 
house  to  the  continued  existence  of  a  cer- 
tain abuse,  with  the  bearings  of  which 
Valentine  was  not  profoundly  conversant. 

The  style  of  this  honorabis  member  was 
inflexible — his  voice  loud  and  sonorous. 
He  had  a  certain  provincial  accent,  which, 
to  a  refined  ear,  had  a  tendency  to  counter- 
act the  effect  of  whatever  eloquence  he 
might  possess,  and  he  assumed  the  tone  of 
a  man  who  had  been  accustomed  to  address 
myriads  willing  to  hear  and  to  applaud. 
He  spoke  frequently  of  the  masses,  of 
paper  currency,  of  the  markets,  of  specie, 
and  commercial  ruin,  of  imports  and  of  ex- 
ports, of  America,  France,  Portugal,  China 
and  Spain;  in  short,  he  seemed  resolved  to 
leave  no  stone  unturned  in  any  quarter  of 
ihe  globe,  which  he  conceived  might  tend 
to  illustrate  the  position  he  had  assumed. 

It  soon  became  manifest  to  Valentine, 
that  whatever  degree  of  importance  might 
be  attached  to  the  opinions  of  this  nvmU- 
man  elsewhere,  in  that  house  they  had  no 
weiyht  at  all;  for  the  few,  the  very  few, 
who  appeared  to  be  attentive,  were,  min- 
gling their  smiles  with  their  sneers,  while 
the  rest  were  conversing  and  joking,  ami 
laughing,  apparently  unconscious  of  « 
thing  bat  that  Which  had  inuue.liate  n  ler- 
ence  to  themselves.  It  was  easy  to  per- 
ceive that  this  trentleman  \v;is  capable  of 
far  more  eloquence  than  that  which  lie  dis- 
played; but  the  coldness  of  the  members 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


49 


whom  he  addressed,  appeared  to  chill  his 
natural  ardor,  and  he  eventually  resumed 
his  seat  without  gaining-  a  cheer. 

This  seemed  to  be  a  consummation  that 
that  had  been  devoutly  wished,  and  no 
sooner  had  it  arrived  than  the  attention  of 
the  house  was  directed  to  one,  who,  albeit  in 
person  extremely  small,  appeared  to  be  ex- 
tremely great  in  the  estimation  of  those  who 
occupied  one  entire  side  of  the  house.  He 
had  risen  with  the  view  of  showing  that 
the  arguments  of  the  honorable  member 
who  had  preceded  him  were  entirely  base- 
less and  absurd;  and  although  his  tone  and 
deportment  were  by  no  means  commanding, 
while  his  eloquence  sank  to  a  great  depth 
below  mediocrity,  his  ahem-ing  and  a-ar-ing 
reputation  was  applauded  with  vehemence^ 
by  those  who  had  failed  to  devote  the 
slightest  attention  to  the  arguments  to 
which  the  refutation  applied. 

When  this  small  but  important  individual 
had  concluded,  a  fine  portly  person  whose 
hair  was  neither  auburn  nor  absolutely  red, 
and  whose  fort  seemed  to  He  in  the  delivery 
of  the  bitterest  sarcasms  clothed  in  the 
sweetest  tones,  rose  with  what  appeared  to 
be  a  portfolio  in  his  hand,  for  the  purpose 
of  impugning  one  particular  branch  of  the 
policy  pursued  by  the  then  existing  govern- 
ment. He  appeared  to  be  regarded  as  an 
oracle,  for  the  house  when  he  rose  was  as 
silent  as  the  grave.  Every  p.oint  that  he 
made  was  cheered  with  rapture  by  those 
who  sat  on  the  same  side  of  the  house,  and 
whenever  he  happened  to  place  a  strong 
emphasis  upon  the  conclusion  of  any  sen- 
tence in  which  no  point  was  perceptible,  he 
looked  round  with  the  view  of  making  his 
friends  understand  that  although  they  might 
not  exactly  see  it,  the  sentence  did  contain  a 
point,  when  they  hailed  it  with  enthusiasm 
accordingly. 

The  moment  this  political  god  had  re- 
sumed his  seat,  amidst  loud  and  protracted 
cheering,  an  honorable  member  whose  coun- 
tenance had  been  said  to  resemble  an  ugly 
portrait  of  Charles  the  First,  and  who  ap- 
peared to  hold  razors  in  sovereign  contempt, 
for  he  clearly  had  not  used  one  for  many  a 
day,  rose  simply  to  observe  that  he  agreed 
with  every  sentence  that  either  had  been 
said,  might  be  said,  or  could  be  said,  against 
the  members  of  the  existing  cabinet,  whom 
he  held  to  be  the  vilest,  the  meanest,  the 
shabbiest,  and  most  atrocious  political 
scoundrels  with  whom  the  British  empire 
ever  was  or  ever  could  be  cursed.  "  I  de- 
nounce them,"  said  he  with  a  cannibalistic 
scowl,  which  he  had  assumed  with  the  view 
of  imparting  a  most  withering  effect  to  the 
peroration  of  his  philippic — "I  denounce 
them  as  a  gang  of  degraded  political  ruf- 


fians;— who,  with  a  profligate  and  most  un- 
constitutional suck,  have  drained  the  cup 
of  degradation  to  the  very  dregs,  and  I 
shouldn't  care  so  much  as  the  ghost  of  a 
dump,  if  the  whole  crew  were  nailed  to  the 
walls  of  this  house,  and  stoned  to  death  with 
sacrificial  brickbats  to-morrow!" 

To  the  astonishment  of  Valentine,  this 
burst  of  indignation  was  productive  of  no- 
thing but  laughter,  and  before  Mr.  Goodman 
had  time  to  explain  that  the  house  always 
laughed  when  that  senator  spoke,  a  states- 
man in  miniature,  knitting  his  brows,  started 
up  with  almost  as  much  velocity  as  if  he 
had  been  sent  like  a  shell  from  a  mortar  to 
scatter  destruction  around. 

"That's  a  great  gun,"  said  Goodman; 
and  Valentine  thought  so,  for  he  at  that 
moment  heard  a  tremendous  report,  which 
he  subsequently,  however,  ascertained  to 
proceed  from  a  box  which  adorned  one  cor- 
ner of  the  table,  and  which  the  little  man 
struck  with  the  force  of  a  young  blacksmith, 
while  he  writhed  and  wriggled  and  tortured 
his  poor  little  body  into  every  conceivable 
attitude,  precisely  as  if  those  who  sat  in  his 
immediate  vicinity,  were  out  of  pure  wan- 
tonness pinching  him  behind.  Even  the 
reporters  left  off  to  indulge  their  amaze- 
ment, for  although  his  delivery  revelled 
between  a  squeal  and  a  shriek,  his  address 
was  thickly  studded  with  the  most  beauti- 
fully poetic  images  that  ever  developed  the 
scope -and  power  of  man's  imagination. 
How  the  speeches  of  this  little  gentleman 
could  be  followed  by  the  reporters,  Valen- 
tine could  not  conceive.  He  knew  that 
those  speeches  did  appear,  and  having  heard 
that  the  reports  were  most  faithful,  he  was 
just  on  the  point  of  concluding  that  the  re- 
porters must,  depend  upon  their  memory, 
which  he  felt  must  be  very  extraordinary, 
seeing  that  they  on  one  occasion  gave  a 
most  faithful  report  of  a  speech  which  he 
only  intended  to  deliver,  when  the  shrieking 
stopped  in  an  instant,  like  an  alarum  run 
down,  and  the  general  cheering  became  en- 
thusiastic. 

Before  time  had  subdued  this  vehement 
applause,  the  honorable  member  by  whom 
the  miniature  statesman  had  been  preceded, 
rose  obviously  in  a  state  of  excitement,  to 
inquire  if  a  certain  observation  which  had 
fallen  from  the  little  gentleman,  and  which 
appeared  to  have  reference  to  buffoonery  in 
general,  was  intended  to  apply  personally 
to  him.  "  If  it  were,"  said  the  honorable 
member,  with  a  swell  of  indignation,  "I 
hurl  back  the  insinuation  with  scorn!  I  am 
not  a  man  to  be  with  impunity  insulted  by 
any  dirty" — ("order!  order!  chair!  chair!") 

"  The  good  sense,"  observed  the  Speaker, 
"by  which  the  conduct  of  the  honorable 


50 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


member  is  so  distinguished,  will  enable  him 
to  perceive  that  the  course  he  is  now  pur- 
suing is  not  strictly  in  order." 

"I  am  willing,"  cried  the  honorable  and 
indignant  member,  "  to  pay  all  due  defer- 
ence to  the  chair;  but  in  the  strongest  terms 
the  forms  of  the  house  will  allow,  will  I 
denounce  any  vagabondising,  dirty" — The 
extraordinary  force  with  which  he  swung 
his  arm  round,  in  order  to  give  full  effect  to 
the  last  word, caused  the  honorable  member 
who  had  evidently  dined,  to  fall  heavily 
upon  the  heads  of  the  members  below  him. 
This  occurrence,  of  course,  produced  a  loud 
burst  of  merriment,  which  had  scarcely 
subsided,  when  Valentine,  whose  feelings 
of  contempt  had  been  aroused,  cried  "Buf- 
foon!" assuming  the  voice  of  the  mercurial 
statesman,  who  had  made  so  exceedingly 
free  with  the  box. 

The  members  at  this  moment  looked  with 
astonishment  at  each  other,  for  they  did  not 
expect  that  from  him. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  the  speaker,  in  his 
blandest  tone,  without  noticing  the  conten- 
tions of  the  member  who  had  fallen — "I 
am  sorry  to  be  compelled  to  observe  that 
such  language  is  disorderly  in  the  ex- 
treme." 

The  honorable  member  then  rose  to  ex- 
plain: "  If,  Sir,"  said  he,  "  if  it  be  imagined 
that  /  gave  utterance  to  the  offensive  ex- 
pression, which  has  called  for  that  remark, 
I  can  assure  you  that  it  is  altogether  a  mis- 
take, for  upon  my  honor  I  did  not." 

"  I  certainly  did  conceive,"  said  the 
Speaker,  "that  the  expression  proceeded 
from  the  honorable  member;  but  if " 

"It  did — it  did!"  shouted  several  honor- 
able members. 

"No,  no!— it  did  not!"  shouted  several 
others,  who  were  equally  sure  that  it  did. 

"  I  have  certainly  no  desire  to  interfere 
in  this  matter,"  said  an  honorable  member 
who  had  a  remarkable  profile,  and  whose 
bushy  hair  was  flowing  luxuriantly  down 
his  back,  "but  I  must  say  that  I  heard  the 

honorable   member  distinctly  make " 

Cries  of  "  No,  no!"  from  one  side  of  the 
House,  and  loud  cheers  from  the  other, 
effectually  drowned  this  honorable  mem- 
ber's voice.  Again  he  endeavored  to  make 
himself  heard,  and  again,  but  was  again 
and  again  interrupted,  until  at  length  In; 
cried  aloud  in  a  voice  of  desperation,  ••  N 
will  not  hear  me  now,  but  the  time  will 
come  when  you  shall  hear  me!  Yes,  the 
time  will  come  when  you  SHALL!" 

"Sir,"  said  an  honorable  and  gallant 
member,  who  appeared  to  have  been  in  tlm 
heat  of  some  sanguinary  battle,  "if  it  did 
not  proceed  from  the  honorable  mr-mhrr,  I 
should  like  to  know  from  whom  it  could 


proceed] — Ts  there  in   this  house   another 
member  with  such  a  voice]" 

"  Hear,  hear!"  exclaimed  an  honorable 
member,  who  prided  himself  upon  his  long 
top-boots  and  the  bare-faced  integrity  of 
principle. 

"  Hear,  hear,  hear!"  shouted  another 
honorable  member,  whose  small  twinkling 
eyes  imparted  lustre  to  a  remarkably  full- 
blown countenance,  of  which  the  naturally 
good-humored  expression  was  spoiled  by 
some  rather  malicious  feeling,  which  ap- 
peared to  be  in  the  ascendant. 

"  Is  not  the  honorable  and  gallant  mem- 
ber satisfied]"  inquired  the  honorable  mem- 
ber who  had  been  accused.  "Is  not  my 
word  of  honor  sufficient]" 

"Of  course,"  replied  the  honorable  and 
gallant  member;  "  the  forms  of  this  house 
will  not  allow  me  to  suppose  it  even  possi- 
ble for  any  honorable  member  to  be  guilty 
of  a  deliberate  falsehood." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  impute  deliberate 
falsehood  to  me]"  shrieked  the  honorable 
member  in  question,  who,  as  the  reply  was 
"I  certainly  heard  it,"  attempted  to  rush 
from  the  house  with  what  was  supposed  to 
be  an  extremely  cold-blooded  design,  for 
the  Speaker's  attention  was  called  immedi- 
ately to  the  fact  by  an  obviously  important 
personage,  who  might  in  Greece  have  been 
mistaken  for  King  Otho  incog.  "  Does  he 
mean  to  impute  deliberate  falsehood  to 
me]"  cried  the  honorable  member  again,  as 
his  friends  were  doing  all  in  their  power  to 
exorcise  the  rampant  little  devil  that  was 
within  him. 

"The  honorable  and  gallant  member," 
observed  the  Speaker,  "  I  am  sure  will  per- 
ceive the  necessity  for  doing  that  which  the 
house  has  a  right  to  demand."  But  the 
honorable  and  gallant  gentleman  stubbornly 
kept  his  seat.  Member  after  member  rose 
to  beg  of  him  to  withdraw  the  offensive 
imputation;  but  his  inflexibility  \vas  heroic! 
He  knew,  of  course,  that  he  should  be  com- 

'  pelled  either  at  once  to  retract  or  to  languish 
until  he  did  in  the  custody  of  the  sergeant, 
who,  with  that  peculiar  courtesy  for  which 
he  had  ever  been  distingushed,  would  have 

,  been  but  too  happy  to  afford  him  every  ac- 
commodation; but  he  felt  that  his  reputation 
for  courage  might  be  perilled,  unless  ho 
firmly  hold  ont  till  the  last.  The  Speaker 

;  rose  ajr.iin  -.mil  a<rain  to  demand—  in  his 
peculiarly  bland  manner — the  withdrawal 
of  that  express!. ui  which  had  given  so 

|  much  pain;  but  nothing  cmihl  move  the 
honorable  and  gallant  iM'iitleman,  until  a 
personage  \\itli  beautifully  tinted  cheeks 
proceeded  to  make  a  well  understood  mo- 
tion, when  he  declared,  what  he  could  not 
before  have  declared,  without  involving  his 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


51 


honor,  that,  in  imputing  deliberate  false- 
hood to  the  honorable  member,  he  meant 
nothing-  at  all  personally  offensive,  and  here 
the  matter  ended. 

An  attempt  was  now  made  to  recall  the 
attention  of  hpnorable  members  to  business; 
but  as  the  majority  of  them  manifested  a 
strong  disinclination  to  attend  to  any  thing 
of  the  sort,  Valentine,  on  being  urged  by 
Goodman,  resolved  upon  releasing  that  ma- 
jority from  their  legislative  functions  for 
the  night. 

Accordingly,  just  as  a  prosy  individual, 
who  had  evidently  placed  a  written  speech 
,  in  his  hat,  was  trying  to  pick  up  the  thread 
of  the  debate,  Valentine,  throwing  his 
voice  under  one  of  the  galleries,  cried 
"  Question!" 

"Why,  that  is  the  question!"  said  the 
honorabfe  member,  who  was  compelled 
again  to  look  at  the  speech  in  his  hat. 

"  Let  it  be  read  by  the  clerk!"  shouted 
Valentine. 

"  Order,  order,  order!"  said  the  Speaker. 

"Aye,  give  it  to  the  clerk,"  cried  two 
juvenile  senators. 

"  Question!  question!"  and  the  cry  on 
one  side  of  the  house  becoming  general, 
the  hon.  member  indignantly  resumed  his 
seat. 

At  this  moment  two  honorable  members 
rose  together,  and  the  calls  ^pr  both  became 
general  and  loud.  Both  seemed  extremely 
anxious  to  speak,  and  therefore  neither  felt 
disposed,  for  some  time,  to  give  way.  At 
length,  however,  one  of  them  yielded;  but 
he  had  no  sooner  done  so,  than  Valentine 
shouted  out,  "Down!"  which  shout  found 
at  least  a  hundred  echoes,  for  in  an  instant 
nothing  but  "Down,  down!  down!"  could 
be  heard.  The  honorable  gentleman,  how- 
ever, still  stood  firmly,  and  folded  his  arms 
with  a  look  of  defiance  which  seemed  to 
enrage  about  fifty  other  honorable  members 
who  had  previously  been  silent,  but  who 
now  appeared  to  have  caught  a  very  sud- 
den and  severe  cold,  for  they  began  to 
cough  and  sneeze  with  unspeakable  vio- 
lence. 

No  sooner  had  this  coughing  and  sneez- 
ing been  added  to  the  loud  shouts  of 
"Down!"  than  several  honorable  gentle- 
men favored  the  company  with  a  little 
howling;  and  then  a  little  yelling  was 
heard,  and  then  admirable  imitations  of  the 
languages  peculiar  to  certain  interesting 
zoological  curiosities,  and  then  mingling 
cries  of  "Order!"  "Sharne!"  and  "Bravo!" 
and  then  a  very  violent  clapping  of  hands, 
and  then  loud  and  apparently  hysterical 
laughter,  until  at  length  there  arose  a  mass 
of  hideous  sounds,  to  which  nothing  could 
be  comparable  save  those  which  might  pro- 


ceed from  a  den  in  which  five  hundred  ma- 
niacs were  battling  with  a  corresponding 
number  of  very  wild  beasts. 

Valentine  had  no  idea  that  a  storm  could 
have  been  raised  so  soon;  indeed,  he  never 
imagined  thatsucA  a  storm  as  that  could  have 
been  raised  there  at  all;  but  as  it  had  been 
raised,  he  very  quietly  proceeded  to  analyse 
the  body  of  sound  by  separating  the  various 
little  interesting  noises  of  which  it  was 
composed. 

Upon  one  of  the  benches  sat  a  couple  of 
highly  intellectual  individuals  who  were 
naming  the  speaker  for  the  next  harmony 
by  knocking  him  down  for  "a  jolly  good 
song,"  and  behind  them  an  honorable  mem- 
ber was  seriously  engaged  in  whetting  the 
ghost  of  a  knife  upon  a  spectral  grindstone. 
A  short  distance  from  him  sat  a  statesman 
promoting  the  prosperity  of  the  country  in 
general,  and  the  interests  of  his  constituents 
in  particular,  by  buzzing  through  his  teeth 
in  imitation  of  that  notorious  hurdy-gurdy 
which  won't  go  to  more  than  one  tune,  and 
what  that  in  its  infancy  might  have  been, 
it  is  utterly  impossible  to  determine;  for, 
having  been  played  for  so  many  years,  it 
appears  now  to  have  been  almost  wholly 
worn  away.  A  little  farther  on  a  profound 
politician  was  contending  for  the  eternal 
nature  of  his  principles  by  shouting  "  Quack! 
quack!"  with  an  energetic  feeling,  which 
any  duck  in  the  universe  might  naturally 
have  envied.  By  his  side  sat  a  senator  re- 
solved on  upholding  the  dignity  of  the 
crown  by  playing  what  by  a  stretch  of  the 
imagination  he  had  conceived  to  be  a  regu- 
lar trombone,  and  immediately  above  him 
one  who  might  have  been  a  Premier  in 
embryo,  was  drawing  a  lot  of  imaginary 
corks.  Several  aristocratic  individuals  un- 
der the  gallery,  who  ought  to  have  had 
"  Ears  pierced"  painted  over  the  doors  of 
their  respective  residences,  were  whistling 
with  the  shrillness  of  gods,  while  a  merry 
old  boy  who  had  several  slips  of  paper 
stuck  under  the  collar  of  his  coat,  was 
playing  what  he  conceived  for  that  particu- 
lar occasion  to  be  a  Jew's  harp,  which,  as 
a  mere  matter  of  justice  it  must  be  admit- 
ted, he  managed  with  senatorial  sublimity 
and  tact.  On  one  of  the  back  benches  sat 
a  row  of  individuals,  who  being  determined 
to  support  the  Agricultural  Interests  by  "a 
long  pull,  a  strong  pull,  and  a  pull  alto- 
gether," had  imagined  that  they  were  haul- 
ing up  an  extremely  heavy  anchor,  and  as 
each  had  his  arms  round  the  waist  of  the 
victim  immediately  before  him,  they  pulled 
each  other  backwards  and  forwards  in  a 
line,  shouting  out  with  great  energy,  "  Yeo 
heave  ho!" 

The  great  point  of  attraction,  however — 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


that  which  tended  more  than  all  to  inspire 
Valentine  with  the  conviction  that  he  was 
then  in  the  midst  of  the  collective  wisdom 
of  the  nation,  inasmuch  as  those  around 
him  knew  how  to  do  everything — was  a 
section  of  politicians  who  had  formed  them- 
selves into  a  sort  of  a  knot,  and  who  not 
only  seemed  quite  resolved  to  do  all  in  their 
power  to  contribute  to  the  harmony  of  the 
evening,  but  who  absolutely  did,  to  a  sensi- 
ble extent,  succeed  in  swelling  the  general 
sound.  One  was  striving  to  obtain  justice 
for  Ireland,  by  braying  in  the  most  natural 
manner  possible;  another  was  saving  the 
country  from  revolution  by  squealing  "A 
week,  a  week!"  in  humble  imitation  of  a 
juvenile  pig  oppressed,  a  third  was  aveng- 
ing the  insults  offered  to  the  British  flag  by 
an  extraordinary  effort  to  crow  like  a  cock; 
a  fourth  was  sustaining  the  integrity  of  the 
empire  by  imparting  an  idea  of  the  sound 
of  a  French  horn;  a  fifth  was  supporting 
the  Established  Church  by 


shouting,  "Yoiks!  Tallyho!"  a  sixt 
pledged  to  procure  the  abolition  of  mili- 
tary torture,  was  showing  precisely  how 
cat  calls  to  cat;  a  seventh  was  endeavoring 
to  put  an  end  to  the  sanguinary  civil  war  in 
Spain,  by  converting  his  own  hat  and  that 
of  a  statesman  who  sat  immediately  before 
him  into  a  couple  of  kettle-drums,  which 
he  certainly  continued  to  beat  with  an 
energy  that  "  nothing  else  could  match;" 
an  eighth  who  had  been  pledged  to  the 
abolition  of  the  slave-trade  was  engaged  in 
giving  effect  to  a  popular  air;  while  a  ninth 
was  endeavoring  to  impress  upon  the  house 
the  necessity  for  an  immediate  extension  of 
the  suffrage  by  imparting  to  all  around 
what  he  conceived  to  be  a  highly  correct 
notion  of  the  moral  and  physical  effects  of 
hydrophobia. 

In  vain  the  Speaker,  during  these  irregn- 
lar  proceedings,  tried  to  show  that  such 
conduct  was  not  exactly  consistent  with 
the  character  of  a  deliberative  assembly;  in 
vain  he  strove  to  direct  the  attention  of 
honorable  members  to  the  fact  that  the  in- 
terests and  the  feelings  of  the  country  in 
general  could  not  be  thus  really  represent- 
ed; he  thundered  forth  "Order,"  and  rose 
twenty  times  to  enforce  it  in  vain;  his  pre- 
sence was  unheeded,  his  authority  con- 
temned; and  he  therefore  at  length  sank 
back  in  his  chair  to  view  the  scene  with 
mingled  feelings  of  indignation  and  sorrow. 
Valentine  felt  for  the  ol<l  gentleman,  for  he 
appeared  to  be  shedding  tears;  and  being 
therefore  determined  to  put  an  end  to  these 
proceedings  if  possible,  he  took  advantage 


of  a  moment  when  the  throats  of  those  who 
composed  the  first  assembly  of  gentlemen 
in  the  world  displayed  symptoms  of  ex- 
haustion, and  sent  a  most  extraordinary  cry 
of  "  Shame!"  into  one  of  the  reflectors, 
which  appeared  for  the  moment  to  be  under 
some  supernatural  influence,  and  which 
caused  the  majority  of  the  senators  below 
to  look  up  with  an  expression  of  amazement. 
As  the  noise  became  in  consequence 
somewhat  subdued,  Valentine  raised  an- 
other sepulchral  cry  of  "  Shame,"  which 
was  heard  with  far  greater  distinctness  than 
the  first,  and  which  induced  the  identical 
old  gentleman  who  had  been  playing  the 
imaginary  Jew's  harp,  and  who  was  evi- 
dently indignant  at  this  strange  interruption, 
to  rise  with  the  view  of  directing  attention 
to  an  extraordinary  fact — one  of  which  he 
appeared  to  have  had  no  previous  know- 
ledge— namely,  that  of  there  being  strangers 
in  the  gallery!  The  very  moment  this  ho- 
norable gentleman  rose,  a  loud  burst  of 
laughter  drowned  every  other  sound;  for 
the  whole  house  perceived  that  an  humble 
petition  had  been  cut  into  slips,  and  not 
only  secured  by  the  collar  of  his  coat,  but 
stuck  firmly  with  wafers  all  over  his  back, 
reaching  even  below  his  expansive  coat- 
tails.  Of  this  the  honorable  member  of 
course  was  unconscious;  but  as  his  object 
had  been  gained  in  so  far  as  that  the  noise 
had  been  renewed,  he  very  quietly  sat 
down  with  the  view  of  playing  a  few  more 
popular  and  interesting  tunes,  with  the  in- 
strument which  he  conceived  he  held  tightly 
between  his  gums. 

He  was,  however,  soon  interrupted  again, 
for  an  honorable  member  who  had  made 
many  ineffectual  attempts  to  obtain  a  hear- 
ing, taking  advantage  of  a  temporary  sup- 
pression of  noise,  rose  to  move  an  adjourn- 
ment. The  motion  was  followed  by  shouts 
of  "  No,  no!"  and  a  really  extraordinary 
species  of  yelling;  but  as  the  honorable 
member  declared  that  he  was  determined  to 
take  the  sense  of  the  house — to  the  utter 
astonishment  of  Valentine,  who  could  not 
conceive  where  the  sense  could  be  found — 
the  adjournment  was  agreed  to  without  a 
division,  and  the  immediate  rush  towards 
the  door  was  tremendous. 

As  soon  as  the  coast  became  sufficiently 
clear,  Goodman  and  his  charge  left  the 
house  and  proceeded  homewards;  but  while 
the  feeling  which  prevailed  in  the  bosom  of 
the  former  was  that  of  unqualified  delight, 
that  which  reigned  in  the  breast  of  the  lat- 
ter was  one  of  unmingled  and  boundless 
surprise. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


53 


CHAPTER  X. 


IN  WHICH  GOODMAN  IS  HONORED  WITH  A  PECULIAR  VISIT,  AND  SUBSEQUENTLY  SEIZED  IN 
THE  MOST  MYSTERIOUS  MANNER  POSSIBLE. 


WITHOUT  presuming  to  enter  those  pecu- 
liarly chaotic  regions  Geology  might  tempt 
the  imagination  to  explore — without,  in- 
deed, going  any  farther  back  than  the  days 
of  Adam  and  Eve— it  may  with  safety  be 
asserted— taking  for  a  point  that  interesting 
period  of  our  history  when  young  Creation 
beat  old  Chaos  hollow— that  of  all  the  de- 
structive wars  which  have  afflicted  man- 
kind, the  War  of  Attachments  has  raged 
with  the  greatest  constancy  and  fierceness. 
From  the  birth  of  the  sun,  moon  and  stars, 
to  the  deluge,  from  the  deluge  to  the  com- 
mencement of  the  Christian  era,  and  from 
thence  to  the  period  of  the  publication  of 
these  adventures,  the  attachments  have 
been  savagely  cutting  each  other's  throats 
— scourging,  smothering,  and  torturing  each 
other  in  every  conceivable  variety  of  forms 
— in  a  word,  all  the  evils  with  which  man 
has  been  cursed  are  attributable  solely  to 
this  War  of  the  Attachments. 

Now,  in  proportion  as  Goodman's  attach- 
ment to  Valentine  increased,  his  attachment 
to  his  amiable  relatives  diminished;  in  fact, 
the  one  was  very  quietly  smothering  the 
other,  when  those  relatives  in  turn  formed 
certain  new  attachments  which  they  con- 
ceived might  promote  the  great  object  they 
had  in  view. 

One    heavenly   morning,   about    twelve 
o'clock,    when   the   leaves    of   the    aspen 
were   shivering  in   the   breeze,  when  the 
cows  were  each  moment  expecting  to  be 
milked,  and  when,  Valentine  having  been 
sent  to  the  banker's,  Goodman  was  reading 
in   his   library   alone,  the  servant  entered  ! 
with  a  couple  of  highly  glazed  cards,  which 
bore  the  following  remarkable  inscriptions  I 
— Dr.  Emanuel  W.  Bowlemout,   and    Dr.  ! 

DlONYSIUS  DOBB. 

"Dr.  Emanuel  W.  Bowlemout1? — Bowle- 
mout — Bowlemout,"  said    Goodman,  con- 
sidering— "  Dr.   Dionysius  Dobbl — Dobb]  ; 
— Dobb] — I  have  not  the  slightest  know-  I 
ledge  of  these  gentlemen.      Ask  them  to 
walk  in." 

While  the  servant  was  seducing  the  two 
doctors  out  of  the  parlor,  Goodman  read  the 
cards  again  and  again,  conceiving  that  their 
names  might  strike  their  full  length  por- 
traits on  his  memory. 

"  Good    morning,   sir,"   profoundly  ob- 
served a  remarkably  short  and   apoplectic 
individual,   who   appeared   to    have    been 
afflicted  with  the  dropsy  from  his  youth. 
6 


"  Good  morning,"  said  Goodman,  waving 
his  bar  d  towards  a  couple  of  chairs,  of 
which  the  doctors  took  possession. 

"  My  name  is  Bowlemout,"  observed  the 
dropsical  person. — "My  friend  Dr.  Dobb." 

Goodman  bowed  and  placed  the  cards 
upon  the  table. 

"  You  are  quite  well,  I  hope1?"  said  Dr. 
Emanuel  W.  Bowlemout. 

"  Perfectly,"  said  Goodman;  "  thank  God 
I  never  had  a  day's  illness  in  my  life." 

Dr.  Bowlemout  looked  at  Dr.  Dobb,  who 
cocked  his  chin  upon  his  stick,  and  eyed 
Goodman  intently. 

"May  I,"  observed  Goodman,  after 
waiting  in  silence  some  considerable  time 
— May  I  inquire  the  object  of  this  visit1?" 

"Most  certainly,  my  dear  sir,"  replied 
Dr.  Bowlemout,  looking  again  at  Dr.  Dobb 
who  still  continued  to  sit  like  a  statue  in 
mourning  for  some  dear  friend — "  It  may, 
my  dear  sir,  appear  somewhat  extraordi- 
nary that  we  should  have  called  upon  you 
thus  without  a  previous  introduction;  but  it 
is  perhaps  in  these  cases  quite  as  well- 
quite."  And  Dr.  Bowlemout  looked  once 
more  at  Dr.  Dobb,  who  did  condescend 
then  to  nod,  by  way  of  signifying  that  that 
observation  had  met  his  views  precisely. 

Goodman  was  still  unable  to  imagine 
what  the  object  of  these  gentlemen  could 
be;  but  he  ventured  to  suppose  that  he 
should  know  in  good  time,  and  therefore 
waited  for  its  natural  development  with 
patience,  while  those  gentlemen  were  view- 
ing him  with  what  he  conceived  to  be  an 
expression  of  pity. 

"  Do  me  the  favor,"  at  length  said  Dr. 
Bowlemout,  placing  his  finger  delicately 
upon  Goodman's  wrist,  as  his  hand  rested 
upon  the  table — "allow  me." 

"  Gentlemen!"  said  Goodman  firmly, 
withdrawing  his  hand,  "  You  have  honored 
me  with  a  visit,  and  you  have,  I  presume, 
some  object  in  view;  need  I  add  that  I  con- 
sider it  necessary  for  that  object  to  be  ex- 
plained?" 

"  Why,  my  dear  sir,"  replied  Dr.  Bowl- 
emout, "the  fact  is,  we  have  called  at  the 
request  of  certain  intimate  friends  of  yours, 
who  fancy  that  you  have  not  been  looking 
quite  so  well  of  late — to  ascertain  the  pre- 
cise state  of  your  general  health." 

"Indeed!"  said  Goodman  smiling,  "I 
ought  to  be  exceedingly  obliged  to  those 
friends.  May  I  know  to  whom  I  am  in- 


54 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


debted  for  this  extraordinary  act  of  kind- 
ness?" 

"  Why  that,  my  dear  sir,  is  a  matter  of 
extreme  delicacy,"  replied  Bowlemout. 
'*  You  will  perceive  that  they  are  naturally 
apprehensive  that  they  might  be  deemed 
too  officious— too  fond  of  parading  their 
friendship." 

"They,"  said  Goodman,  "who  imagine 
that  I  should  fail  to  appreciate  this  or  any 
other  act  of  kindness,  can  know  me  but 
imperfectly.  There  surely  can  be  no  seri- 
ous objection  to  their  names  being  men- 
tioned"?'" 

"  I  really,"  said  Dr.  Bowlemout,  "  do 
not  feel  justified  in  naming  them." 

"No,  no,  no!"  gruffly  exclaimed  Dr. 
Dobb.  "  There  is  no  necessity  for  that 
sort  of  thing." 

"I  can  perceive  no  necessity  for  the 
other  sort  of  thing,"  observed  Goodman 
somewhat  piqued  at  the  roughness  of  Dr. 
Dobb.  "This  visit  !  trust  did  not  originate 
in  any  idle  curiosity!" 

"  Oh!  not  at  all!  not  at  all,  my  dear  sir; 
not  at  all  !"  cried  Dr.  Bowlemout,  "  God 
bless  me,  no,  not  at  all !" 

"  Then,  gentlemen,"  said  Goodman,  "I 
am  able  to  inform  those  exceedingly  kind 
friends  through  you,  that  I  am  capable  of 
forming  a  judgment  on  the  state  of  my  own 
health  -" 

"That's  the  point!— the  very  point!"  in- 
terrupted Dr.  Bowlemout,  turning  to  Dr. 
Dobb,  who  gave  several  short  nods. 

"  What's  the  point1?"  inquired  Goodman. 
"That  men  are  not  always  able  to  form 
such  a  judgment,"  growled  Dr.  Dionysius 
Dobb.  "  You,  for  instance,  may  be  afflict- 
ed with  one  of  the  most  serious  maladies 
that  are  incident  to  the  numan  frame  with- 
out being  in  the  slightest  degree  conscious 
of  the  fact.— Have  you  heard  by-the-bye 
from  your  friend  the  emperor  lately!" 

"lam  perhaps,"  said  Goodman  after  a 
pause — during  which  Dr.  Bowlemout  gave 
Dr.  Dobb  certain  slight  but  mysterious 
•winks — "I  am  perhaps  bound  to  presume 
that  your  object  is  not  to  insult  me!" 

"  Oh!  dear  me,  no,  not  at  all !"  cried  Dr. 
Bowlemout. 

"  I  must  say  that  that  question  appears  to 
me  to  be  extraordinary — indeed,  the  whole 
proceeding  is  of  so  strange  a  character,  that 
1  scarcely  know  even  now  what  to  make  of 
it.  Have  you  any  thing  more  to  say,  gen- 
tlemen!" 

"  Why,  there  are,"  said  Dr.  Bowlemout, 
**  two  or  three  points  upon  which  I  should 
like  to  be  informed.  You  are  related,  1 
believe,  to  the  Royal  Family!" 

"Sin!"  thundered  Goodman,  and  his 
eyes  flashed  with  all  their  wonted  fire. 


*  Old  as  I  am,  I  am  not  a  man  to  be  insult- 
ed with  impunity." 

'  Calm  yourself;  come,  come,  rny  dear 
sir,  be  cool!"  said  Dr.  Bowlemout. 

'Cool,  sir!"  cried  Goodman;  "do  you 
take  me  for  an  idiot!  Think  you  that  I'll 
consent  to  be  made  the  sport  of  fools!  Who 
sent  you!  Were  you  in  fact  sent  at  all!  If 
you  were,  why  do  you  not,  like  men  — " 

•*  Mr.  Valentine  has  returned,"  said  the 
servant,  who,  after  knocking  for  some  time, 
had  entered.—"  He  wishes  to  know,  sir,  if 
may  speak  with  you." 
Yes, "said  Goodman,  "tell  him  I  want 
him,"  and  Valentine,  who  was  then  at  the 
door,  walked  in. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  Goodman,  "I  have 
been  grossly  insulted;  I  never  was  before 
so  insulted  as  1  have  been  by  these  two 
persons,  of  whom  1  have  no  sort  of  know- 
ledge." 

•'  We  simply  asked  him,"  said  Bowl- 
emout, "  if  he  were  not  related  to  the  Royal 
Family!" 

"And  why  ask  so  ridiculous  a  question!" 
said  Valentine,  with  one  of  his  peculiarly 
piercing  glances. 

"  Because,"  replied  Dr.  Bowlemout,  "  we 
were  informed  that  he  claimed  the  British 
crown." 

"And  what  if  you  were  thus  informed! 
What,  if  even  he  had  such  a  claim,  would 
it  interfere  with  any  claim  of  yours!  What 
have  you  to  do  wiih  the  matter! — what  is  it 
to  you! — Have  you,"  added  Valentine,  ad- 
dressing Goodman,  "any  desire  to  detain 
these  gentlemen?" 

"  None  whatever,"  replied  Goodman; 
"  on  the  contrary,  I  wish  them  gone." 

"Then  you  will  probably  \v;ilk  with  nrm 
at  once  to  the  door,"  observed  Valentine  to 
the  gentlemen  in  question,  who  still  kept 
their  seats. 

"  We  came  here,  young  man,"  said   Dr. 
Bowlemout  pompously,  »»to  perform  a  pub- 
lic duty;  and  we  shall  go  when  we  please." 
"Then,  if  you  do,"  rejoined  Valentine, 
"you  must  please  to  go  immediately." 
"  WHY!"  thundered  Dr.  Dionysius  Dobb. 
"  Because,  if  you  do  not,"  replied  Valen- 
tine, "  I  shall  be  compelled  to  make  you  go 
before  you  please." 

At  this  moment  a  laughing  duett  of  de- 
rision burst  from  Drs.  Bowlemout  and 
Dobb.  They  soon,  however,  found  that 
they  had  made  a  slight  mistake  in  thrir 
estimate  of  Valentine's  character,  for  on 
the  instant  he  seized  Dr.  Bowlemout  by 
the  collar,  and  without  the  smallest  diii'i- 
culty  brought  him  to  the  ground.  Tho 
moment  Dr.  Bowlemout  was  down.  Dr. 
Dobb  sprang  at  Valentine  with  the  ferocity 
of  a  tiger,  and  Goodman  sprang  at  him; 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


55 


but  before  he  bad  time  to  reacb  him,  Valen- 
tine, who  was  then  on  one  knee,  caught 
hold  of  the  legs  of  Dr.  Dobb,  and  threw 
him  cleverly  over  Dr.  Bowlemout's  back. 

"Keep  the  fat  one  down!"  shouted  Va- 
lentine. "Don't  let  him  stir!  I'll  come 
back  for  him  in  a  moment."  And  he  pro- 
ceeded to  drag1  Dr.  Dobb  to  the  door,  which 
he  opened,  and  having  thrown  him  into  the 
street,  closed  it  again,  and  ran  back  for  the 
other. 

"Now,  sir!"  said  Valentine  to  Dr. 
Bowlemout,  who  was  panting  for  breath, 
and  seemed  nearly  exhausted,  "  Do  you 
wish  to  be  thrown  headlong  after  your 
friend,  or  will  you  walk1?" 

Of  the  two,  Bowlemout  decidedly  pre- 
ferred the  latter  mode  of  proceeding,  and 
hastened  at  once  to  the  door;  but  the  mo- 


}  raent  he  had  reached  the  step  in  safety,  he 
turned  round,  and  scowling  at  Goodman, 
cried,  with  all  the  breath  he  appeared  to 
have  in  his  body,  "0A/  you  shall  suffer  for 
this! — we'll  have  our  revenge!"  and  Valen- 
tine pushed  him  off  the  step  and  closed  the 
door. 

About  half  an  hour  after  the  departure  of 
these  gentlemen,  Walter  and  Horace  looked 
in  to  invite  Goodman  to  meet  a  few  friends 
at  their  house,  in  the  evening. 

To  them  he  explained  what  had  occurred, 
and  they  expressed  their  astonishment  with 
extraordinary  warmth.  He  also  explained 
that  he  and  Valentine  were  just  about  to 
start  for  Gravesend,at  which  they  appeared 
to  be  equally  surprised;  and  after  having 
ascertained  the  precise  time  the  boat  started 
they  hastily  quitted  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  SEIZURE — A  GENTLEMAN  DROWNED  IN  IMAGINATION — FIRST  APPEARANCE 
OF  VALENTINE  UPON  THE  STAGE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  OPERA. 


WHEN  Goodman  had  adjusted  the  week's 
accumulation  of  papers,  he  and  Valentine 
walked  leisurely  towards  Cornhill,  but  as 
he  had  some  little  business  to  transact  in 
the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  Bank,  he  sent 
Valentine  forward  to  amuse  himself  for 
half  an  hour,  on  the  steam  packet  wharf. 

Before  the  half  hour  had  expired,  Good- 
man had  completed  the  business  on  hand, 
and  as  he  felt  that  he  might  still  be  in  time 
for  the  three  o'clock  boat,  he  walked  rather 
briskly  towards  the  quay  from  which  it 
started.  He  had  scarcely,  however,  turned 
into  Fish-street-Hill,  when  two  powerful 
looking  fellows  hastily  crossed  from  the 
opposite  side,  and  placed  themselves  im" 
mediately  before  him. 

"  Fine  day,  sir,"  said  one  of  these  per- 
sons in  a  singularly  rough  heavy  tone. 

"  It  is  a  fine  day,"  observed  Goodman, 
endeavoring  to  pass  them,  "  a  very  fine 
day." 

"  You'd  better  have  a  ride  along  with  us, 
sir,"  said  the  fellow,  seizing  Goodman's 
right  arm. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  man!"  cried  Good- 
man, as  he  strove  to  wring  his  arm  from  the 
fellow's  firm  grasp. 

"  Why  on'y  that  we're  going  to  take  a 
quiet  country  ride,  and  we  wants  you  to 
obleedge  us  with  your  company,  that's  all;" 
and  a  coach,  that  had  been  waiting  on  the 
opposite  side,  drew  up  to  the  spot  on  the 
instant. 


"In  Heaven's  name!"  exclaimed  Good- 
man, who  had  become  much  alarmed, 
"  what  can  all  this  mean?"  and  again  he 
made  an  effort  to  disengage  his  arm,  but 
found  it  held  as  firmly  as  though  it  had 
been  in  a  vice. 

"  Come,  come,  you  know,  be  quiet;  it 
an't  o'  no  use,  you  know;  none  o'  your  tricks; 
it  won't  do,"  said  the  fellow. 

"  My  good  man,"  cried  Goodman,  "you 
are  laboring  under  some  strange  mistake — 
indeed,  indeed  you  are  mistaken." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  growled  the  fellow, 
"not  <i  ha'porth!  your  name's  Goodman, 
an't  it1?  Mr.  Grirnwood  Goodman?" 

"It  certainly  is,  but—" 

"Oh!  it's  all  right!  the  fus  cousin  to 
the  emperor  of  Chany,  you  know! — now  if 
so  be  as  you  want  to  be  treated  like  a  genel- 
man,  you'll  get  in  at  once,  without  any 
more  bones." 

"But  I  will  not  get  in!"  exclaimed 
Goodman. 

"  Well,"  said  the  fellow,  calmly,  "  there's 
not  the  least  compulsion  in  life,  you  know 
— on'y  you  must." 

"  What, — what  does  it  mean,  sir1? — where 
is  your  authority  for  this  monstrous  proceed- 
ingl" 

"  Oh,  we  have  got  lots  of  authority,"  cried 
the  fellow;  and  his  assistant  proceeded  to 
let  down  the  steps,  while  the  coachman 
held  open  the  door. 

"  Help!  help!"   shouted   Goodman  as  a 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


gentleman  passed.     "For  Heaven's  sake, 
save  me  from  these  ruffians!" 

"  What  is  all  this  about?"  said  the  gen- 
tleman, approaching. 

"It's  all  right,  sir;  all  quite  regular," 
replied  the  fellow,  first  tapping  his  forehead, 
and  then  placing  his  thumb  by  the  side  of 
his  nose,  "you  understand]" 

"  Poor  fellow!"  exclaimed  the  gentleman 
in  accents  of  pity. 

"  My  good  sir,  but  hear  me — pray  hear 
me!"  cried  Goodman. 

"Go  quietly,  there's  a  dear  man,"  said 
the  gentleman,  evidently  affected.  "It  is 
all  for  the  best;  these  persons  will  not  harm 
you,  indeed  they  will  not — come,  come." 

** Sir!"  exclaimed  Goodman — "Oh!  hear 
me  explain! — stay,  stay  but  for  an  instant! 
— stay  sir,  if  you  are  a  Christian!"  but  the 
gentleman,  who  appeared  to  be  in  haste, 
sighed  deeply  while  a  tear  stood  in  his  eye, 
and  passed  on. 

"  Now  are  we  to  clap  on  a  jacket  or  not!" 
cried  the  fellow,  who  began  to  be  impatient. 

"  Good  God!"  exclaimed  Goodman — 
"  will  no  one  assist  me?  Help!  help!  For 
the  love  of  Heaven!— Help!  help!"  he  re- 
peated in  tones  the  most  piercing,  while  he 
struggled  with  all  the  strength  at  his  com- 
mand. He  was,  however,  but  as  a  child 
in  the  grasp  of  a  giant;  for  the  principal 
ruffian  at  once  thrust  him  into  the  coach,  in 
.which  Goodman,  the  benevoleut  warm- 
hearted Goodman,  sunk  back  and  immedi- 
ately fainted. 

While  this  most  extrordinary  seizure  was 
being  made,  Valentine  was  waiting  with 
much  impatience  at  the  wharf.  The  packet 
by  which  they  were  to  have  started  had  left, 
and  the  latest,  which  had  immediately  after 
glided  like  a  swan  to  the  spot,  was  rilling 
fast.  It  being  Saturday,  hundreds  of  per- 
sons, consisting  chiefly  of  merchants,  ware- 
housemen, and  clerks,  whose  families  annu- 
ally reside  at  Gravesend  three  weeks  or  a 
month,  hastened  down  with  the  view  of 
joining  those  families  that  night,  and  re- 
turning to  buisness  early  on  Monday  morn- 
ing. With  these  persons  almost  every  seat 
upon  deck  was  soon  occupied.  Some  began 
to  peruse  the  weekly  journals,  some  to 
arrange  the  papers  with  which  their  pockets 
had  been  filled,  while  others,  with  their 
arms  folded  under  their  coat-tails,  were 
thoughtfully  watching  the  progress  of  the 
tide. 

At  length  the  men  on  board  began  to 
bustle  about  the  deck,  and  the  captain 
mounted  one  of  the  boxes  by  which  the 
paddles  were  partially  concealed  and  com- 
menced giving  orders  about  the  adju-tnn  m 
of  certain  ropes.  As  every  motion  was  now 
indicative  of  an  immediate  start,  Valentine 


at  once-  rushed  on  board,  feeling  certain 
that  he  must  have  missed  Goodman  in  the 
crowd.  He  searched  the  deck  and  cabin, 
however,  in  vain;  and  as  he  looked  with 
anxiety  from  the  side  of  the  vessel,  to  as- 
certain if  Goodman  were  coming,  the  Cap- 
tain gave  his  orders  to  let  the  boat  go. 

"  But  one  moment!"  cried  Valentine,  ad- 
dressing the  Captain.  "I  expect  a  friend 
here  in  an  instant." 

"  Time's  up,  sir;  can't  stop,"  said  the  Cap- 
tain. "  Now,  my  lads,  come,  look  alive!" 
and  his  people  began  to  unfasten  the  ropes, 
whem  Valentine  leaping  upon  the  barge  to 
which  the  vessel  had  been  secured,  resolved 
on  detaining  her  a  few  moments  longer. 

"  Captain!"  shouted  Valentine,  making 
his  voice  proceed  apparently  from  a  little 
wooden  watch-box  of  an  office,  adorned  with 
flaming  red  and  blue  placards. 

"  Hollo!"  cried  the  Captain. 

"  You  are  wanted  in  the  office!"  shouted 
Valentine. 

"  Why,  we're  off!— who  wants  me?" 

"  One  of  the  proprietors.  Here!  you  must 
come!" 

"  Blow  one  of  the  proprietors!"  growled 
the  indignant  Captain,  sotto  vote.  "  Here, 
old  fast  a  bit:  I  wonder  what's  the  matter 
now."  And  he  jumped  from  the  deck  upon 
the  landing  barge,  and  proceeded  towards 
the  office,  with  a  countenance  expressive  of 
anything  but  delight. 

Valentine  again  looked  most  anxiously 
for  Goodman,  and  just  as  he  saw  some  one 
hastening  towards  the  wharf  whom  he  con- 
ceived might  be  him,  the  gallant  Captain 
returned,  and  after  knocking  aside  every 
man  who  stood  in  his  way  shouted,  "  WTho 
was  it  said  I  was  wanted?  I  should  just 
like  to  know,"  he  added,  gruffly,  on  receiv- 
ing no  answer.  "  I'm  blowed  if  I  wouldn't 
pitch  him  right  overboard  bang!"  and  having 
scrambled  to  the  top  of  the  paddle-box,  again 
gave  the  signal  for  starting. 

Valentine,  however,  being  determined  to 
give  Goodman  a  few  minutes  more,  no  soon- 
er heard  the  well  known  signal  given,  than 
sending  his  voice  under  the  stern  of  the 
vessel  shouted — "  Help!  help!  a  boat,  a  boat! 
Help!  help!  help!" — so  loudly,  that  in  a 
moment  the  persons  who  were  standing  on 
the  wharf  joined  in  the  cry  simultaneously 
with  the  passengers  on  board.  Down  dash- 
ed the  boat  which  had  deen  hawled  up  to 
the  stern,  with  a  force  which  must  have 
killed  any  man  out  and  out  if  one  had  hap- 
IM  neil  t.»  luvve  been  then;  while  other  boats 
instantly  came  to  the  spot,  and  every  avail- 
able rope  was  in  immediate  requisition. 
The  boats  darted  round  and  round  the  ves- 
sel, in  vain,  followed  by  the  eyes  of  the 
passengers,  who  appeared  to  be  in  a  state  of 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


57 


great  excitement,  while  the  steam  was  hiss- 
ing, panting,  and  snorting  with  as  much 
angry  violence  as  if  it  had  been  perfectly 
cognisant  of  the  trick. 

"  Poor  soul!"  exclaimed  a  stout  old  gentle- 
man, who  stood  upon  the  barge,  "  he  has 
sunk,  I  fear,  to  rise  no  more!" 

"  Help!  Here  ,here,  here!"  shouted  Valen- 
tine, and  away  the  boats  flew  to  the  spot 
from  which  the  sound  appeared  to  proceed, 
while  the  passengers  rushed  from  side  to 
side  with  the  most  painful  anxiety. 

"  Where,  where  are  you?"  cried  one  of  the 
boatmen.  "My  good  fellow— now,  now! 
give  another  hail! — where  are  you?" 

"  Here!"  cried  Valentine. 

"Starn!  starn!"  shouted  the  Captain  in 
haste.  "  Look  alive?"  And  away  went 
the  boats  again  astern.  «*  Have  you  got 
him?"  he  inquired  of  the  men;  "  have  you 
got  him?"  But  the  reply  was,  "If  we 
could  but  only  see  him  we  shouldn't  care. 

"  Make  haste,"  shouted  Valentine. 

"  Where?"  cried  the  Captain,  "  where, 
where,  my  poor  fellow — where  are  you?" 

"  On  the  wheel,"  exclaimed  Valentine, 
faintly. 

"  Hold  on  but  a  moment!  now,  now,  my 
lads — now!  to  the  wheel;  now,  hurrah!" 
cried  the  Captain,  whose  eyes  at  once  spar- 
kled with  joy,  for  he  felt  that  he  should  save 
the  poor  fellow  at  last. 

"  Move  ahead!"  cried  Valentine,  assum- 
ing the  voice  of  a  lad  whom  he  had  heard 
give  the  order  before,  and  the  wheels  on 
the  instant  dashed  violently  round  amidst  a 
general  shout  of  horror! 

The  wheels  were  stopt;  the  foam  subsided; 
but  the  voice  was  heard  no  more.  The  pas- 
sengers looked  at  each  other  aghast.  The 
Captain  stared  at  the  boy  and  the  boy  stared 
at  the  Captain;  but  neither  of  them  uttered 
a  word — indeed  for  several  minutes  a  death- 
like silence  prevailed,  and  the  general  con- 
viction was,  that  the  wheel  had  dashed  down 
the  unfortunate  man,  who  had  become  too 
much  exhausted  to  rise  again  to  the  surface. 

Valentine  again  looked  round  for  his 
guardian,  but  again  was  most  grievously 
disappointed.  The  vessel  was  then  half 
an  hour  behind  time;  and  as  he  felt  that  it 
would  be  useless  to  detain  her  any  longer, 
he  made  up  his  mind  to  let  her  go.  The 
men  in  the  boats  were  still  watching  the  sur- 
face of  the  river  intently;  the  Captain  was 
explaining  to  the  boy  what  he  had  done,  and 
the  boy  was  declaring  to  the  sceptical  Cap- 
tain that  the  order  to  move  ahead  had  not 
proceeded  from  him,  while  the  passengers 
and  the  persons  who  stood  upon  the  barge 
were  relating  to  each  other  how  the  poor 
fellow  struggled  as  they  saw  him  in  imagi- 
nation go  down;  and  descanting  very  freely 


upon  all  that  was  known  of  the  character- 
istics peculiar  to  a  watery  grave. 

The  captain  at  length,  feeling  that  nothing 
more  could  be  done  for  the  "  poor  fellow," 
again  prepared  to  start,  and  Valentine,  in 
order  to  relieve  his  mind,  sent  a  loud  shout 
of  laughter  immediately  behind  him.  The 
effect  was  electrical.  Nothing  could  exceed 
the  astonishment  displayed  by  the  Captain. 
He  turned  sharply  round,  with  a  bosom 
swelling  with  indignation,  in  order  to  ascer- 
tain what  manner  of  man  he  could  be  who 
thus  had  the  cold  blooded  inhumanity  to 
laugh  at  so  awful  a  moment  as  that. 

"  It  was  only  a  joke!"  said  Valentine. 

"  A  joke!"  cried  the  Captain,  indignantly 
"a  joke!" 

"  Why,  yes,  I  wasn't  overboard  at  all!" 
shouted  Valentine.  "  I  only  made  believe!" 

"  Made  believe!"  cried  the  Captain,  look- 
ing scornfully  towards  the  quarter  from 
which  the  sounds  appeared  to  proceed. 
"  Who  is  it  that  spoke?  who  only  made 
believe?  I'll  give  a  crown  out  of  my  own 
pocket  to  know! — for  that  man,  if  he  was 
even  the  king  of  England,  should  not  re- 
main aboard  of  my  boat  another  instant. 
I'd  make  him  go  ashore,  if  1  wouldn't— who 
was  it?" 

As  the  inhuman  person  in  question  re- 
fused to  reply,  and  as  the  indignant  captain 
found  it  impossible  to  discover  the  delin- 
quent, he  with  evident  reluctance  again  gave 
the  signal  for  starting,  when  the  vessel  was 
released  from  her  moorings,  and  glided  ma- 
jestically down  with  the  tide. 

The  very  moment  the  boat  was  out  of 
sight,  Valentine  started  to  the  residence  of 
the  citizen  upon  whom  Goodman  had  called 
on  his  way  to  the  wharf,  and  having  there 
ascertained  that  he  had  left  in  great  haste, 
he  proceeded  home  fancying  that  something 
of  importance  might  have  occurred  to  in- 
duce his  guardian  to  return.  On  hearing, 
however,  that  he  had  not  returned,  he  con- 
cluded at  once  that  he  must  have  started  by 
the  first  boat,  unseen  in  the  crowd,  and  aftef 
allowing  the  servant  to  bring  up  the  tray 
with  some  cold  beef  and  salad,  he  began  to 
think  how  he  should  amuse  himself  until 
the  morning,  when  he  intended  to  follow 
by  the  earliest  boat. 

No  sooner  had  he  finished  his  meal  and 
drank  a  couple  of  glasses  of  port,  which 
had  been  left  in  the  decanter,  than  Horace 
arrived  in  a  state  of  great  excitement,  to  in- 
quire if  within  the  last  hour  his  father  had 
been  there?  On  being  informed  that  he 
had  not,  his  excitement  increased,  but  on 
learning  that  Valentine  had  just  returned 
alone,  he  smiled  with  intense  satisfaction, 
and  entered  the  parlor  at  once. 

"  Well,  my  young  ancient!"  cried  Ho- 
6* 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


race,  "  why,  I  thought  you  were  off  to  the 
aristocratic  regions  of  Gravesend!" 

"  I  did  start  for  that  purpose,"  said  Va- 
lentine, "  but  I  unfortunately  missed  your 
uncle." 

"Of  course!  Why  you  didn't  expect 
any  other  thing,  did  you]  It's  just  like  the 
old  undeniable.  He  and  my  governor  in 
that  little  particular  are  just  as  much  alike 
as  two  wheelbarrows.  Only  let  'em  slip, 
and  they  go  in-and-out,  in-and-out,  like  a 
couple  of  crocodiles,  and  if  you  ever  catch 
so  much  as  a  sight  of 'ern  again,  why  you 
must  have  an  eye  like  a  Flanders  brick.  But 
I  say,  my  little  antediluvian,  haven't  you 
got  a  glass  of  wine  to  give  a  fellow"? 
Where  does  old  owe-nothing  keep  it1?" 

•*  Upon  my  word  I  don't  know,  but  Ann 
will  get  us  some,  doubtless,"  replied  Va- 
lentine, ringing  the  bell. 

"Aye  that's  the  very  card,"  observed 
Horace,  "  for  I'm  about  fit  to  drop."  And 
he  cocked  his  legs  deliberately  upon  the 
table.  "  I  say,  my  Seraphina,"  he  con- 
tinued as  Ann  entered  the  room,  "  here's  a 
dreadful  state  of  mind  for  a  bottle  to  be  -in! 
come  give  it  a  belly  full  of  something,  old 
girl." 

The  order  was  confirmed  by  a  nod  from 
Valentine,  and  a  bottle  of  port  was  brought 
up  with  the  corkscrew,  when  Horace  first 
pronounced  Ann  to  be  an  out-and-outer,  and 
then  seizing  the  carving  knife  with  which 
he  cracked  the  shoulder  of  the  bottle,  very 
dexterously  wrung  its  long  neck  off. 

"  Dear  me,  Mr.  Horace!"  exclaimed 
Ann,  "  how  I  wish  you'd  draw  the  corks, 
you  do  make  such  a  mess." 

"Bring  us  another  glass,  my  old  girl," 
said  Horace,  who,  on  its  being  brought, 
added,  "  now  you'll  know  how  much  better 
it  tastes  in  this  way,"  and  as  Ann  express- 
ed a  great  disinclination  to  try  it,  he  simply 
threw  her  down  upon  the  sofa,  when,  hav- 
ing kissed  her  and  forced  her  to  swallow 
the  wine,  he  laughed  at  her  indignation, 
and  allowed  her  to  retire. 

"  It  strikes  me  with  just  about  the  force 
of  a  sledge-hammer,"  said  Horace,  after 
having  replenished  his  glass  three  times 
without  relinquishing  the  bottle  for  a  mo- 
ment, "  that  you  are  neither  more  nor  less 
than  an  out-and-out  brick.  Now  what  do 
you  dream  of  doing  with  your  body  to- 
night?" 

"  I  scarcely  know,"  replied  Valentine. 

"  Well  then,  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is; 
just  cock  yourself  comfortably  under  my 
care,  and  1  11  show  you  a  little  of  life." 
,  "  But  I  fancied,"  observed  Valentine, 
••  that  you  were  going  to  have  a  party  to- 
night." 

••And  so  we  are,"  returned  Horace,  '*  but 


you  don't  suppose  that  I'm  such  an  out-and- 
out  flat  as  to  join  them,  do  you?  If  uncle 
had  been  going,  why  I  must  then  have 
stuck  there  of  course,  for  he's  such  an  ex- 
cruciating old  file,  that  he  couldn't  be  happy 
without  me;  but  as  he'll  not,  you  know,  be 
there  at  all,  don't  suppose  that  I'm  going  to 
waste  the  evening  with  a  parcel  of  jolly  old 
dummies,  some  mumbling  about  the  wea- 
ther, some  growling  about  the  high  price  of 
bees'-wax,  some  whining  about  the  anti-di- 
minishable  character  ot  the  national  debt, 
and  others  showing  how  a  jolly  revolution 
might  be  averted  by  allowing  pickled  cab- 
bage to  be  imported  in  the  raw.  A  rubber's 
the  very  utmost  to  which  they  could  be 
goaded,  and  then  they're  such  wide  awake 
warmint,  you  can't  even  so  much  as  palm  a 
card  without  being  told  of  it,  which  hap- 
pens to  be  the  very  thing  I  most  hate.  Why, 
then,  should  I  join  a  crew  of  this  particular 
kidney,  unless  indeed  I  wanted  to  cut  the 
throat  of  time,  or  to  commit  an  act  of  self- 
smotheration?  It  is  true  I  shall  have  tea 
with  them  just  for  the  wetness  of  the  thing, 
and  then  of  course  I  bolt;  so  if  you  like, 
you  know,  to  place  yourself  under  my  care, 
I  shall  just  put  you  up  to  a  thing  or  two 
that  isn't  known  to  here  and  there  one." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  be  most  happy,"  observed 
Valentine. 

"  Well  then,  we'll  finish  this  bottle,  and 
stop  just  an  hour  at  home,  and  then  we'll 
run  a  regular  trump  to  earth,  who  can  take 
us  where  you  never  were  before.  But,  re- 
member, when  1  light  my  cheroot,  and  you 
see  the  old  out-and-outers  cocking  up  their 
jolly  old  noses,  leave  the  room,  and  I'll  be 
after  you  with  all  the  alacrity  of  a  bum." 

Accordingly,  the  bottle  was  emptied,  al- 
most solely  by  Horace,  and  they  proceeded 
to  the  house  of  his  father,  where  they  found 
half  a  dozen  disagreeable  old  shrews  whose 
husbands  were  expected  to  join  them  after 
tea. 

"  Have  you  seen  your  father,  Horace?" 
inquired  Mrs.  Goodman. 

"No,"  replied  Horace,  who  winked  at 
his  dear  and  anxious  mother,  and  drew  her 
towards  the  window,  where  they  kept  up 
for  some  time  a  low  conversational  whis- 
per. 

"  There  he  is,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Horace 
Goodman. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  I  know,"  said  Horace, 
"that  isn't  the  old  bufier's  knock." 

"  I  know  it  is,"  observed  Mrs.  Goodman 
junior. 

"  I  tell  you  it  is  not,"  cried  Horace  snap- 
pishly, "1  think  I  ought  to  know.  He'd 
never  give  such  an  out-and-out  know-no- 
thing tat-a-rat,  rat-a-tat  business  as  that. 
It's  somebody  that's  just  got  over  a  soft 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


59 


single  knock,  and  now  doesn't  know  ex- 
actly when  to  leave  off." 

At  this  moment  Walter  entered  as  pale  as 
a  ghost,  and,  on  catching  the  eye  of  Valen- 
tine, gave  an  involuntary  shudder.  He 
rallied,  however,  in  an  instant;  but  on  ex- 
tending his  hand,  Valentine  found  that  it 
trembled  violently. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Goodman  could  conve- 
niently manage  it,  she  whispered,  "Is  it 
done"?'5  and  on  receiving  an  intimation  in 
the  affirmative,  she  communicated  the  fact 
to  Mrs.  Horace  Goodman,  and  it  appeared 
to  be  highly  satisfactory  to  both. 

Tea  was  then  brought  up  at  once,  and  the 
whole  party  drew  round  the  table;  but  it  was 
easily  perceptible  by  all,  that  Walter  had 
on  his  mind  something  which  bid  defiance 
to  tranquillity.  When  addressed  on  any 
subject  he  spoke  with  affected  gaiety  and 
smiled,  but  in  an  instanthis  brow  again  sank, 
and  his  features  became  sullen  and  rigid  as 
before. 

As  Horace  had  described,  it  would  have 
been  dull  work  indeed,  to  spend  the  even- 
ing in  the  society  of  the  persons  there  as- 
sembled. There  was  talking,  it  is  true,  a 
great  quantity  of  talking,  but  not  a  single 
word  was  uttered  in  an  hour,  worth  remem- 
bering a  minute. 

As  soon,  therefore,  as  this  weary  tea 
affair  was  over,  Horace  pulled  out  his  case, 
and  began  to  wet  a  cheroot  by  rolling  it  over 
his  tongue  with  peculiar  rapidity. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  smoke,"  observed 
Mrs.  Goodman  junior. 

"These  ladies,  I'm  sure,  will  not  mind 
it,"  said  Horace. 

"  Oh!  certainly  not!"  simultaneously  ex- 
claimed the  majority  of  the  ladies,  at  the 
same  time  bringing  out  their  scent-bottles 
to  prepare  for  the  infliction. 

"  Mrs.  Shrewell  cannot  bear  it,  I  know," 
said  the  junior  Mrs.  Goodman. 

"  Oh,  never  mind  me!"  cried  that  amiable 
lady. 

"  If  that's  the  case,"  said  Horace,  "why 
of  course  — " 

"  Dear  me,  no!  by  no  means!  I  never 
allow  Mr.  Shrewell  to  smoke,  but  I  don't 
at  all  mind  it.  On  the  contrary,  I  think  it 
rather  pleasant  than  not." 

"Of  course!" — exclaimed  Horace,  who 
well  knew  that  the  old  lady  would  cough 
with  sufficient  violence  to  make  her  black 
in  the  face  in  five  minutes.  "Of  course! 
and  after  pulling  out  a  peculiar  description 
of  lucifer,  the  nipping  of  which  sent  forth 
a  villanous  odor,  he  proceeded  to  ignite  his 
cheroot. 

This  being  the  signal  for  starting,  Valen- 
tine gladly  left  the  room,  and  was  instantly 
followed  by  Horace  and  his  cheroot,  to  the 


unspeakable  gratification  of  those  amiable 
ladies  of  whom  he  was  anything  but  ar- 
dently enamored. 

"Now,"  said  Horace,  "let  us  be  off," 
and  accordingly  he  and  -Valentine  started 
in  the  direction  of  the  Haymarket,  both 
highly  pleased  at  having  escaped. 

"It  strikes  me,"  said  Horace,  on  reach- 
ing Leicester-square,  "  that  we  shall  just  be 
in  time  for  old  Leatherlungs;  and  if  so, 
you'll  have  a  bit  of  a  treat  to  begin  with." 

"  Who's  LeatherlungsT"  inquired  Valen- 
tine. 

"That's  only  his  professional  name," 
replied  Horace.  "  His  real  name  is  Growl- 
away.  He's  in  the  Opera  chorus,  and  a 
regular  trump  he  is  too;  this  is  the  crib  he 
patronises,"  And  Valentine  was  dragged 
into  a  little  dirty  pot-house,  and  eventually 
reached  a  dark  room  at  the  back. 

At  first  he  was  able  to  distinguish  no- 
thing, for  in  addition  to  the  room  being 
dark,  it  was  densely  filled  with  smoke, 
while  a  circular  ventilator  was  rattling 
round  and  round  at  the  rate  of  full  thirty 
miles  an  hour.  Horace,  however,  at  once 
grasped  the  hand  of  a  man  who  was  smok- 
ing a  remarkably  long  pipe,  and  when 
Valentine  had  been  formally  introduced  to 
this  gentleman,  they  all  sat  down  cosily 
together. 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  stand?" 
was  the  first  question  asked  by  Mr.  Growl- 
away. 

"Just  whatever  you  like,"  replied  Ho- 
race. "  What  have  you  been  drinking1?" 

"  Half  and  half,"  said  Mr.  Growlaway. 

"  That  I  can't  stand,"  observed  Horace. 
"  Let's  have  some  brandy-and-water,"  and 
the  chorister's  eyes  sparkled,  and  he  pulled 
away  at  his  pipe  with  additional  perse- 
verance, until  the  brandy-and-water  arrived, 
when  he  as  nearly  as  possible  swallowed 
the  whole  without  taking  his  lips  from  the 
glass. 

"  We  wan't  to  go  behind  the  scenes," 
said  Horace.  "  You  can  manage  it  for  us, 
can't  you1?" 

"  Why,"  said  Mr.  Growlaway,  "they're 
getting  so  nasty  particular,  one  doesn't 
know  how  to  act.  You  must  take  your 
chance,  you  know.  Follow  me  right  in.  If 
you  attempt  to  look  round  you  are  done,  for 
they'll  know  in  a  moment  you  don't  belong 
to  the  house." 

"All  right,"  said  Horace. 

"But  had  we  not  better  pay  at  once?" 
inquired  Valentine. 

Horace  smiled  at  his  simplicity,  and  ex- 
plained that  no  money  was  taken  at  the 
door  they  were  to  enter;  and  it  having  been 
eventually  arranged  that  they  should  follow 
the  steps  of  Mr.  Growlaway,  Valentine  paid 


60 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


for  the  brandy-and-water  out  of  a  well  filled 
purse,  which  Growlaway  no  sooner  saw 
than  he  suddenly  recollected  that  he  was 
going  to  have  a  benefit  on  the  following 
Monday  evening,  at  the  Bull's-eye  and 
Rat-trap  Tavern,  at  the  same  time  pulling 
out  a  bnndle  of  tickets,  five  of  which  Va- 
lentine felt  compelled  to  purchase,  at  the 
remarkably  small  charge  of  half  a  sove- 
reign, and  they  then  proceeded  at  once  to 
the  stage  door  of  the  Italian  Opera. 

Having  passed  the  gate  at  the  end  of  the 
hall,  Mr.  Growlaway  intimated  that  all  was 
quite  safe,  and  they  leisurely  proceeded 
along  a  narrow  dirty  passage,  which  hap- 
pened to  be  dimly  illumined  here  and  there 
with  the  remains  of  a  narrow  candle  delibe- 
rately stinking  in  the  socket  of  a  tall  tin 
lamp. 

On  arriving  at  the  end  of  this  passage 
they  ascended  a  few  stairs  which  led  to  a 
wide  open  space,  in  which  certain  painted 
people  disguised  as  brigands,  and  peasants, 
and  Spanish  noblemen  and  Turks,  were 
promenading.  At  the  back  sat  a  number 
of  persons  with  their  shirt-sleeves  tucked 
up  drinking  porter,  while  above  were  sus- 
pended innumerable  pulleys  and  ropes  and 
ragged  slips  of  painted  canvass.  On  the 
left°of  this  space  stood  what  Valentine  at 
first  sight  conceived  to  be  a  tall  iron  column, 
but  which  was  in  reality  a  round  flight  of 
cast  iron  steps,  and  the  gaily  dressed  people 
who  were  perpetually  ascending,  imparted 
the  idea  of  a  regiment  of  butterflies  run- 
ning up  a  corkscrew. 

44  Now  then,"  said  Growlaway,  darting 
up  this  singular  flight  of  steps,  and  Horace 
and  Valentine  followed  as  fast  as  possible, 
and  after  twirling  round  until  they  were 
perfectly  giddy,  they  turned  into  a  little 
filthy  room  near  the  roof,  in  which  about 
twenty  individuals  were  dressing. 

In  this  room  Valentine  at  once  seated 
himself  upon  the  edge  of  an  old  chair  with 
one  arm  and  no  bottom,  which  stood  by  the 
side  of  an  ancient  washing  stand,  the  top 
of  which  was  secured  to  the  legs  with  what 
might  in  its  infancy  have  been  a  towel, 
twisted  tightly  and  ingeniously  into  the 
similitude  of  a  rope,  while  in  the  hole  stood 
a  basin  with  about  half  a  brim,  which  was 
occasionally  supplied  with  water  from  a 
brown  stone  jug,  which  happened  to  have 
neither  a  handle  nor  a  spout. 

As  soon  as  the  giddiness  occasioned  by 
the  twirling  ascent  had  gone  off,  Valentine 
directed  his  attention  to  the  proceedings  of 
the  professional  gentlemen  present,  whose 
attitudes  few  could  have  failed  to  admire. 
One  was  endeavoring  to  perfect  himself  in 
the  bass  part  of  the  opening  chorus,  by 
leaning  over  a  book  and  singing  the  notes 


with  infinite  spirit,  and  certainly  looked  ex- 
tremely cool  and  interesting,  seeing  that  at 
that  particular  time  he  had  nothing  on  but 
his  shirt;  another,  in  precisely  the  same 
costume  with  the  exception  of  a  pair  of 
purple  stockings,  was  engaged  in  making 
really  desperate  efforts  to  act;  a  third  who 
had  nearly  completed  his  disguise,  was 
splitting  his  habiliments  in  all  directions, 
while  striving  to  pull  on  a  remarkable 
couple  of  buff  cut-throat  boots,  which  ap- 
peared to  be  about  seven  sizes  too  small;  a 
fourth  was  jumping  into  a  pair  of  panta- 
loons which  might  have  been  built  for  a 
twenty-stone  Dutchman;  a  fifth  who  had 
dressed  for  a  high-born  Spaniard,  and  who 
looked  like  ajourneyman  tinker  incog.,  was 
adjusting  the  mantle  of  another  noble  per- 
son, who,  in  order  that  no  time  might  be 
lost,  was  eating  the  remains  of  a  cold  pork- 
chop,  which  he  had  brought  with  bread  and 
mustard  in  the  crown  of  his  hat. 

In  the  middle  of  the  room  stood  a  table, 
round  which  several  other  professional 
gentlemen  were  engaged  in  giving  the 
last  tranquil  touches  to  their  formidable 
countenances,  which  really  as  a  whole  look- 
ed extremely  picturesque.  One  was  arch- 
ing his  eyebrows  with  a  piece  of  burnt  cork; 
another  was  bringing  out  his  nose  by  draw- 
ing black  zigzag  lines  on  either  side  with 
apiece  of  smoked  wire;  another,  being  a  pea- 
sant, was  establishing  upon  his  long  upper 
lip  an  exact  representation  of  a  pair  of  mili- 
tary moustaches;  another  was  laying  on  his 
cheeks  with  a  rabbit's  foot,  a  thick  coat  of 
red  brickdust  upon  a  waistcoat  of  poma- 
tum; another  was  endeavoring  to  adjust  a 
judge's  wig,  which  had  adorned  the  heads 
of  a  thousand  professional  gentlemen  before 
him,  while  another  was  transforming  a 
waggoner's  hat  into  the  perfect  similitude 
of  an  Italian  noble's,  by  carefully  pinning 
the  brim  up  in  front,  and  making  an  addi- 
tional hole  in  the  crown  for  the  reception  of 
a  long  peacock's  feather. 

"  Will  you  not  dress  and  go  onl"  in- 
quired Horace,  when  Valentine  had  feasted 
his  eyes  on  this  scene,  "you  will  not  get 
a  view  of  the  house  unless  you  do." 

14  Oh,  with  all  my  heart!"  replied  Valen- 
tine, who  seemed  rather  to  like  the  idea 
than  not. 

44  Of  course!"  observed  Horace,  throw- 
ing towards  him  a  pair  of  yellow  lights, 
which  IK;  had  taken  from  a  heap.  44  On 
with  'em  and  then  you'll  enjoy  your  noble 
self." 

44  But  I'd  rather  not  strip,"  said  Valen- 
tine, approving  the  cut  of  the  tights  by  no 
means. 

44  Well,  tuck  up  your  trowsrrs,  and  wind 
this  affair  round  your  calves" — suid  one 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


61 


who  appeared  to  be  the  master  of  the  cere- 
monies, throwing  several  yards  of  red  and 
blue  worsted  binding,  which  was  intended 
to  convey  to  some  distance  a  silken  idea — 
"  you  can  as  well  be  a  brigand  as  not." 

Accordingly  up  went  the  trowsers  above 
the  knee,  and  round  went  the  blue  and  red 
binding,  when  a  jacket  with  spangles  was 
selected  and  put  on,  and  the  man  who  had 
been  fetching  the  professional  gentlemen 
bread  and  cheese  and  half-and-half,  politely 
offered  to  make  up  the  face  of  the  bri- 
gand. 

As  soon  as  this  interesting  operation  had 
been  performed,  the  overture  commenced, 
and  the  call-boy  came  up  to  announce  the 
important  fact,  conceiving  probably  that  the 
whole  of  the  professional  gentlemen  might 
suddenly  have  been  seized  with  total  deaf- 
ness. Valentine  just  caught  a  glance  of 
himself,  and  a  beautiful  brigand  he  fancied 
he  looked!  He  then  turned  round  to  exhibit 
to  Horace,  but  the  chair  in  which  Horace 
had  been  sitting,  was  at  that  moment  occu- 
pied by  "  a  malignant  and  a  turban'd  Turk," 
tying  up  his  garters.  He  had  no  time  to 
make  farther  scrutiny  then,  being  pressed 
towards  the  door  by  the  professional  group; 
he  therefore,  conceiving  that  he  should  find 
his  companion  below,  rushed  down  the 
iron  stair-case  with  the  stream,  and  having 
remained  at  the  side  until  the  curtain  drew 
up,  tucked  a  little  plump  peasant  girl  under 
his  arm  and  gracefully  made  his  debut. 

It  happened  to  be  one  of  the  grand  nights 
of  the  season,  and  the  house  had  an  ex- 
ceedingly brilliant  effect.  All  the  boxes 
were  full,  and  while  the  people  appeared  to 
be  dovetailed  into  the  pit,  the  spacious  gal- 
lery presented  one  mass  of  human  beings, 
which  reached  from  the  rail  to  the  ceiling. 

As  soon  as  he  could  see  clearly  over  the 
foot-lights,  which  had  in  the  first  instance 
dazzled  his  eyes,  Valentine  felt  that  as  he 
was  there  ostensibly  with  a  view  to  the  ex- 
ercise of  his  talent,  he  might  as  well  com- 
mence operations  as  not;  and  as  he  saw  a 
small  personage  in  one  of  the  boxes  on  the 
second  tier  near  the  proscenium,  applaud- 
ing the  Prima  Donna  with  extraordinary 
vehemence,  by  shouting  out,  "bravo!  bra- 
vissimo!"  and  clapping  his  hands  most  vio- 
lently, with  the  obvious  view  of  catching 
the  eye  of  the  lady,  he  thought  that  he 
would  proceed  to  promote  the  views  of  that 
personage,  at  least  so  far  as  to  render  him 
an  object  of  attraction. 

Accordingly  when  the  applause,  which 
succeeded  a  really  delightful  scena,  had 
subsided,  he  dexterously  threw  his  voice 
into  the  identical  box  in  which  the  lady- 
killing  personage  in  question  was  seated, 
and  exclaimed  in  tones  of  ecstacy,  "  Beau- 


tiful! ye  gods!  oh!  excellent!  never  heard 
anything  like  it!  encore!  delicious,  dernme." 

"  Order!  order!"  cried  at  least  a  hundred 
voices  on  the  instant. 

"I  tell  you  it  is  beautiful!  demme!  did 
you  ever?  bravissimo!  encore,  encore,  en- 
core!" exclaimed  Valentine;  and  the  small 
individual,  whose  voice  he  had  assumed, 
sat  twiddling  his  whiskers  and  grinning 
like  an  ape  taking  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the 
country  from  a  descending  parachute. 

"Order!  order!"  again  became  the  gene- 
ral cry,  and  every  eye  was  directed  towards 
the  particular  box  in  question. 

"Demme!"  continued  Valentine,  "don't 
I  say  that  it's  beautiful;  and  am  I  not  per- 
fectly in  order]  Did  you  ever  hear  any  thing 
half  so  magnificent!  She's  a  great  creature 
— oh!  she's  a  great  creature,  demme!" 

"  Silence!"  exclaimed  several  highly  in- 
dignant persons  in  the  pit,  "turn  him  out!" 

"  I  repeat  it,"  cried  Valentine,  "  she  is  a 
great  creature." 

Loud  shouts  of  "  Order,  order!  silence! 
turn  him  out!  drunk!"  now  proceeded  from 
every  part  of  the  house,  while  the  little  ill- 
used  gentleman,  in  a  state  of  interesting 
unconsciousness,  sat  wondering  why  every 
glass  in  the  house,  both  single  and  double 
barrelled,  was  so  impertinently  brought  to 
bear  upon  him. 

During  the  whole  of  this  time  the  legiti- 
mate performances  were  stopped;  and  as 
the  heroine  of  the  opera  had  struck  a  cer- 
tain position  from  which  she  could  not 
possibly  move  before  she  had  uttered  a  cer- 
tain exclamation,  and  could  not  possibly 
give  utterance  to  that  exclamation  before 
she  had  received  a  certain  cue,  she  very 
quietly  intimated  the  extreme  propriety  of 
dropping  the  curtain,  which  was  accord- 
ingly done  amid  general  uproar. 

The  very  moment  the  curtain  had  fallen, 
the  attention  of  the  little  individual  was  ar- 
rested by  two  persons  who  had  been  deputed 
to  expostulate  with  him  on  the  excessive  in- 
convenienceof  the  course  which  they  natural- 
ly imagined  he  had  been  pursuing.  To  these 
persons  he  was  heard  to  proclaim  his  per- 
fect innocence  with  considerable  earnestness 
and  force,  but  they  were  seized  with  a  fit  of 
the  most  inflexible  incredulity,  and  marvel- 
led that  he  should  so  far  disgrace  the  name 
he  bore,  as  to  descend  to  the  utterance-  of 
so  deliberate  a  falsehood  as  that  of  declaring 
that  the  interruption  had  not  proceeded  from 
him.  Yet  what  could  they  do]  They 
could  have  sworn,  and  would  have  sworn, 
that  it  had  proceeded  from  him  and  him, 
alone:  yet  here  was  a  man,  a  highly  dis- 
tinguished patron  of  the  opera,  a  nobleman! 
who  declared  that  if  they  had  thus  sworn 
they  would  have  committed  an  act  of  per- 


62 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


jury!  What  could  they  do?  Why  they 
could  do  no  more  than  they  did — express  a 
hope  that  the  interruption  might  not  be  re- 
newed, and  retire. 

As  the  little  ill-used  personage  immedi- 
ately after  this  became  invisible  to  the 
audience,  the  uproar  speedily  subsided;  and 
when  the  curtain  again  rose,  the  accom- 
plished heroine  was  discovered  in  precisely 
the  same  attitude  as  that  in  which  she  had 
stood  before  it  had  fallen.  The  long-ex- 
pected cue  was  then  given,  and  then  came 
the  piercing  exclamation,  and  then  a  loud 
burst  of  enthusiastic  applause,  during  which 
the  group  of  choristers  marched  off  the 
stage,  and  as  Valentine  of  course  was  com- 
pelled to  march  with  them,  the  audience 
were  left  to  the  uninterrupted  enjoyment  of 
the  recitative,  the  duetts  and  the  trios  that 
were  to  follow. 

Now,  when  Valentine  had  ascertained 
that  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  choir 
had  two  or  three  thousand  bars'  rest,  he  felt 
it  to  be  his  duty  to  keep  them  out  of  that 
mischief  into  which  they  were  displaying 
a  disposition  to  enter  by  glancing,  and  kiss- 
ing, and  squeezing,  and  whispering  the 
softest  possible  nonsense  to  each  other  as 
they  stood  indiscriminately  at  the  wings. 
Acting  upon  this  amiable  impulse,  he  look- 
ed anxiously  round  with  the  view  of  occu- 
pying their  minds  with  something  of  a 
more  virtuous  tendency,  for  he  at  that  mo- 
ment felt  more  strongly  than  ever  that  it 
was  absolutely  incumbent  upon  every  man 
to  check  the  progress  of  indiscretion  by  all 
the  means  at  his  command. 

Scarcely  had  he  turned  from  these  profes- 
sional ladies  and  gentlemen,  whose  eyes 
appeared  to  be  swimming  in  liquid  naughti- 
ness, when  he  saw  about  thirty  old  pieces 
of  old  scenery  resting  against  the  wall,  and 
conceived  that  he  could  not  conveniently 
promote  the  great  cause  of  morality  more 
than  by  setting  the  gentlemen  to  work  to 
remove  them. 

With  this  extremely  laudable  object  in 
Tiew  he  therefore  introduced  behind  the  old 
scenery  in  question  a  shrill  cry  of  "mur- 
der!" at  which,  of  course,  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen  started  and  stared  at  each  other 
in  a  really  interesting  state  of  amazement. 
The  cry  was  repeated;  and  the  ladies  be- 
came alarmed,  and  crept  to  the  panting 
bosoms  of  the  gentlemen  for  protection. 
Again  the  cry  was  heard,  and  the  excite- 
ment became  more  intense,  but  as  the 
gentlemen,  were  equally  affrighted  with 
the  ladies,  and  manifested  no  disposition  to 
move,  Valentine  exclaimed  in  the  voice  of 
a  female,  ••  Release  me!  oh!  help!  get  me 
out!  remove  the  scenes!  remove  the  scenes, 
or  I  faint!" 


"Why  don't  3Tou  come  here  and  lend  a 
hand?"  cried  one  of  the  carpenters  who  had 
been  attracted  to  the  spot,  "don't  you  hear! 
haven't  none  of  you  got  any  bowels'?" 

This  forcible  appeal  to  the  humanities 
had  the  effect  of  inducing  the  professional 
gentlemen  to  approach  the  old  scenes  in  a 
body,  when  Valentine  introduced  a  low 
melancholy  moan  which  inspired  them 
with  the  conviction  that  unless  aid  came 
speedily  all  would  be  over.  They  there- 
fore at  once  set  to  work,  regardless  of  the 
dust  which  lay  upon  each  scene  an  inch 
thick,  regardless  of  the  splendor  of  their 
dresses,  and  of  the  dignity  they  had  as- 
sumed, in  fact,  regardless  of  all  but  the 
removal  of  those  frames  which  they  natu- 
rally imagined  were  pressing  the  life  out  of 
some  one. 

"  Stoop  down!"  cried  the  carpenter,  when 
about  half  the  scenes  had  been  removed, 
"  stoop  down  and  creep  out  at  the  bottom." 

"I  cannot;  I  cannot!  oh!  do,  do,  remove 
them!"  cried  Valentine  in  the  voice  of  one 
gasping  for  breath. 

"Now  bear  a  hand,  gentlemen!  bear  a 
hand — quick!"  cried  the  carpenter,  and  the 
nobles,  and  the  brigands,  and  the  pure  un- 
sophisticated peasantry,  already  complete- 
ly covered  with  thick  black  dust,  again  set 
to  work  with  unprecedented  zeal,  while 
the  ladies,  whose  natural  curiosity  had  sub- 
dued their  alarm,  were  most  anxiously 
peeping  as  each  scene  was  removed  to 
ascertain  who  on  earth  it  could  be,  and 
expressing  certain  rather  unequivocal  sus- 
picions, having  reference  to  the  purpose  for 
which  a  lady  had  thus  been  induced  to  get 
behind. 

As  each  scene  increased  both  in  weight 
and  in  size,  the  difficulty  of  removing  them 
at  lengih  became  extreme;  but  Valentine 
being  resolved  to  keep  them  at  it,  stimu- 
lated them  perpetually  to  renewed  exertions 
by  renewing  his  cries  for  instant  succor. 
Every  man  who  was  not  actually  engaged 
upon  the  stage,  was  called  upon  loudly  to 
assist;  and  as  the  necessary,  or  rather  the 
required  assistance  was  soon  found  to  be 
incompatible  with  the  progress  of  the  opera, 
the  lessee  directed  the  curtain  to  be  dropped, 
and  went  forward  to  state  that  a  lamentable 
accident  had  unaccountably  occurred,  and  to 
solicit  the  indulgence  of  the  audience  for  a 
few  moments,  which  the  audience  displayed 
a  highly  laudable  disposition  to  concede. 

All  hands  were  now  at  work  with  un- 
questionable energy,  and  they  rattled  the 
old  scenes  about  in  a  style  in  which  they 
never  had  been  rattled  before.  On  tin-  n  - 
moval  of  each,  a  dense  cloud  of  dust 
descended,  but  neither  the  nobles,  the 
peasants,  nor  the  brigands,  were  to  be 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


63 


deterred  from  the  performance  of  an  act  of 
pure  humanity  by  any  consideration  of  that 
kind.  They  worked  away  like  colliers,  and 
were  nearly  as  black,  while  the  perspiration 
gushed  from  every  pore. 

At  length,  by  dint  of  almost  super-human 
exertions,  they  got  to  the  three  last  scenes, 
and  as  they  appeared  to  be  infinitely  supe- 
rior to  the  rest  in  point  of  weight,  it  was 
suggested  that,  instead  of  removing  them 
bodily,  it  would  answer  every  purpose  if 
their  bases  were  drawn  from  the  wall. 
This  excellent  suggestion  was  acted  upon 
at  once,  but  Valentine  would  not  cease  to 
moan. 

"  Vill  you  not  pe  apel  to  come  now  out  of 
it?"  inquired  the  stage-manager,  who  was  a 
Frenchman,  and  prided  himself  upon  his 
ability  to  speak  English  with  the  purity 
and  force  of  a  native. 

"  Oh!  no,  no,"  cried  Valentine  faintly, 
'*  remove  them — oh!  do  remove  them  all." 

"  Vale,  vale;  put  you  mosh  pe  ver  pig  if 
you  vas  non  be  apel  to  come  avay  now. 
Vat  for  you  vas  git  pehind  a  tall!" 

"Quick!  oh  quick!"  cried  Valentine; 
and  another  large  scene  was  removed. 

"  Now  giv  to  me  you  hand,"  said  the 
stage-manager,  kneeling,  and  extending  his 
arm  behind  the  two  remaining  scenes. 
"Now  ten,  now,"  he  continued,  "come, 
and  I  sail  pull  you  out." 

"I  cannot  reach  it,"  said  Valentine,  "oh 
give  me  some  water." 

"  Poor  ting!"  exclaimed  the  amiable 
stage-manager,  "some  vatare!"  he  shouted 
to  the  men  who  were  standing  by,  and 
some  water  was  immediately  brought  in  a 
can  which  he  placed  behind  the  scenes,  and 
pushed  as  far  as  he  could  reach. 

As  there  were  but  two  scenes  now  re- 
maining, they  were  pulled  further  out  from 
the  wall;  and  as  the  moaning  had  ceased, 
and  the  general  impression  was  that  the 
female  had  fainted,  a  lanthorn  was  brought, 
with  which  the  manager  went  behind,  but 
in  a  moment  fell  over  the  can  and  extin- 
guished the  light.  Another  lanthorn,  how- 
ever, was  instantly  procured,  and  he  then 
began  to  prosecute  his  search. 

"Vhere  vas  you?"  said  he;  "vere  you 
you  creep  to,  poor  ting!  Come  to  me! 
vere  sail  you  pe  got!  vere  te  tepple  hap  you 
creep?"  he  continued  in  a  most  emphatic 
tone;  and  becoming  somewhat  alarmed  on 
being  able  discover  no  one,  he  came  out  at 
once,  and  exclaimed  with  a  shrug,  "  tere  is 
nopotty  in  tere  a  tall!" 

"  What!"  cried  the  carpenter,  seizing  the 
lanthorn,  "I'll  find  somebody,  I'll  bet  a 
crown,"  and  in  he  rushed,  but  in  an  instant 
returned  with  the  confirmation  of  the  inte- 
resting fact  upon  his  tongue. 


"Well!  have  you  got  her  out?"  inquired 
the  lessee,  approaching. 

"  Non,  che  vas  nevare  in  tere  a  tall!"  re- 
plied the  astounded  stage-manager. 

"  Not  what!"  cried  the  lessee. 

"  Nopotty  vas  tere." 

"  Pooh!  nonsense!  she  has  fainted.  Here 
give  me  a  light,"  and  in  went  the  highly 
indignant  lessee;  "  are  you  sure,"  he  in- 
quired, after  having  looked  in  vain,  "  that 
she  did  not  glide  out  to  escape  detection?" 

"  Te  tepple  a  pit!"  replied  the  manager. 
"I  hap  von  eye  upon  him  hole  all  te  time! 
che  could  not  possible." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  suppose  that  you'll 
make  me  believe  she  was  not  there,  do  you!" 

"  It  is  ver  extraordinaire,  ver  mosh  rum, 
put  tere  vas  noting  ven  I  vas  go  in  but  te 
vatare  which  we  place  in  ourselfs." 

As  the  audience  at  this  moment  began  to 
manifest  impatience,  the  lessee,  conceiving 
it  to  have  been  some  favorite  of  the  stage- 
manager  whom  he  had  allowed  to  escape, 
uttered  several  indignant  exclamations,  and 
ordered  the  legitimate  performances  to  be 
immediately  resumed.  The  principals  en- 
gaged in  the.  next  scene  were  therefore 
summoned,  and  the  curtain  again  rose  de- 
spite the  earnest  entreaties  of  the  chorus- 
master,  who  viewed  the  extremely  dirty 
condition  of  those  whom  he  led  with  a 
feeling  of  horror;  for,  independently  of  the 
dust  which  adhered  firmly  to  their  poma- 
tum-covered countenances,  streams  of  per- 
spiration thickly  coated  with  vermillion, 
had  established  themselves  in  all  directions 
and  looked  like  distant  rivulets  of  veritable 
gore.  The  necessity  for  allowing  these 
professional  individuals  time  to  beautify 
themselves,  was  therefore  obvious  to  the 
meanest  capacity;  but  the  lessee  was  in- 
flexible, and,  as  shortly  after  this  the  next 
chorus  was  called,  on  they  went  as  they 
were. 

The  excitement  which  at  this  particular 
moment  prevailed  caused  them  naturally 
enough  to  strike  up  the  wrong  chorus — a 
circumstance  which  so  highly  incensed  a 
fat  ruby-nosed  person  who  was  prompting 
in  a  little  covered  pigeon-hole justabove  the 
foot-lights;  that  after  shouting  violently — 
"  Cedi  il  campo  alia  vendetta! — cedi  il  campo 
alia  vendetta!"  he  was  about  to  pitch  his 
book  at  the  head  of  an  individual  who  look- 
ed like  a  long-faced  fiend  who  had  just  been 
scratched  and"  pelted  by  a  mob  of  young  imps, 
when  the  band  at  once  ceased  operations. 
This  remarkable  little  incident  had  singu- 
larly enough  the  effect  of  bringing  the  profes- 
sional group  to  their  recollection.  They  there- 
fore commenced  the  right  chorus  at  once, 
and  after  dashing  clean  through  it  in  a  style 
of  which  novelty  was  its  only  recommenda- 


64 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


tion,  the  first  act  concluded  amidst  a  volley 
of  hisses,  which  five  thousand  serpents 
might  have  endeavored  to  emulate  in  vain. 

Between  the  first  and  second  acts  the  pro- 
fessional gentlemen  were  busily  engaged  in 
•washing  and  repainting  their  faces,  while 
the  ladies  wrere  wondering  who  it  was  that 
had  got  behind  the  scenery,  being  all  of 
them  firmly  convinced  that  it  was  one  of  the 
choir,  and  that  she  had  glided  from  that 
equivocal  position  unseen.  The  stage-ma- 
nager, however,  with  whom  they  were  con- 
versing, would  not  admit  even  the  bare  pos- 
sibility of  such  an  escape.  "  Tere  vas  put 
von  vay,"  said  he,  "  for  to  come  out  of  te 
place,  and  I  hat  my  eye  upon  him,  and  no- 
potty  pass  and  so  terefore  it  vas  be  te  tep- 
ple  it  vas  any  potty  a  tall,  and  he  vas  knock 
me  town  ven  I  entare,  and  ten  fly  avay  vit 
himself." 

During  the  whole  of  the  time  the  profes- 
sional gentlemen  were  making  themselves 
fit  to  be  seen,  Valentine  was  highly  amus- 
ed at  their  ridiculous  and  most  improbable 
surmises.  It  was,  however,  at  length  car- 
ried unanimously,  that  whoever  she  was  she 
really  "  no  better  than  she  should  be,"  but 
how  she  escaped  from  behind  was  a  mys- 
tery which  they  all  declared  their  utter  iria- 
hility  to  solve. 

The  call-boy  now  entered  to  summon  the 
choristers  who  descended,  and  the  second 
act  commenced.  The  audience  were  evi- 
dently piqued  about  something  which  might 
have  been  easily  explained;  but  as  the  im- 
mediate object  of  Valentine  was  to  restore 
them  to  perfect  good  humor,  he  directed  his 
voice  into  the  middle  of  the  pit,  and  ex- 
claimed in  a  half-suppressed  tone,  "  mind 
your  pockets." 

No  sooner  had  this  simple  exclamation 
been  uttered,  than  a  simultaneous  move- 
ment on  the  part  of  the  gentlemen  proved 
how  extremely  anxious  they  were  to  pro- 
fit by  the  advice  which  it  conveyed;  and 
while  each  was  ascertaining  if  all  ho  had 
brought  with  him  were  safe,  he  cast  an  eye 
of  unwarrantable  suspicion  upon  every  in- 
dividual in  his  immediate  vicinity. 

"  Ladies!  have  a  care!"  shouted  Valen- 
tine; and  the  rustling  of  silk  dresses  be- 
came really  unexampled.  «*  My  watch!" 
he  continued  in  the  voice  of  a  female,  "  you 
have  pol  it!  my  watch!  oh  my  dear  little 
Witch!" 

At  this  interesting  moment  the  entire  pit 
rose,  while  the  persons  in  the  boxes  look- 
ed with  great  anxiety,  but  to  the  perfect 
amazement  of  them  all,  they  were  utterly 
unable  to  discover  the  lady  from  whom  the 
eaitl  (l«-ar  little  watch  had  been  stolen. 

"Officers!  officers!"  criod  Valentine,  is- 
suming  the  same  voice;  and  officers  from 


various  parts  of  the  house  rushed  at  once 
into  the  pit. 

"I've  got  him!"  continued  Valentine. 

k'  Where!"  cried  a  gentleman  armed  with 
a  staff. 

"  Here!  officers!  officers!"  and  those  re- 
spectable functionaries  followed  the  sound 
with  considerable  zeal  and  dexterity. 

"  You  know  that  you  have  it!  you  know 
it  too  well!  oh,  give  it  me  back  and  I'll  let 
you  escape." 

"  No!  hold  him!— hold  him!"  cried  an 
officer,  who  rushed  to  the  spot  from  which 
the  sound  had  apparently  proceeded,  but 
having  reached  the  point  proposed,  he  was 
stung  with  disappointment.  He  could  find 
neither  a  person  who  had  stolen  a  watch, 
nor  a  person  from  whom  any  watch  had 
been  stolen.  The  people  around  him  were 
staring  at  each  other  with  astonishment,  he 
could  not  obtain  even  the  slightest  informa- 
tion, and  as  the  voice  was  heard  no  more, 
it  was  taken  at  once  for  granted,  that  the 
felony  had  been  compromised. 

With  this  conviction  impressed  deeply 
upon  their  minds,  the  people  gradually  re- 
sumed their  seats,  and  when  order  was 
somewhat  restored,  another  desperate  at- 
tempt was  made  to  proceed  with  the  opera. 

On  the  preliminary  chord  being  struck 
by  the  gentlemen  in  the  orchestra,  who  had 
just  taken  snuff  all  round  with  extraordi- 
nary violence— four  of  the  principal  artistes 
dashed  forward  in  a  rage  to  sing  an  affect- 
ing quartette.  They  commenced  with  an 
apparent  contempt  for  the  music,  and  pro- 
ceeded in  an  extremely  careless  style,  as  if 
anxious  to  let  the  audience  know  that  they 
didn't  care  whether  they  sang  it  or  not.  In 
order,  therefore,  that  the  house  might  be 
somewhat  enlivened,  Valentine,  before  the 
quartette  was  half  finished,  introduced  a 
faithful  echo  into  the  omnibus-box;  and  as 
it  was  brought  to  bear  upon  some  of  the 
Prima  Donna's  brilliant  passages,  that  lady 
gave  a  series  of  granite-piercing  glances  at 
the  echo,  and  bounced  off  the  stage  with 
more  fire  than  grace. 

The  progress  of  the  opera  was,  there- 
fore, again  checked,  and  the  audience  be- 
came highly  indignant.  They  called  loudly 
and  imperatively  upon  the  lessee  to  appear, 
and  when  he  did  appear  they  would  not  per- 
mit him  to  speak.  They  saw  him  bowing 
with  due  humility,  and  trembling  with  due 
violence,  but  although  they  demanded  an 
explanation  of  these  irregular  proceedings, 
they  would  by  no  means  allow  him  to  com- 
ply with  that  demand.  As  he  bent  his 
graceful  body  nearly  double,  and  shru^ed 
and  grinned,  and  grunted,  and  pl.ire.l  his 
hand  with  great  solemnity  upon  his  IK  -art, 
he  seemed  to  bo  asking  himself  a  series  of 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


65 


highly  important  questions,  and  answering 
himself  in  the  most  unsatisfactery  manner 
possible.  At  length,  however,  he  ventured 
in  an  unrivalled  attitude,  to  glide  very 
cleverly  off  the  stage,  with  the  view  of 
persuading  the  Prima  Donna  to  re-appear. 
But  he  found  that  that  lady  was  still  inex- 
orable. Nothing  could  induce  her  to  yield. 
She  declared  that  she  would  rather  suffer 
death  than  go  forward  again  then;  and 
after  having  knocked  one  of  her  attendants 
fairly  down,  and  pitched  a  looking-glass 
dexterously  at  the  head  of  the  other,  she 
vented  her  indignation  upon  the  unhappy 
lessee  with  extraordinary  force  and  effect. 

The  noise  in  the  body  of  the  house  still 
continued;  for,  as  the  lessee  had  anticipated, 
the  audience  viewed  his  departure  as  a 
mark  of  disrespect.  He  peeped  through  a 
hole  in  the  curtain  and  trembled;  then 
listened  at  the  wings,  and  kicked  a  carpen- 
ter for  sneezing;  when,  on  being  repeatedly 
called  for  in  tones  that  were  particularly 
unpleasing,  he  threw  his  hat  at  an  innocent 
scene-shifter  with  unwarrantable  violence, 
and  went  forward  with  the  most  profound 
humility  again.  His  reappearance  was 
hailed  with  a  tremendous  burst  of  anger, 
but  he  boldly  maintained  his  ground  until 
the  lungs  of  the  audience  began  to  manifest 
unequivocal  symptoms  of  exhaustion;  when, 
getting  as  near  the  foot-lights  as  he  com- 
fortably could,  he  begged  leave  to  announce, 
that  in  consequence  of  the  sudden  and 
severe  indisposition  of  Madame  Placidi, 
Madame  Gratiani,  with  their  kind  permis- 
sion, would  have  the  honor  of  going  through 
the  remaining  scenes. 

On  this  proposition  being  put  to  the  vote, 
it  was  impossible  to  decide  whether  the 
ayes  or  the  noes  had  it;  the  lessee,  however, 
assumed  that  his  motion  had  been  carried 
by  an  overwhelming  majority,  and  left  the 
stage  in  order  to  prevail  upon  Madame 
Gratiani,  whom  envy  had  placed  upon  the 
shelf — to  go  through  the  remainder  of  the 
opera.  The  lady  at  first  expressed  her 
unwillingness  to  do  this,  but  when  the 
lessee  had  portrayed  the  deep  enthusiasm 
with  which  he  stated  the  announcement  of 
her  name  had  been  hailed,  the  glowing 
picture  re-inspired  her  with  hope,  and  she 
hastened  to  prepare  for  a  triumph.  Just, 
however,  as  Madame  Gratiani  was  ready  to 
go  on,  the  astounding  fact  became  known 
to  Madame  Placidi,  who  so  suddenly  recov- 
ered from  her  serious  indisposition,  that  she 
insisted  upon  finishing  the  part  herself. 
The  lessee,  as  a  sort  of  punishment,  de- 
clared that  as  she  would  not,  when  she 
felt  that  it  could  not  be  done  without  her, 
she  should  not  now  she  knew  that  it  could; 
but  this  had  no  other  effect,  than  that  of 
7 


making  her  the  more  desperate,  and  as  the 
lessee  had  had  many  striking  proofs  of  her 
amiable  disposition,  he  eventually  conceived 
it  to  be  more  discreet  under  the  circum- 
stances to  yield.  He,  therefore,  appeared 
before  the  audience  again,  to  announce  the 
extraordinary  fact  of  Madame  Placidi  hav- 
ing happily  recovered,  and  the  performances 
were  once  more  resumed. 

Now,  as  the  lessee  had  been  unable  to 
punish  Madame  Placidi,  Valentine  deter- 
mined that,  as  a  mere  matter  of  justice,  he 
would.  He  therefore,  again  gave  breath, 
to  the  interesting  echo,  which  at  length, 
seemed  to  amuse  the  audience  rather  than 
not,  but  nothing  could  exceed  in  power,  the 
rage  of  Madame  Placidi.  Whenever  she 
came  off  the  stage,  no  soul  dared  to  approach, 
her.  She  stamped  and  ground  her  teeth, 
and  bit  her  lips,  until  they  bled;  and  if, 
during  her  progress  from  the  wings  to  her 
room,  any  little  inanimate  object— such  for 
instance,  as  a  brush  or  a  banner — happened 
to  stand  in  her  way,  she  seized  it  at  once, 
dashed  it  violently  to  the  ground,  and 
trampled  upon  it  with  ineffable  scorn. 

Under  all  these  circumstances,  therefore, 
the  expediency  of  cutting  the  epera  short, 
was  suggested  with  great  feeling  by  the 
bewildered  stage-manager;  and  as  this 
really  excellent  suggestion  was  approved 
in  the  proper  quarter,  the  finale  came  before 
it  was  expected,  but  it  certainly  appeared  by 
no  means  to  be  on  that  account  the  less  wel- 
come. 

"Now,"  said  the  gentleman,  who  looked 
as  if  he  might  have  been  half  an  Italian 
and  half  a  Turk,  but  whom  Valentine 
eventually  found  to  be  Horace,  "  let  us 
change  our  togs  at  once,  and  we  shall  be 
down  before  the  ballet  commences." 

Accordingly,  up  he  and  Valentine  ran, 
and  after  having  hastily  metamorphosed 
themselves  into  something  bearing  the 
semblance  of  respectable  Christians,  they 
descended  the  cast-iron  column  once  more. 

The  stage  now  assumed  a  totally  different 
aspect.  The  curtain  was  still  down,  and 
innumerable  sylph-like  forms,  with  dresses 
so  short,  and  necks  so  white,  and  cheeks  so 
rosy,  and  ankles  so  thin,  were  gaily  flitting 
about  in  all  directions.  In  the  back  ground 
a  group  of  little  fairies  were  reclining  on  a 
piece  of  deal  board  so  painted  as  to  convey 
the  idea  of  a  bank  of  wild  roses,  while  on 
either  side  a  row  of  angelic  creatures  were 
engaged  in  lifting  up  their  legs  to  an  extra- 
ordinary height — an  operation  which  they 
repeated  with  so  much  perseverance,  that 
Valentine  positively  blushed.  He  felt  it 
to  be  impossible,  however,  for  vice  to  re- 
side in  beings  who  looked  so  amiable,  so 
pure!  yet  while  he  was  willing  to  attribute 


66 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


these  games,  in  which  they  seemed  to  take  1  you  think  of  'em,  eh! 
delight,  to  a  buoyant,  playful  spirit;  he  never-   they!" 
theless  contended  within  himself,  that  they  I      "They   are   indeed 
were  games  which  ought  strictly  to  be  con- 
fined to  the  play-room.     But  then,  oh!  how 
beautiful  they  appeared!  so  innocent— oh! 
so  happy! 


Fine  animals,  aVt 


'  They  are  indeed  elegant  creatures," 
said  Valentine;  "but  don't  it  strike  you 
that  they  are  somewhat  indelicate!" 

Indelicate!"    echoed    Horace    with 
smile,   "  why   you   didn't  expect   to    find 
"Get  along,   you  beast!"   cried  one  of  much  delicacy  here!" 
them,  addressing  a  very  venerable  looking       "  But  look!"  exclaimed  Valentine,  point 
gentleman,  who  had  transferred  the  roseate    ing  to  a  sylph  whose  left  foot  was  on  a 
hue  of  her  cheeks  to  the  palms  of  his  white    level  with  the  crown  of  her  head;  "now 
kid  gloves.     "  I'll  slap  your  face  for  you,    that  appears  to  me  to  be  highly  improper, 
you  old  fool!"  observed  the  angel  in  con-       Horace    again    smiled,  and   after  a  few 
tinuation,   and  in  driving  past   Valentine,    more  equally  innocent  observations,  on  the 
she  left  a  great  portion  of  the  snowy  white-  |  part  of  Valentine,  exclaimed,  "  Why,  what 


ness  of  her  neck  upon  the  sleeves  of  his  coat, 
while  the  venerable  old  gentleman  trying 
with  all  his  might  to  look  fascinating, 
continued  to  hobble  after  her  with  all  the 
youthful  agility  he  could  assume.  Valen 


do  you  think  these  old  venerables  come 
here  for!  Don't  you  see  how  spicily  they 
gloat  over  the  scene!  But  look  presently 
at  those  who  have  their  families  in  the 
house.  See  what  out-and-out  jolly  long 


tine  was  amazed — "  Is  it  possible  that  such  faces  they'll  pull!  Why  by  the  time  they 
an  exclamation,"  thought  he,  "could  have  get  round  to  their  wives  and  daughters,  who 
proceeded  from  so  elegant  a  creature  as  are  perhaps  quite  as  beautiful  as  the  crea- 
that!"  And  he  looked  at  his  coat-sleeve  tures  that  are  here,  they  will  all  look  as 
again;  but  as  he  subsequently  heard  this  moral  as  maggots." 

identical  angel  call  the  venerable  gentleman  At  this  moment  a  bell  began  to  ring, 
in  question  her  dear,  he  fancied  that  he  when  the  stage  was  cleared,  and  up  went 
must  have  run  against  either  a  baker  or  a  the  curtain.  As  Horace  had  predicted,  the 
newly-whitewashed  wall;  but  could  by  no  majority  of  the  old  gentlemen  at  once  trot- 
means  obliterate  the  impression,  that  al-  ted  off,  and  as  Valentine  had  learned  quite 
though  the  old  gentleman  might  be  her  grand-  sufficient  to  convince  him  that  virtue  was 
papa  and  very  tiresome,  moreover,  and  teas-  not  the  distinguishing  characteristic  of 
ing,  it  was  still  extremely  wrong  of  her  to  those  who  remained,  he  felt  that  he  might 
call  him  a  beast.  probably  be  conferring  an  essential  benefit 

Having  taken  a  general   survey  of  this    upon  society  by  subjecting  them  to  a  griev- 
interesting  scene,  he   proceeded  towards  a   ous  disappointment. 

group  of  aristocratic  individuals — the  major-  "Wait  for  me,  love,  in  the  hall!"  said 
ity  of  whom  were  about  sixty  years  of  age  he,  whispering  in  the  ear  of  an  ancient  in- 
— near  the  curtain.  They  had  formed  dividual  with  the  palsy,  as  a  nyrnph  glided 
themselves  into  a  circle,  and  in  the  center  past  him  to  go  upon  the  stage, 
a  most  beautiful  girl  was  dancing  apparently  "Yes,  yes,  my  little  dear,  yes  I  will," 
in  a  state  of  the  most  perfect  unconsciousness  said  the  old  gentleman,  conceiving  that  the 
of  the  presence  of  those  by  whom  she  was  invitation  had  proceeded  from  the  nymph; 
surrounded.  Her  hair  was  studded  with  and  he  rubbed  his  hands  rapturously,  and 
flowers  and  golden  combs,  while  her  beau-  pressed  his  withered  lips,  and  sighed,  and 
tifully  symmetrical  neck  was  adorned  smiled,  and  looked  as  killing  as  he  conve- 
•with  a  row  of  sparkling  diamonds  secured  niently  could. 

to  her  bosom  by  almost  invisible  pieces  of  "Oh,  monstrous!" cried  Valentine,  throw- 
thread.  Her  dress  was  of  the  purest  white-  ing  his  voice  behind  the  old  gentleman;  "  for 
ness  and  most  delicate  texture,  and  as  it  shame,  sir,  an  old  man  like  you!" 
scarcely  descended  twelve  inches  below  her  The  palsied  old  gentleman  turned  round 
hips,  it  had  the  appearance  of  an  open  para-  amazed;  but  being  unable  to  ascertain 
sol,  as  she  twirled  round  and  round  upon  whence  the  sound  had  proceeded,  he,  in- 
the  point  of  her  toe.  While  bounding,  and  spired  at  that,  moment  some  feeling  \\  Inch 
pirouetting  and  cutting  all  sorts  of  graceful  induced  him  to  move  from  the  spot  with  all 
capers,  the  elderly  gentlemen  around  her  possible  despatch. 

appeared  to  be  lost  in  admiration;  but  there  In  this  labor  of  love  Valentine  was  '/.pal- 
was  in  the  countenances  of  them  all  an  ously  engaged  for  the  next  half  hour,  and 
expression  so  peculiar,  that  Valentine  was  when  he  had  made  about  fifty  nppnintnn-nts, 
utti-rly  unable  to  divine  what  description  of  the  whole  of  which  were  to  be  kc  |>t  in  tin 
feeling  it  portrayed.  hall,  hr  was  urged  by  Horace  to  <|uit  the 

"  WTell,"   said    Horace,  who    had    just   scene,  which  hi;  did  without  being  hy  any 
escaped  from  one  of  the  fairies,  "what  do   means  satisfied   that  its  tendency  was  to 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


promote  the  cause  of  virtue  or  to  cultivate 
those  feelings  which  bind  man  to  man. 

Horace  now  endeavored  to  prevail  upon 
Valentine  to  accompany  him  to  what  he 
called  his  "club,"  a  large  house  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  theatre,  the  door  of  which 
was  partially  open,  and  which  appeared  to 


67 


be  brilliantly  illuminated;  but  as  it  was 
then  twelve  o'clock,  and  as  he  wished  to 
rise  early  in  the  morning,  he  excused  him- 
self, and  having  called  a  coach,  he  left 
Horace  to  keep  some  appointment  at  the 
"club,"  and  proceeded  to  the  house  of  his 
guardian  alone. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

VALENTINE'S  TRIP  TO  GRAVESEND. 


WITH  all  their  knowledge  of  the  human 
heart,  and  of  the  springs  of  human  actions, 
of  the  impulses,  the  promptings,  and  the 
guides  of  the  soul,  philosophers  have  never 
yet  deigned  to  decide  whether  it  be  in 
reality  natural  for  a  perfectly  unsophisti- 
cated youth  to  view  the  general  conduct  of 
our  dashing  metropolitan  rips  with  con- 
tempt or  emulation.  Such  a  youth,  if  he 
be  an  observer  at  all,  cannot  fail  to  perceive 
in  those  rips  the  total  absence  of  every  vir- 
tuous or  really  honorable  principle;  he  can- 
not fail  to  mark  that  they  are  selfish, 
heartless,  brutal,  and  dead  to  every  sense 
of  common  justice;  and  yet  our  grave  men 
will  not  honor  the  world  by  deciding  whe- 
ther nature  inspires  him  who  perceives  all 
this  with  the  spirit  of  rivalry  or  that  of 
disgust. 

Now  this  is  indeed  a  most  extraordinary 
piece  of  business;  but,  without  dwelling 
long  upon  a  subject  so  profound — without 
stopping  the  current  of  these  adventures  to 
inquire  whether  the  feelings  which  actuate 
those  who  delight  in  setting  honor,  virtue, 
justice,  and  decency  at  defiance,  are  attri- 
butable to  property,  blood,  or  education — it 
may  be  said  with  perfect  safety,  that  Va- 
lentine, whether  naturally  or  not,  was  im- 
pressed with  no  very  high  notions  of  Horace, 
with  reference  either  to  the  strength  of  his 
head  or  to  the  soundness  of  his  heart,  for 
having  watched  his  actions  narrowly,  and 
viewed  the  direct  tendency  of  each,  he  had 
seen  quite  sufficient  to  convince  him,  that 
circumstances  might  make  him  a  really 
great  villain,  but  never  could  make  him  a 
really  great  man. 

With  this  conviction  deeply  impressed 
upon  his  mind,  he  wound  up  his  watch  and 
went  to  sleep,  and  having  dreamt  of  fairy 
land  throughout  the  night,  he  rose  unusually 
early,  ate  a  most  substantial  breakfast,  and 
started  at  once  for  the  Steam  Packet  wharf. 

It  happened  to  be  an  extremely  hot  morn- 
ing, and  as  the  sun  was  making  desperate 
efforts  to  send  its  bright  rays  through  the 


vapors  which  mantled  the  earth,  the  spar- 
rows, resolved  to  do  business  while  they 
were  able,  were  hopping  about  gaily  from 
tile  to  tile,  and  from  brick  to  brick,  well 
knowing  that  when  the  mist  had  been  dis- 
pelled, those  tiles  and  those  bricks  would 
be  too  hot  to  hold  them. 

As  he  proceeded,  the  public  vehicles 
were  rattling  over  the  stones  with  remark- 
able velocity,  and  while  the  horses  were 
adorned  with  blue  and  yellow  rosettes,  with 
the  view  of  enabling  them  to  enjoy  them- 
selves with  the  knowledge  of  its  being 
Sunday,  each  driver  proudly  sported  his 
gayest  clothes  and  the  largest  bunch  of 
wall-flowers  a  penny  could  procure. 

As  Valentine  drew  near  the  wharf,  crowds 
of  persons  were  hastening  in  precisely  the 
same  direction:  some  with  children  in  their 
arms,  some  with  baskets  of  provisions  in 
their  hands,  and  others,  who,  although  with 
neither  children  nor  provisions,  appeared 
just  as  happy  as  those  who  had  both. 

It  was  interesting  to  analyse  the  mass  of 
individuals  who  crowded  the  deck  of  the 
vessel,  for  they  indicated  their  social  posi- 
tions as  plainly  as  if  each  had  been  stamp- 
ed with  a  "  distinctive  die." 

There  stood  the  mechanic,  the  creases  in 
whose  coat  told  plainly  not  only  that  it  was 
worn  but  once  a  week,  but  that  infinite  care 
had  been  taken  to  preserve  the  pristine 
beauty  of  the  nap  by  keeping  it  folded  in  a 
trunk  or  drawer.  There  was,  however,  a 
strongly  marked  difference  between  the  mar- 
ried and  single  mechanic;  for  while  the 
former  was  calculating  precisely  how  much 
the  trip  would  cost,  the  latter,  in  the  pleni- 
tude of  his  liberality,  was  priding  himself 
upon  the  force  with  which  he  sent  to  perdi- 
tion all  idea  of  the  expense.  Nor  was  the 
distinction  between  the  married  and  the 
single  of  this  class  developed  by  the  gen- 
tlemen alone:  the  countenance  of  the  mar- 
ried lady  displayed  an  anxiety  about  her 
little  household  gods,  and  a  strong  disposi- 
tion to  show  her  authority  as  a  wife  by  find- 


68 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


ing  fault  with  every  trifling  thing  that  oc- 
curred, while  the  single  lady  had  little 
thought  indeed  of  home,  and  being  resolved 
to  appear  highly  delighted  with  every  thing, 
laughed  very  merrily  at  anything  or  no- 
thing. But  the  mode  of  wearing  the  shawl 
was  alone  sufficient  to  mark  the  distinction 
between  them;  for  while  the  married  lady 
would  have  hers  spread  upon  her  back  in 
order  that  the  whole  of  the  pattern  might  be 
seen,  the  single  lady  carried  hers  gracefully 
upon  her  arm,  with  the  only  ostensible  view 
of  showing  that  she  had  such  a  thing  as  a 
shawl  in  her  possession. 

Aloof  from  these  persons  stood  those  who 
kept  chandlers',  butchers',  and  green-gro- 
cers' shops;  and  each  gentleman  belonging 
to  this  class  prided  himself  especially  upon 
having  a  handsome  turn-out  by  his  side  in 
the  shape  of  his  "  missis"— a  lady  who  not 
cnly  dresses  herself,  but  superintends  the 
adornment  of  her  husband.  He  must  wear 
his  chain  thus,  and  his  shirt  pin  thus,  and 
as  she  allows  herself  only,  to  tie  his  cravat, 
she  has,  of  course,  whatever  knot  she  may 
happen  to  fancy.  His  hair  must  go  so, 
and  his  waistcoat  so — in  a  word,  there  is 
nothing  in  which  she  has  not  a  hand,  for  al- 
though it  may  be  true  that  she  permits  him 
to  shave  his  own  chin,  he  must  be  careful 
not  to  place  his  domestic  peace  in  peril  by 
spoiling  the  shape  of  his  whiskers.  With 
regard  to  the  adornment  of  her  own  person, 
she  exercises  of  course,  her  undoubted 
prerogative,  by  wearing  precisely  whatever 
she  thinks  proper.  If  she  cannot  procure  a 
couple  of  red  roses  sufficiently  large,  she 
will  establish  a  brace  of  becoming  sunflow- 
ers between  her  cap  and  bonnet,  the  size  of 
which  latter  affair  is  invariably  immense; 
and  she  will  have  a  long  white  veil  and  a 
plume  of  feathers,  whether  veils  and  fea- 
thers be  worn  by  the  aristocracy  or  not; 
and  beyond  all  dispute  when  ladies  in  this 
sphere  are  dressed,  they  are  dressed,  for 
there  never  did  appear  in  any  rainbow  a 
color  that  they  have  not  got  something 
about  them  to  match.  But  even  these  with 
their  husbands  did  not  constitute  in  fact  the 
elite  of  the  vessel;  there  were  very,  very 
different  beings  on  board; — the  milliners, 
the  shopmen,  and  the  clerks! — but  although 
the  clerks  and  shopmen  might  he  said  to 
form  one  class  of  persons,  the  difference  be- 
tween even  them  was  distinctly  developed, 
for  tho  clerks  had  pale  faces  and  delicate 
hands,  while  the  faces  of  the  shopmen 
were  full  and  their  hands  red  as  blood. 
'J'li'  re  was  moreover  something  in  i! 
pression  of  the  rye,  by  which  this  dis- 
tinction was  marked.  The  eyes  of  the 
clerks  were  comparatively  quiet  and  unas- 
!£,  but  the  shopmen  had  really  very 


impudent  eyes,  and  while  they  were  lost  in 
admiration  of  the  ladies,  the  clerks  appear- 
ed lost  in  admiration  of  themselves. 

When  the  clock  struck  ten  between  five 
and  six  hundred  individuals  had  managed  to 
establish  themselves  upon  the  deck,  and  as 
the  band,  consisting  of  a  harp,  a  violin,  and 
a  fife,  began  to  play  a  highly  popular  tune, 
the  boat  started.  Ginger  beer  and  bottled 
stout  were  in  immediate  requisition,  and 
while  many  of  the  unencumbered  gentlemen 
were  smoking  their  cigars,  Valentine  was 
learning  the  various  orders  that  were  giving 
by  the  Captain  through  the  boy  who  stood 
just  above  the  place  in  which  the  engine 
was  working. 

The  vessel  had  not  proceeded  far,  when, 
fancying  that  he  could  imitate  the  voice  of 
the  boy  exactly,  he  determined  to  try  the 
effect  of  the  experiment;  and  as  he  had  be- 
come quite  au  fait  to  the  orders  that  were 
given,  the  very  moment  the  boat  had  passed 
the  shipping,  he  commenced  with  "  Ease 
ar!" 

"No, no:  go  on,"  said  the  Captain. 

"  Go  on!"  cried  the  boy. 

"  Ease  ar!"  shouted  Valentine  again. 

"  Who  told  you  to  ease  her?"  said  the 
Captain  to  the  boy. 

"  Stop  ar!"  cried  Valentine,  and  the  en- 
gine stopped  at  once. 

11  What  are  you  about,  sir!"  shouted  the 
Captain,  "  you'd  better  mind  what  you  are 
after.  Go  on  sir,  and  let's  have  no  more 
of  that  nonsense." 

"  Go  on!"  cried  the  boy,  who  couldn't 
exactly  understand  it,  although  he  looked 
round  and  scratched  his  head  with  great 
energy. 

At  this  moment  a  wherry  was  seen  just 
ahead  waiting  to  put  three  passengers  on 
board,  and  as  the  vessel  approached  her, 
tlje  Captain  raised  his  hand. 

"  Ease  ar!"  cried  the  boy  who  was  watch- 
ing that  hand,  and  as  it  moved  again,  he 
!  added  "  stop  ar!"  when  the  steps  were  let 
j  down,  and  a  man  stood  ready  with  a  boat- 
hook  secured  by  a  rope,  while  the  water- 
!  man  was  pulling  away  with  all  the  strength 
he  had  in  him. 

•'  Go   on!"   cried  Valentine,  just  as  tho 

!  boat  had  reached  the  side,  and  the  vessel 

dashed  away  and  left  the  \vhcrry  behind  her. 

"Stop  her!"  shouted  the  Captain  very 
angrily;  "  what  is  the  matter  with  you,  sir, 
tins  morning?" 

kk  Stop  ar!"  cried  the  innocent  boy;  and 
the  waterman,  who  was  very  old  and  not 
very  strong,  pulled  away  again  as  hard  as 
he  could  pull;  but  as  he  had  to  row  against 
i  In-  tide,  and  had  been  left  some  considera- 
ble distain-r  behind,  it  was  a  long  time, 
before  he  could  manage  to  get  up 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


69 


although  he  perspired  very  freely.  He  did, 
however,  at  length  succeed  in  getting  along- 
side; but  just  as  he  was  reaching  the  steps 
again,  Valentine  cried,  "Move  her  astarn!" 
— when,  as  the  vessel  went  back  very  fast 
with  the  tide,  she  left  the  wherry  some  con- 
siderable distance  ahead. 

"  Stop  her!  you  scoundrel!  go  on!  What 
d'ye  mean,  sir?"  shouted  the  Captain  in- 
dignantly. 

"  Stop  ar! — Go  on!"  cried  the  boy,  who 
could  not  make  it  out  exactly  even  then— 
"  ease  ar!" — he  cried  again,  as  the  captain 
waved  his  hand — "  stop  ar!" 

44  Go  on!"  cried  Valentine,  in  precisely 
the  same  tone,  and  the  vessel  again  left  the 
wherry  behind  her. 

As  the  Captain,  at  this  interesting  mo- 
ment, threw  his  hat  at  the  boy,  and  as  the 
boy  began  to  rub  his  head  violently,  as  if  it 
ha,d  struck  him,  the  vessel  proceeded  so 
far  before  the  order  to  "  go  on,"  had  been 
counteracted,  that  the  waterman,  feeling 
that  they  were  having  a  game  with  him, 
quietly  gave  the  thing  up. 

Now  the  Captain  was  really  a  remarkable 
man,  but  the  chief  characteristics  of  his 
mind  were  even  more  remarkable  than 
those  of  his  body.  He  had  been  a  most 
extraordinary  swearer,  but  having  imbibed 
a  propensity  for  literature  and  art,  a  ten 
months' quiet  indulgence  in  that  propensity 
had  made  him  altogether  a  different  indi- 
vidual. Instead  of  going,  like  a  man  with- 
out a  soul,  every  evening  to  a  neighboring 
public  house  to  smoke  his  pipe,  and  to 
have  his  stint — namely,  seven  four-penny- 
worths of  hot  gin  and  water,  and  he  always 
knew  when  he  had  had  that  stint  by  the 
seven  pewter  spoons  which  he  had  placed 
in  a  row  before  him — he  kept  philosophi- 
cally at  home,  with  the  view  of  obtaining 
a  perfect  mastery  over  the  subjects  of 
Theology,  Geology,  Phrenology,  and  Phy- 
siology, and  as  for  swearing! — it  will  be 
necessary  only  to  say  this,  that  he  had 
sworn  that  he  would  never  swear  again. 

How  then  to  express  his  feelings  when 
irritated,  became  a  difficulty  which  he  had 
every  day  to  surmount.  He  had  not  the 
least  notion  of  bridling  his  passion;  his 
object  was  simply  to  bridle  his  tongue;  and 
as  swearing — if  use  be  indeed  second  na- 
ture— had  clearly  become  natural  to  him, 
he  was  frequently  in  danger  of  bursting 
some  very  important  blood-vessel,  because 
he  would  not  give  vent  to  his  rage  in  the 
language  to  which  he  had  been  so  long 
accustomed.  He  would  keep  it  pent  up, 
and  it  was  pent  up  while  the  steamer  was 
dodging  the  wherry;  but  when  he  found 
that  the  waterman  had  ceased  to  ply  his 
sculls,  and  that  the  opposition  vessel  would 


have  the  three  passengers  in  consequence, 
his  rage  knew  no  bounds,  "You  beauty!" 
cried  he  to  the  boy  at  length,  finding  that 
he  must  either  say  something  or  burst. 
"Oh!  bless  your  pretty  eyes! — You  under- 
stand me!" 

"  Ease  ar!"  cried  Valentine. 

"At  it  again!"  exclaimed  the  Captain; 
"oh,  you  darling,  you  sweet  pretty  boy! 
Oh,  I'll  give  you  pepper!  ony  let  me  come 
down  to  you,  that's  all,  you  duck,  and  I'll 
give  you  the  beautifullest  towelling  you 
ever  enjoyed.  Let  her  go,  sir." 

"Go  on!"  whined  the  boy.  "It  a'n't 
me;  I  can't  help  it." 

"  What!  Say  that  again — ony  say  it — 
and  if  I  don't  make  you  spin  round  and 
round,  like  a  lying  young  cockchafer,  seize 
me.  And  the  poor  boy  began  to  dig  his 
knuckles  in  his  eyes,  and  to  whine  a  repe- 
tition of  what  was  held  to  a  falsehood. 

"Ay,  whine  away,  my  dear!"  cried  the 
Captain,  "whine  away!  If  you  don't  hold 
that  noise,  I'll  corne  down  and  give  you  a 
clout  o'  one  side  o'  th'  head  that  you  never 
had  afore!" 

"  Ease  ar!"  cried  Valentine. 

"  What,  won't  you  be  quiet]" 

"Stop  ar!" 

"  What  is  it  you  mean,  you  young — 
angel?  What  is  it  you  mean?"  cried  the 
Captain,  as  he  stood  in  a  sitting  posture, 
with  his  hands  upon  his  knees,  "c?o  you 
want  a  good  welting]  ony  say,  and  you 
shall  catch,  my  dear,  the  blessedest  rope's- 
ending  you  ever  had  any  notion  on  yet. 
Now  I  give  you  fair  warning.  If  I  have 
any  more  of  this,  if  it's  ever  so  little,  I'll 
come  down  and  give  you  the  sweetest 
hiding  that  ever  astonished  your  nerves! 
So  ony  look  out,  my  dear!  Take  a  friend's 
advice,  and  look  out.  Well! — are  we  ,to 
perceedl" 

"  Go  on!"  cried  the  boy;  and  he  still 
worked  away  with  his  knuckles,  and  screw- 
ed up  his  features  into  the  ugliest  form  they 
were  capable  of  assuming. 

"  Oh  you  young  beauty! — you  know  what 
I  mean,  cried  the  Captain,  as  he  ground  his 
great  teeth  and  shook  his  fists  at  the  inno- 
cent boy,  whose  eyes  were  by  this  time  so 
swollen,  that  he  could  scarcely  see  out  of 
them  at  all.  "  You  stink  for  a  good  tan- 
ning, and  I'll  ease  your  mind,  my  dear—  if 
I  don't,  may  I  be — saved!  So  now  you 
know  my  sentiments."  And  having  de- 
livered himself  loudly  to  this  effect,  he 
thrust  his  hands  triumphantly  into  his 
breeches  pockets,  and  directed  the  whole 
of  his  attention  ahead. 

His  eye  was,  however,  no  sooner  off  the 
boy,  than  Valentine  again  cried  "  Ease  ar! 
stop  ar!"  but  long  before  the  sound  of  the 

7* 


70 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


last  "  ar"  had  died  away,  the  captain  seized 
a  rope  about  as  thick  as  his  wrist,  and  with- 
out giving  utterance  even  to  a  word,  jumped 
down  upon  the  deck  with  a  deep  inspiration 
of  the  spirit  of  vengeance. 

"  Away  boy!  run!"  cried  Valentine, 
quickly;  and  the  boy,  who  was  anything 
but  an  idiot,  darted,  like  lightning,  among 
the  passengers.  The  Captain,  at  starting, 
was  close  to  his  heels;  but  the  boy  shot 
ahead  with  such  skill,  and  then  dodged 
him  round  and  round,  and  in  out  with  so 
much  tact  and  dexterity,  that  it  soon  be- 
came obvious  that  he  had  been  chased  in  a 
manner  not  very  dissimilar  before. 

"  Lay  hold  of  that  boy,"  cried  the  Cap- 
tain, "  lay  hold  of  him  there!"  but  the  pas- 
sengers, who  rather  enjoyed  the  chase, 
refused  to  do  any  such  thing.  They,  on 
the  contrary,  endeavored  to  shield  the  boy; 
and  whenever  they  fancied  that  the  Captain 
was  gaining  ground,  although  he  would  not 
have  caught  him  in  a  fortnight,  a  dozen  of 
the  stoutest  would — of  course  accidentally 
— place  themselves  quietly  before  him. 

"  Come  here!"  cried  the  Captain,  panting 
for  breath,  "  Will  you  mind  what  I  say,  sir? 
come  here!"  but  the  boy,  who  didn't  seem 
to  approve  of  that  course,  did  discreetly  re- 
fuse to  accept  the  invitation,  and  the  Cap- 
tain was,  in  consequence,  after  him  again. 

At  length  Valentine  raised  a  contemptu- 
ous laugh,  and  as  it  had  in  an  instant  at 
least  a  hundred  echoes,  the  Captain's 
philosophy  opened  his  eyes,  and  he  saw 
the  propriety  of  giving  up  the  chase. 

**  Here,  Robinson!"  said  he,  "just  give 
a  look  out  here.  Bless  his  little  soul,  he 
shall  have  a  quilting  yet,"  and  after  telling 
the  gentlemen  below  to  go  on,  he  silently 
ascended  the  paddle-box  again,  and  Robin- 
son took  the  boy's  place. 

The  vessel  now  proceeded  without  inter- 
ruption, and  as  Valentine  could  not  con- 
veniently imitate  Robinson's  voice,  until 
he  had  actually  heard  Robinson  speak,  he 
left  foj  a  time  that  particular  spot,  for  the 
purpose  of  looking  a  little  about  him.  The 
first  person  he  encountered  was  a  stoutly 
built  black-whiskered  gentleman,  who  was 
engaged  in  the  destruction  of  a  nice  little 
book,  by  wantonly  tearing  out  the  leaves, 
and  disposing  of  each  for  two  shillings. 
The  remarkable  avidity  with  which  these 
leaves  were  purchased,  led  Valentine  nalu 
rally  to  believe  that  they  contained  some 
very  valuable  information.  He,  therefore, 
bought  one  of  them  at  once,  and  having 
easily  made  himself  master  of  its  contents, 
cried — throwing  his  voice  behind  tin  d< 
stroyer — "Now,  where  are  my  seven?" 
-even?"  said  the  destroyer,  "yes;  three 


ive,  seven,"  and  seven  of  the  leaves  were 
orn  out  at  one  pull. 

"  Now  then!"  said  Valentine,  assuming 
the  same  voice. 

"  Here  they  are,  sir,  here  they  are,"  said 
the  destroyer. 

"  Well,  hand  'em  over,  will  you?"  cried 
Valentine. 

'  Here,  sir;  seven,  sir?  seven?"  and  the 
seven  were  offered  to  every  man  near  him. 

"  Me  and  my  missis  vonts  two,"  observed 
a  gentleman  who  held  his  pocket  open  with 
one  hand,  and  dived  the  other  down  to  the 
bottom. 

"  Tip  us  a  couple,  old  boy,"  said  another, 
who  sported  a  hat  with  a  nine-inch  brim. 

i4  O  pie  sir,  pa  wants  flee,"  said  a  very 
little  lady  with  four  ringlets  hanging  down 
behind  rather  thicker  than  her  arm. 

"  Well!  where  are  my  seven?"  cried  Val- 
entine again,  assuming  the  same  voice  as 
before. 

"None  o'  your  larks  yer  know;  cos  it 
wont  fit,"  said  the  angry  destroyer  without 
turning  round. 

"  Then  I'll  just  go  ashore  without  paying- 
at  all,"  observed  Valentine. 

"  Will  yer?"  said  he  who  held  the  book 
with  an  ironical  smile,  at  the  same  time 
looking  full  in  the  face  of  an  individual 
who  happened  to  be  laughing  at  the  mo- 
ment. "Then  praps  you  jist  wont;  for  I'll 
jist  keep  a  hextry  look  out.  You  call  your- 
self a  genelman,  don't  yer?  So  don't  I;" 
and  his  blood  began  to  boil,  and  his  veins 
began  to  swell,  and  he  tore  some  more 
leaves  out  with  great  indignation. 

Valentine  then  at  once  proceeded  to  the 
"  Saloon,"  but  as  he  found  only  a  few 
young  ladies  with  their  lovers  indulging 
tenderly  in  sweet  discourse,  and  sipping 
from  time  to  time  dead  ginger  beer,  he  left 
them  to  open  their  hearts  to  each  other,  and 
made  his  way  into  the  "cabin."  In  this 
place  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  seemed  for 
the  most  part  to  have  the  same  object  in 
view,  but  were  infinitely  less  sentimental 
in  its  pursuit.  Bottled  stout  was  apparent- 
ly the  favorite  beverage,  but  some  had  a 
little  gin-and-water  on  the  top,  and  as  most 
of  the  gentlemen  were  smoking,  each  ap- 
peared to  be  then  in  the  full  indulgence  of 
the  very  purest  sublunary  pleasure,  by 
holding  a  pipe  in  his  right  hand,  and  clasp- 
ing the  waist  of  his  intended  \vith  the  left. 

Their  conversation  was  by  no  means  of  a 
strictly  private  character.  That  which  pre- 
vailed, touched  the  lowness  of  wages  gene- 
rally, and  in  order  to  demonstrate  the  cause 
of  this  remarkable  state  of  things,  an  in- 
dividual was  creating  an  immense  sensa- 
tion, by  showing  the  absolute  necessity  for 
the  adoption  of  universal  suffrage.  The 


VALEiNTINE  VOX. 


71 


noise  which  proceeded  from  this  highly  ac- 
complished orator,  drowned  the  voices  of 
all  who  wished  to  get  a  word  in  "  edge- 
ways," and  if  any  one  presumed  to  offer  an 
opinion,  which  happened  to  be  even  in  the 
slightest  degree  opposed  to  that  which  he 
had  expressed,  a  volly  of  abuse,  couched  in 
terms  neither  elegant  nor  grammatical,  was 
perfectly  sure  to  assail  him. 

At  length,  Valentine,  anxious  to  ascertain 
the  extent  to  which  he  would  go  in  support 
of  his  principles,  took  occasion  to  observe 
in  a  very  gruff  voice,  as  the  orator  was 
denouncing  every  man  as  a  traitor,  who 
hesitated  to  go  what  he  termed  "the  ole 
og,"  with  him — "  We  don't  want  uniwersal 
suffrage  here." 

"  Ve  don't  vont  huniwersle  suffrage!" 
cried  the  orator.  "  Lor  sen  I  may  live! — 
not  vont  it?  Veil  strike  me! — not  vont  huni- 
wersle suff — Veil,  may  I  be  kicked  to  the 
middle  o'  next  veek!  Vy  ve  vont  nothink 
helse!  I  am  for  hevery  man  bein  alike  vith- 
out  hextinction;  and  I  means  for  to  say  this, 
that  hevery  man  as  isn't  of  the  same  senti- 
ments, ought  to  be  druv  out  o'  society. 
Not  vont  huniwersle — Well  may  I — but 
stop,  let's  ave  a  little  hargriment  about  that 
ere.  Now  then— Vy  don't  ve  vont  the 
suffrage  to  be  huniwersle?  That's  the  ques- 
tion!" and  the  orator  winked  and  gave  his 
head  a  most  significant  nod.  "  Vy  don't 
ve  vont  the  suffrage  to  be  huniwersle?" 

"  Because,"  replied  Valentine,  throwing 
his  voice  to  the  other  end  of  the  cabin — 
"  Because  every  fool  like  you  would  have 
it  then  to  abuse." 

That  was  sufficient.  The  orator  laid 
down  his  pipe;  took  a  deep  draught  of  stout; 
pulled  his  coat  off;  tucked  his  shirt-sleeves 
above  the  elbows,  and  challenged  the  voice 
to  a  "kipple  o'  rounds — jist  ony  a  kipple!" 

In  one  moment  the  w^liole  cabin  was  in 
an  uproar.  The  ladies  were  respectfully 
begging  their  beloveds  to  abstain  from  all 
interference,  while  the  orator's  lady  clung  to 
his  neck,  and  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  im- 
plored him  not  to  "  bemean  himself  by 
dirtying  his  hands  with  any  sich  low-bred 
feller." 

For  some  considerable  time,  the  enraged 
orator  was  inexorable;  but  he  was  at  length 
prevailed  upon  to  put  on  his  coat,  when,  al- 
though he  vowed  vengeance  upon  all  who 
dared  to  differ  with  him  in  opinion,  the 
minds  of  the  ladies  and  their  lovers  were 
once  more  at  ease. 

There  were,  however,  several  married 
gentlemen  here  whose  ladies  were  languish- 
ing on  deck,  and  as  Valentine  thought  this 
extremely  unfair,  he  went  up  with  a  view 
to  their  immediate  re-union. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  he,  whispering, 


in  an  assumed  voice  of  course,  in  the  ear  of 
a  highly  dressed  dame,  "  do  you  know 
whom  your  husband  is  kissing  in  the 
cabin?"  The  lady  looked  round  with  an 
expression  of  amazement.  "  Do  you  know 
her!"  he  continued,  and  although  quite  un- 
able to  discover  who  had  spoken,  she  start- 
ed up  at  once  and  went  to  take  a  survey. 

"Don't  let  your  husband  drink  any  more 
of  that  gin,"  said  he  to  another  with  pre- 
cisely the  same  result.  "Do  you  suffer 
your  husband  to  treat  every  girl  he  meets'?" 
and  thus  he  went  on  until  he  had  sent 
nearly  all  the  married  ladies,  whose  hus- 
bands had  absented  themselves,  into  the 
cabin. 

"  Ease  hor?"  cried  Robinson,  in  a  rough 
heavy  tone. 

"  That's  the  voice  to  imitate!"  said  Va- 
lentine to  himself.  "  Now's  the  time  for 
me  to  reinstate  the  boy,"  and  as  he  saw  a 
boat  making  towards  the  vessel  ahead,  he 
shouted  with  true  Robinsonian  energy, 
"Goon!" 

"  No,  no!"  cried  the  Captain,  "  no,  no! 
you're  as  bad  as  the  boy!" 

"  Ease  hor!"  shouted  Robinson,  "  / 
didn't  speak!" 

"  Go  on!"  cried  Valentine,  and  round 
went  the  paddles  again,  for  the  engineer 
himself  now  began  to  be  excited. 

"  Do  you  want  to  drive  me  mad!"  cried 
the  Captain. 

"  What  d'yar  mean?"  shouted  Robinson, 
"that  wasn't  me!" 

"  What!  what!"  exclaimed  the  Captain, 
"  not  you!  Oh  Robinson,  Robinson!  don't 
you  know,  Robinson,  how  very  wrong  it  is 
for  to  tell  a  blessed  falsity  for  to  hide  a 
fault?" 

"  I  tell  you  it  wasn't  me  then!  If  you 
don't  like  to  believe  me  you  may  call  out 
yourself!"  and  Robinson  walked  to  the 
head  of  the  vessel,  and  laying  very  violent 
hands  upon  a  rope,  dashed  it  desperately 
down  upon  the  deck,  when,  having  thus 
taken  his  measure  of  vengeance,  he  folded 
his  arms,  and  seemed  to  feel  a  little  bet- 
ter. 

"  Will  you  promise  to  behave  yourself, 
boy,  if  I  take  you  on  again?"  cried  the 
Captain. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  as  well  as  he 
could,  considering  that  his  mouth  was  at 
that  moment  full  of  bread  and  butter;  when, 
watching  the  motion  of  the  Captain's  hand, 
he  cried  "  ease  ar! — stop  ar!"  for  the  boat 
was  still  approaching. 

The  boy  now  emptied  his  mouth  as  soon 
as  possible,  and  wiped  his  lips  clean  with 
a  handfull  of  oily  tow,  when  Valentine,  de- 
termined to  let  the  little  fellow  recover  the 
good  opinion  of  the  Captain  by  pursuing 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


the. proper  course,  proceeded  to  the  side  of 
the  vessel. 

In  the  boat,  which  drew  near,  sat  an 
ejderl.y  gentleman,  and  an  exceedingly  ele- 
gant young1  person,  who  appeared  to  be  his 
daughter.  Valentine  was  struck  with  the 
extreme  beaut^  of  her  countenance,  and 
gazed  on  her  intently.  He  felt  that  he  had 
never  beheld  so  beautiful  a  creature  before; 
and  the  nearer  she  approached  the  side  of 
the  vessel — which  was  still,  although  the 
engine  had  been  stopped,  going  gently,  the 
more  his  rapture  increased.  Just,  however, 
as  the  person  who  had  the  management  of 
the  hook  caught  the  head  of  the  boat,  the 
old  gentlemen  rose  from  his  seat,  when  the 
suddenness  of  the  unexpected  jerk  which  is 
invariably  given  at  that  moment,  sent  him 
back  with  so  much  violence,  that  he  was 
plunged  into  the  river  in  an  instant. 

"My  father!"  shrieked  the  lady,  "my 
father!"  and  extending  her  arms,  she  fell 
breathless  upon  him. 

"  Save  them!"  shouted  fifty  of  the  pas- 
sengers at  once. 

"  Let  the  boat  go!"  cried  the  waterman, 
"let  the  boat  go!"  But  the  hand  of  the 
man  who  held  the  boat-hook  was  powerless, 
and  as  the  bodies  clasped  together  were 
floating  with  the  tide,  Valentine  rushed  to 
the  stern  of  the  vessel,  and  dashed  at  once 
into  the  stream.  The  force  with  which  he 
plunged  carried  him  down  to  a  great  depth, 
and  his  clothes  became  so  weighty  that 
they  would  scarcely  allow  him  to  rise,  and 
when  he  did  rise  he  found  himself  still 
some  considerable  distance  from  them;  but 
he  struck  out  gallantly,  and  reached  them 
at  the  moment  they  were  sinking  to  rise  no 
more.  The  first  thing  he  caught  was  the 
hair  of  the  father,  whose  effort  to  seize  the 
hand  which  held  him  was  instantaneous; 
but  Valentine  dexterously  evaded  his  grasp, 
and  having  caught  the  dress  of  the  lady, 
whose  arms  were  still  twined  round  her  fa- 
ther's neck,  he  held  them  up  at  arm's 
length,  while  the  boats  were  approaching. 
The  struggles  of  the  old  gentleman  to  seize 
Valentine  now  became  desperate.  His 
contortions  were  violent  in  the  extreme. 
He  dashed,  and  plunged,  and  struck  at  him 
like  a  maniac,  and  did  at  length  succeed  in 
winding  his  legs  round  the  body  of  Valen- 
tine so  firmly,  that  had  it  not  been  for  the 
aid  which  arrived  at  the  moment,  they  must 
inevitably  have  gone  down  together,  for 
even  when  they  had  been  dragged  into  the 
boat,  the  old  gentleman  would  not  relin- 
quish his  hold  until  they  had  managed  t<> 
convince  him  of  the  fact,  that  he  and  his 
daughter  were  perfectly  safe. 

Tin:  vessel,  which  had  been  backing  all 
the  time  with  the  tide,  now  arrived  at  the 


spot;  and  when  the  poor  old  gentleman  had 
been  assisted  on  board,  Valentine  took  the 
young  lady,  who  had  fainted,  in  his  arms, 
and  having  reached  the  deck,  proe^ded  at 
once  to  the  saloon,  where  every  attention 
was  paid  to  her  and  her  father,  with  a  view 
to  their  immediate  restoration. 

All  being  now  perfectly  secure,  Valentine 
left  the  saloon  for  the  cabin,  and  on  his  \vay 
a  hundred  hands  were  extended  towards  him 
by  the  passengers,  who  warmly  exclaimed, 
"  God  bless  you,  my  fine  fellow!  Nobly 
done!  God  bless  you!"  The  ladies  were 
deeply  affected;  and  shed  tears  of  joy  as  he 
passed,  and  would  have  dried  his  dripping 
clothes  in  their  bosoms. 

On  reaching  the  cabin,  he  sent  one  of  the 
men  to  the  steward  for  a  shirt  and  what- 
ever other  clothes  he  might  happen  to  have, 
and  while  the  steward  was  engaged  in  look- 
ing out  a  complete  suit,  he  undressed,  and 
after  drying  himself  as  well  as  he  could 
without  assistance,  he  got  one  of  the  pas- 
sengers, who  happened  to  be  a  master- 
blacksmith,  to  rub  him  down  with  a  rough 
towel  until  his  entire  body  became  red  as 
blood. 

As  soon  as  this  glowing  operation  had 
been  performed,  he  received  a  full  suit  from 
the  hands  of  the  steward.  The  first  thing 
he  put  on  was  a  rough-checked  shirt,  and 
then  followed  a  pair  of  fine  white  lambs- 
wool  hose  which  belonged  to  the  amiable 
stewardess;  he  then  drew  on  a  pair  of 
breeches,  in  which  Daniel  Lambert  himself 
would  not  have  felt  at  all  uncomfortable, 
and  then  a  pair  of  real  smuggler's  boots, 
which  were  indeed  a  decent  fit,  considering; 
then  a  waistcoat  which  had  to  be  doubled 
over  and  over  again  at  the  back,  but  even 
then  all  the  persuasion  in  the  world  couldn't 
make  it  come  close,  and  when  by  way  of  a 
finishing  touch,  he  got  into  the  steward's 
striped  jacket — the  sleeves  of  which  he 
tucked  up  about  a  quarter  of  a  yard,  in  order 
to  give  his  hands  a  breath  of  air — his  tout 
ensemble  was  so  complete,  that  a  stranger 
might  naturally  have  been  led  to  infer,  that 
if  the  clothes  he  then  wore  did  lit  him  tho 
day  previous,  he  must  have  had  a  very  bad 
night  of  it  indeed. 

However,  thus  attired  he  returned  to  the 
saloon,  to  see  how  those  whom  he  had  res- 
cued were  faring.  He  found  the  young 
lady  recovering  fast,  and  her  father  giving 
utterance  to  many  fervent  ejaculations;  hut 
the  moment  they  were  informed  that  he  who 
had  saved  them  was  present,  the  old  g»-n- 
tlem.m  alVectionatoly  grasped  one  hand, 
while  the  lady  seized  the  other  and  kissed 
it  w. irmly. 

"My  brave  young  fellow!  (•'<><!  hless 
you!"  exclaimed  the  old  gentleman,  when, 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


73 


conceiving  from  his  dress  that  he  belonged 
to  the  vessel,  he  added, "  Here,  here  is  my 
card:  call  at  my  house,  and  I'll  reward  you; 
my  brave  young  man,  I'll  reward  you." 

Valentine,  perceiving  his  mistake,  smiled, 
but  took  the  card  and  spoke  to  the  lady, 
who  though  extremely  pale,  looked  more 
beautiful  than  before. 

"  Come,  drink,  my  fine  fellow!  I  like 
you! — you're  a  trump!"  cried  a  jolly  look- 
ing gentleman,  in  checked  trousers,  as  he 
held  out  a  glass  of  hot  brandy-and-water. 
"  You  did  it  nobly — bravely!  drink  it  up, 
my  young  hero,  and  then  we'll  have  another. 
Up  with  it,  my  boy! — it'll  keep  all  the  cold 
out." 

Of  this  fact,  Valentine  had  not  the  small- 
est doubt,  for  he  found  it  remarkably  strong; 
but  as  he  had  drank  with  several  persons 
before,  he  politely  declined  taking  more 
than  a  sip. 

The  vessel  now  drew  near  Gravesend,  and 
Valentine  proceeded  to  take  leave  of  her  of 
whom  he  already  felt  too  deeply  enamored. 

"  You  will  call  and  see  us,  will  you 
not1?"  said  the  lady  as  she  pressed  his  hand 
and  raised  her  eyes  which  looked  like  bril- 
liants set  in  gold. 

Valentine  gazed  on  her  beautiful  face, 
and  was  silent. 

"  You  will" — she  continued — "  you  will 
promise  to  call!  Papa  will,  I'm  sure,  be 
delighted  to  see  you! — Why  will  you  not 
promise!" 

"  I  do,"  said  Valentine,  who,  while  lis- 
tening to  the  music  of  her  voice,  had  been 
perfectly  unconscious  of  a  reply  being  ex- 
pected, "  I  do,  I  do  promise;  and  when  I 
assure  you  that  nothing  could  impart  so 
much  pleasure" — He  pressed  her  hand,  but 
could  say  no  more,  for  her  eyes  were  again 
turned  full  upon  him,  and  seemed  to  be 
beaming  with  gratitude  and  love. 

"  Come,  take  another  sup!"  cried  the 
jolly  looking  gentleman,  again  approaching, 
"  It  strikes  me  you  look  rayther  pale;  and 
as  for  you  not  taking  cold! — why  my  missis 
won't  have  it  at  no  price." 

"  Not  any  more,"  said  Valentine,  who 
although  he  appreciated  the  warmth  of  his 
heartt  at  that  moment  wished  him  any- 
where but  there. 

«*  The  young  lady  perhaps,  will  have  a 
drain!"  continued  the  persevering  pest. 
"Oh!  have  a  little,  Miss!  It'll  do  your 
heart  good.  My  missis  is  sure  you'll  be 
laid  up  if  you  don't,  and  whatever  she  says, 
why  of  course  you  know  is  gospel." 

The  lady,  however,  gracefully  declined, 
and  after  many  warm  acknowledgments, 
on  her  part  and  on  the  part  of  the  old  gen- 
tleman her  father,  Valentine  took  leave  of 
them,  and  went  upon  deck. 


The  Pier  was  now  in  sight,  and  the  mind 
of  the  Captain  had  happily  recovered  its 
wonted  tranquillity;  but  the  boy,  although 
he  had  endeavored  to  do  his  duty  with  the 
utmost  zeal,  was  by  no  means  sure  that  the 
Captain  did  not  still  intend  to  keep  his  pro- 
mise with  reference  to  the  "quilting."  It 
was  true,  the  Captain  spoke  to  him  with 
perhaps  a  somewhat  greater  degree  of  kind- 
ness than  he  ever  had  spoken  before;  but 
this  tended  to  increase  the  apprehension  of 
the  little  fellow  who  having  heard  of  the 
prelude  to  the  crocodile's  attack,  at  once 
fancied  that  this  was  but  the  prelude  to  an 
attack  on  the  part  of  the  Captain.  He 
therefore  most  anxiously  watched  his  every 
movement,  and  when  the  vessel  had  reached 
the  pier,  he  trembled  violently,  for  the  Cap- 
tain immediately  descended  from  his  post — 
an  operation  which  he  usually  deferred  until 
after  the  whole  of  the  passengers  had  land- 
ed. Nothing  could  exceed  the  steadiness 
with  which  the  boy  kept  his  eye  fixed  upon 
him,  and  whenever  he  went  within  reach  of 
a  rope,  he  drew  himself  up  for  an  imme- 
diate start.  His  fears  were  however  vain; 
for  the  Captain's  admiration  of  Valentine's 
conduct  had  effectually  subdued  every  angry 
feeling,  and  as  it  became  obvious  that  he 
had  descended  with  the  view  of  expressing 
that  admiration,  the  boy  began  to  feel  a  lit- 
tle comfortable  again. 

"I  am  delighted,"  cried  the  captain, 
taking  Valentine  by  the  hand,  "  I  am  per- 
fectly delighted  with  your  hero-like  conduct 
in  saving  them  two  feller  creturs.  There's 
somethink  wery  like  it  in  Ossian's  Iliad — 
Ossian's! — of  course,  it  is  Ossian's — where 
a  gentleman,  I  think  it  was  Artaxerxes,  but 
that  I'm  not  sure  of,  dived  down  to  the  bot- 
tom of  the  Po  to  fetch  up  Peter  the  Great, 
who  was  washing  his  feet  on  the  bank  with 
Cassius,  who  was,  you  know,  one  of  the 
Grecian  gods. 

"Ah,  and  did  he  succeed1?"  inquired 
Valentine,  with  apparent  anxiety. 

"  I  don't  think  it  says,"  replied  the  Cap- 
tain; "  butat  all  events  he  never  rose  again." 

"  What  a  pity!  Tut  tut!— what  a  pity  to 
be  sure!  Then,  of  course  he  couldn't  in- 
form the  world  whether  he  did  or  not!" 

"  By  no  means,"  observed  the  Captain, 
"  and  that  you  see's  the  mischief  of  history. 
No  man  was  ever  able  to  write  his  own  life 
complete.  He's  certain  to  go  off  the  hooks 
before  he  has  finished  it:  that's  the  misfor- 
tune. It  strikes  me,"  he  continued,  look- 
ing earnestly  at  Valentine,  "  it  strikes  me, 
unless  I  am  werrymuch  mistaken,  that  you 
have  the  organ  of  courageousness  power- 
fully deweloped.  I  should  like  to  examine 
your  head.  That  organ  there,  just  above 
the  eye  there,  seems  to  be  werry  full,  and 


74 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


when  that  is  combined  to  the  one  that  is 
sittivated-uinder  the  ear,  it  makes  up  cou- 
rageousness  perfect.  But  I  was  sure  that 
you'd  got  it  when  you  dived  so  heautiful. 
We  find  it  in  ducks  werry  strong." 

44  A  phrenologist,  I  perceive." 

*' I  take  great  delight  in  the  science.  1 
can  tell  a  man's  character  to  a  hair.  I've 
the  whole  of  the  organs  at  my  finger's  ends; 
now  this,  for  instance " 

"You've  a  fine  sharp  lad  here,"  said 
Valentine,  as  the  Captain  was  about  to  fin- 
ger his  organs,  "  he  appears  to  be  very  at- 
tentive." 

"Yes,  he's  all  werry  well,"  said  the 
Captain,  "  but  he  an't  got  no  soul.  Be- 
sides, he  don't  know  exactly  how  to  behave 
himself  sometimes.  Did  you  see  how  he 
went  on  this  morning!" 

44  Boys,  you  know,  are  but  boys,"  ob- 
served Valentine,  and  the  novelty  of  that 
remarkable  observation,  proceeding  as  it 
did,  from  so  remarkable  a  man,  had  so  stri- 
king an  effect  upon  the  Captain,  that  he  at 
once  consented  to  defer  the  promised  4' pep- 
per," until  the  conduct  of  which  he  com- 
plained should  be  repeated. 

44 Now,"  said  Valentine,  "will  you  do 
me  the  favor  to  allow  the  boy  to  carry  my 
wet  clothes  on  shore'?" 

44  By  all  manner  of  means  in  the  world!" 
replied  the  Captain.  44  Here,  boy!  attend 
to  this  gentleman.  Go  and  see  after  his 
things;  and  mind  how  you  behave  yourself, 
sir,  d'ye  hear?" 

The  boy  obeyed  with  alacrity,  and  Val- 
entine escaped  from  the  Captain  apparently 
with  the  view  of  surveying  the  pier.  The 
passengers  were  still,  as  usual,  crowding 
from  the  vessel.  Had  they  gone  in  turn 
quietly  they  would  all  have  got  on  shore 
much  sooner,  and  with  an  infinitely  greater 
degree  of  comfort  to  themselves;  but  they 
must  crowd,  and  plunge,  and  show  their 
teeth,  and  work  away  with  their  elbows,  as 
each  strove  to  get  before  the  other.  One 
lady  was  loudly  lamenting  over  the  fact  of 
her  bonnet  being  desperately  crushed;  ano- 
ther was  endeavoring  to  recover  her  reticule, 
the  strings  of  which  she  held,  while  the 
bag  itself  was  fixed  between  the  hips  of 
two  ladies  who  were  going  with  the  stream 
about  five  rows  behind  her,  while  another 
was  looking  particularly  unamiable  at  a 
gentleman  who  was  innocently  digging  his 
elbow  into  that  particular  cavity  which  is 
just  beneath  the  ear. 

44  For  goodness  sake!"  cried  one,  44  don't 
squeedee."  44  Where  are  you  drivin  to?" 
shouted  another.  4»  I  say,  you  sir!"  cried  a 
third,  "jist  take  your  fist  out  of  the  small 


of  my  back,  good  luck  to  you!"  They 
still,  however,  crowded  on,  and  displayed 
as  much  anxiety  to  quit  the  vessel  as  if  she 
then  had  been  in  flames. 

44  Have  you  lost  any  thing,  sir1?"  whis- 
pered Valentine  in  the  ear  of  a  tall  gentle- 
man, whose  efforts  to  drive  past  his  neigh- 
bors had  been  really  very  desperate. 

The  gentleman  in  an  instant  drew  back, 
inspired  with  the  horrid  suspicion  of  having 
lost  something,  although  it  did  not  certainly 
appear  that  he  had  much  to  lose.  In  the  first 
place,  he  felt  in  all  his  pockets  at  once,  and 
then  searched  them  again  and  again  in  detail; 
and  then  labored  to  recollect  if  he  had 
brought  anything  from  home,  which  he  had 
not  then  about  him;  but  even  then,  although 
he  emptied  his  pockets  and  found  all  quite 
safe,  he  was  anything  but  sure  that  he 
hadn't  been  plundered. 

44  Do  you  allow  that?"  said  Va!entine, 
throwing  a  whisper  into  the  ear  of  an  old 
lady,  to  whom  nature,  in  consideration  of 
her  having  but  a  single  eye,  had  bounteously 
given  a  double  chin. 

44  Mr.  Jones!"  cried  the  lady,  who  per- 
ceived two  females  by  the  side  of  Mr.  Jones, 
44  I'm  ashamed  of  you.  Keep  back,  sir; 
and  let  them  gals  pass." 

44  What's  the  matter,  my  dear?"  said 
Mr.  Jones. 

44  Don't  dear  me,  sir!  I  saw  you!"  cried 
the  lady;  and  Mr.  Jones  looked  as  if  he  at 
that  moment  felt  that  if  he  had  never  seen 
her  it  would  have  been  a  great  comfort. 

44  Have  you  got  your  pass?"  said  Valen- 
tine, throwing  his  voice  behind  the  person 
who  was  taking  the  tickets.  44  7  want  no 
pass,"  he  added,  assuming  another  voice, 
44 1  can  always  pass  without." 

44  O!  can  yer?"  cried  the  black  whiskered 
gentleman,  by  whom  those  interesting  little 
slips  of  paper  had  been  sold.  44Then  I 
don't  think  you  can.  Jim!  be  a  little  hex- 
try  partickler  there,  will  yer?"  and  he 
winked  at  Jim;  and  Jim  winked  at  him  as 
he  stood  in  the  gangway  perfectly  pre- 
pared to  take  his  revenge  out  of  the  first 
man  whoattempted  to  pass  without  a  ticket. 

While  the  black-whiskered  gentleman 
and  Jim  were  thus  occupied,  \ 'aleutine 
went  to  the  steward,  who  lent  him  a  largo 
hairy  cap;  and  when  his  clothes  had  been 
can  'fully  deposited  by  the  amiable  steward- 
ess in  a  shawl,  he,  followed  by  the  boy, 
took  his  leave  of  the  philosophic  Captain, 
and  left  the  vessel,  portraying  the  pleasura- 
ble Hl<  cts  of  that  astonishment,  with  which 
he  fondly  conceived  poor  (ioodman  would 
view  the  (  \tiaordiuary  character  of  his 
dress. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


75 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


IN  WHICH  VALENTINE  IS  INTRODUCED  TO  THREE  NEW  FRIENDS,  WITH  ONE  OF  WHOM  HE 
PASSES  A  VERY  PLEASANT  NIGHT. 


THE  surprise  with  which  Valentine,  on 
reaching  the  residence  of  Mr,  Plumplee, 
ascertained  that  his  guardian  had  not  ar- 
rived, was  as  great  as  that  with  which  he 
had  intended  to  inspire  Goodman,  but  of  a 
character  of  course  diametrically  opposite. 
Nor,  when  the  circumstances  were  explain- 
ed, was  that  surprise  felt  by  Valentine 
alone;  Mr.  Plumplee,  and  Mr.  Jonas  Beagle, 
an  eccentric  old  gentleman,  who  murdered 
his  time  at  Gravesend,  with  a  view  to  the 
perfect  restoration  of  his  health,  which  had 
never,  in  fact,  deserted  him  even  for  a  day, 
felt  and  expressed  a  corresponding  amount 
of  astonishment,  while  Miss  Madonna 
Plumplee,  the  virgin  sister  of  Goodman's 
friend,  begat  at  once  to  indulge  in  all  sorts 
of  conjectures  having  reference  to  the  cause, 
for  like  most  unaccountable  occurrences, 
the  scope  which  it  afforded  for  the  play  of 
the  imagination  was  unbounded. 

"  Who  knows!"  cried  that  amiable  per- 
son, "  he  may  have  been  run  over  and 
crushed  to  death,  or  a  thousand  things! — 
the  drivers  about  London  are  so  horribly 
reckless.  I'm  sure  it  was  only  the  other 
day  I  was  three  quarters  of  an  hour  endea- 
voring to  cross  Fleet  street; — and  after  all 
it  was  an  absolute  miracle  I  wasn't  killed, 
for  a  dog-cart,  with  a  dirty  person  sitting 
upon  the  edge,  rattled  down  the  street  at 
such  a  dreadful  rate  that  I  thought,  be  run 
over  I  must!  It  is  shameful  such  things 
are  allowed.  There  sat  the  filthy  creature 
deliberately  smoking  his  pipe,  and  taking 
no  sort  of  notice  of  the  peril  in  which  he 
was  placing  the  lives  and  limbs  of  people, 
not  even  the  slightest!  He  was,  however, 
I  am  happy  to  say,  properly  punished,  for 
no  sooner  had  he  passed  me  than  the  wheel, 
over  which  he  had  been  sitting,  bounced 
into  the  hole,  when,  happily,  the  entire 
concern  upset,  and  he  was  instantly  covered 
with  cat's  meat  and  mud." 

"  Oh!  I  don't  expect  that  any  serious  ac- 
cident has  occurred,"  said  Mr.  Plumplee. 
"The  report  of  such  an  occurrence  would 
be  certain  to  have  reached  home  before  this 
morning,  for  he  never  goes  out  without  his 
card  case;  and  his  name  and  address  are 
printed  on  his  pocket-book,  I  know." 

"  But,"  suggested  Miss  Madonna,  "he 
might  have  had  his  pockets  previously 
picked,  and  then  strangers,  you  know, 
would  have  no  clue  at  all.  London  is  such 
a  place.  I'm  sure  I  was  reading  the  other 


day,  in  one  of  the  papers,  of  a  gentleman 
who,  having  lost  his  handkerchief,  went  in 
to  purchase  a  new  one,  ready  hemmed,  and 
he  hadn't  left  the  shop  five  minutes,  before 
he  lost  that." 

"And  did  he  go  in  to  buy  another?"  in- 
quired Mr.  Jonas  Beagle. 

"  It  didn't  say;  but  such  doings  are  posi- 
tively dreadful,"  replied  Miss  Madonna. 
"  I'm  sure,  I've  said  it  a  thousand  times, 
and  will  maintain  it — the  police  are  of  no 
sort  of  use.  They  are  never  at  hand  when 
people  are  being  plundered." 

"  For  my  own  part,"  said  Mr.  Jonas 
Beagle,  "  I  think  he  has  been  kidnapped. 
The  fact  of  his  having  been  out  all  night, 
looks,  I  must  say,  remarkably  suspicious. 
What  business  has  a  man  to  be  out  all 
night]  None  whatever,  not  the  slightest; 
and  I  hold  it  to  be,  therefore,  particularly 
shocking."  And  Mr.  Jonas  Beagle  leered 
wickedly  at  Miss  Madonna,  while  his  little 
twinkling  eyes  seemed  to  indicate  that  in 
his  judgment  Goodman  was  not  quite  im- 
maculate. 

The  attention  of  Mr.  Plumplee  and  his 
amiable  sister  was  now  directed  to  Valen- 
tine's dress.  A  tailor  in  the  vicinity  was 
applied  to  at  once,  but  as  he  had  nothing 
likely  to  answer  the  purpose  made  up,  the 
case  was  stated  to  a  family  next  door,  of 
which  one  of  the  younger  branches  politely 
sent  in  a  complete  suit,  which  fortunately 
happened  to  fit  Valentine  to  a  hair. 

"  Now  then,"  said  Mr.  Beagle,  "  for  a 
walk;"  and  as  the  conviction  had  obtained 
that  it  was  useless  to  wait  for  Goodman, 
who  might  not  arrive  until  the  evening, 
Beagle,  Plumplee,  and  Valentine  left  the 
house,  and  at  once  got  into  a  stream  of  gay 
persons,  who  were  heavily  laden  with  chil- 
dren and  provisions,  and  who  appeared  to 
have  made  a  dead  set  at  a  windmill. 

"  Let's  go  to  the  Belly  woo!"  shouted 
one  of  these  persons,  who  had  one  child  on 
his  arm  and  another  on  his  back,  while  he 
dragged  a  third  along  by  the  hand. 

"That's  by  fur  the  most  delightfullest 
place,"  observed  a  lady,  who  appeared  to 
be  the  mother  of  those  interesting  babes, 
and  who  carried  a  handkerchief,  in  which 
the  shape  of  a  dish  was  to  all  distinctly 
visible.  "I  prefers  the  Belly  woo  'cause 
there  we  can  set  out  at  top  and  see  the 
wessels  so  nice." 


76 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"The  Belly  woo!"  cried  Valentine. 
"  Whatythe  Belly  woo?" 

"The  Bellevue,  they  mean,  a  little  tavern 
on  the  hill,"  replied  Mr.  Jonas  Beagle,  who 
had  no  sooner  imparted  this  interesting  in- 
formation, than  he  turned  into  what  he 
called  the  Tivoli  Gardens,  which  appeared 
to  be  the  principal  place  of  resort.  On  the 
right,  as  they  entered,  a  marquee  was  fixed 
for  the  accommodation  of  those  who  pre- 
ferred a  cold  dinner  for  a  shilling  to  a  hot 
one  for  eighteen  pence;  on  the  left  stood  a 
long  wooden  shed,  or  grand  dining-room, 
established  for  the  exclusive  accommodation 
of  the  eighteen-penny  people,  round  the 
doer  of  which  several  polite  gentlemen 
hovered,  with  a  view  of  soliciting  the  plea- 
sure of  the  company  of  all  jvho  looked  as 
if  they  really  had  such  a  thing  as  one-and- 
nine-pence  about  them,  while  at  the  farther 
end  were  boxes  for  the  convenience  of 
those  who*  had  brought  their  own  provi- 
sions; but  as  the  public  spirited  proprietor 
of  the  establishment  charged,  according  to 
the  printed  scale,  something  like  three- 
pence for  the  loan  of  a  table-cloth,  two- 
pence for  plates,  three-half-pence  for  a 
knife  and  fork,  a  penny  for  pepper,  the 
same  for  mustard,  the  same  for  vinegar,  the 
same  for  salt,  and  for  everything  else  ex- 
tremely reasonable  in  proportion,  these 
boxes  were  not  very  liberally  patronised. 

Having  taken  a  survey  of  these  gardens, 
they  made  for  the  hill,  the  summit  of  which 
they  reached  after  an  infinite  deal  of  pant- 
ing on  the  part  of  Mr.  Plumplee  and  Mr. 
Jonas  Beagle,  and  which  certainly  com- 
manded a  most  extensive  and  delightful 
view  of  the  surrounding  country.  Mr. 
Beagle's  first  task  was  to  point  out  to  Val- 
entine the  various  features  of  the  scene  both 
rural  and  naval,  and  having  developed  in 
the  performance  of  this  task  no  inconsidera- 
ble amount  of  descriptive  power,  he  led  the 
way  to  a  favorite  spot  under  the  brow  of 
the  hill  to  which  he  and  Mr.  Plumplee  re- 
paired daily  for  the  purpose  of  unravelling 
whatever  knotty  point  might  happen  to  sug- 
gest itself  at  the  moment.  On  reaching 
this  spot  they  spread  their  handkerchiefs 
and  took  iheir  seats,  while  below  them 
groups  of  persons  were  sitting  up  to  their 
lips  in  thick  furze,  and  up  to  their  hips  in 
dusty  sand,  discussing  internally  the  vari- 
ous viands  with  which  they  had  been  ex- 
ternally laden. 

It  was  not  long  before  a  point  of  the 
knotty  kind  was  started,  and  while  Plump- 
lee was  engaged  in  refuting  the  extremely 
tritable  position  of  Mr.  Beagle,  that 
practically  the  world's  definition  of  friend- 
ship was  that  whirh  prompts  men  to  study 
the  interests  of  others  with  a  view  to  the 


promotion  of  their  own,  Valentine  was  oc- 
cupied in  watching  the  actions  of  one  par- 
ticular group  that  sat  immediately  below 
him.  It  was  obviously  a  family  circle,  and 
in  the  centre  stood  a  large  beef-steak  pie 
upon  a  sheet  of  the  IVeekly  Dispatch,  which 
had  been  spread  with  the  view  of  convey- 
ing the  idea  of  a  table  cloth,  and  of  thereby 
imparting  to  the  whole  thing  an  unques- 
tionable air  of  respectability.  The  crust  of 
this  pie  was  in  proportion  as  thick  as  the 
thatch  of  a  barn,  while  the  little  et-ceteras 
by  which  it  was  surrounded,  bore  a  corres- 
ponding aspect  of  delicacy;  and  when  all 
seemed  prepared  to  commence  operations, 
the  cork  of  a  well-washed  blacking  bottle 
was  drawn,  and  the  company,  by  way  of 
grace  before  meat,  had  a  glass  of  gin  round. 
When  this  feat  had  been  performed  with 
really  infinite  gusto,  the  carver  walked  into 
the  pie,  and  in  the  plenitude  of  his  bene- 
volence submitted  to  each  man,  woman, 
and  child,  an  amount  of  matter  which  would 
certainly  have  taken  any  but  a  highly  gifted 
stomach  three  days  and  three  nights  to  di- 
gest. It  was  not,  however,  by  any  means  long 
before  every  hand  was  empty  again;  far  as 
the  process  of  mastication  seemed  quite  by 
the  way,  they  no  sooner  got  a  mouthful 
fairly  in  than  they  rinsed  it  down  their 
throats,  as  in  duty  bound,  with  porter.  The 
purified  blacking-bottle  again  went  round, 
and  its  contents  seemed  to  induce  renewed 
gastronomic  vigor:  to  each  was  submitted 
another  lump  of  pie,  and  when  that  had 
been  washed  away  precisely  as  before,  the 
gentlemen  began  to  unbutton  their  waist- 
coats, and  the  ladies  to  unhook  their  dresses 
behind,  in  order  to  enjoy  another  small  glass 
of  gin  without  any  unpleasant  sensation  of 
satiety. 

It  now  became  clearly  perceptible  that 
their  stomachs  were  about  to  assume  cer- 
tain aristocratic  airs  of  pseudo-delicacy,  for 
instead  of  being  assisted  to  legitimate  doses, 
they  began  to  fish  out  the  most  tempting 
little  bits  they  could  find,  until  by  virtue  of 
each  taking  the  piece  which  the  others  had 
rejected,  the  dish  was  eventually  cleared 
with  the  exception  of  sundry  little  lumps  of 
crust  with  which  by  way  of  a  wind  up  the 
ladies  proceeded  to  pelt  the  gentlemen,  to 
the  infinite  satisfaction  of  all  parlies  con- 
cern. •<!. 

This  mutually  interesting  transaction  had 
no  sooner  been  closed,  than  one  of  tlu>  ladies, 
in  order  to  cap  the  climax,  produced  a  very 
small  but  a  very  unexpected  bottle  of  brandy, 
of  which  each  with  great  pleasure  partook 
of  a  glass,  for  the  purpose  of  keeping  all 
down.  This  was  evidently,  however,  in- 
tended as  an  apology  for  Non  Nubis,  for  the 
moment  the  ceremony  had  been  performed 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


77 


the  gentlemen  proceeded  to  light  their  pipes, 
while  the  ladies  seemed  determined  that  it 
should  that  day  be  known  which  was  able 
to  laugh  the  longest  and  the  loudest. 

By  the  time  they  had  succeeded  in  tor- 
turing their  muscles  into  the  merriest  pos- 
sible shape,  Mr.  Plumplee  and  Mr.  Jonas 
Beagle,  had  finished  their  argument  accord- 
ing to  an  invariable  custom  of  theirs,  by 
each  convincing  himself  that  the  other  was 
wrong.  Having  thus  brought  this  highly 
important  affair  to  a  happy  issue,  Mr. 
Plumplee  applied  to  his  watch,  and  after 
making  an  original  remark,  having  refer- 
ence to  the  rapid  flight  of  time,  they  pro- 
ceeded down  the  hill,  passed  a  multitude  of 
donkeys,  which,  while  they  bore  their  pat- 
ronesses on  their  backs,  were  very  delicate- 
ly touched  up  behind  by  their  owners;  and 
reached  home  precisely  at  the  very  moment 
their  presence  became  absolutely  essential 
to  the  continuance  of  Miss  Madonna's  tran- 
quillity of  mind. 

The  first  question  asked  was  of  course 
about  Goodman,  and  as  also  of  course  Good- 
man had  not  arrived,  they  at  once  sat  down 
to  dinner,  after  which  Beagle  and  Plumplee 
got  into  an  argument  touching  the  lament- 
able state  of  things  in  general,  while  Val- 
entine and  Miss  Madonna  were  amusing 
themselves  at  the  windows  by  making  all 
sorts  of  deeply  interesting  remarks  on  the 
appearance  of  the  persons  who  were  con- 
stantly passing. 

Towards  evening,  however,  Valentine 
began  to  feel  uneasy,  and  expressed  a  de- 
sire to  return  by  the  last  boat;  but  Miss 
Madonna,  whose  word  in  that  house  had  ac- 
quired the  reputation  of  being  law,  very 
strenuously  opposed  it.  It  was  by  no  means 
safe,  she  contended.  The  boats  in  the  even- 
ing were  crowded  so  densely,  especially  the 
last,  that  to  escape  being  pushed  over  the 
side  really  amounted  in  her  judgment  almost 
to  a  miracle.  Any  attempt  to  refute  an 
argument  so  potent  as  that  would  of  course 
have  been  indicative  of  madness,  and  there- 
fore it  was  decided  that  he  should  stop  there 
all  night. 

Now  there  happened  to  be  only  four  bed- 
rooms in  the  house;  the  best  of  course  was 
occupied  by  Miss  Madonna,  the  second  by 
Mr.  Plumplee,  the  third  by  Mr.  Beagle, 
and  the  fourth  by  the  servant;  but  that  in 
which  Mr.  Beagle  slept  was  a  double-bed- 
ded room,  and  Valentine  had,  therefore,  to 
make  his  election  between  the  spare  bed 
and  the  sofa.  Of  course  the  former  was 
preferred,  and  as  the  preference  seemed 
highly  satisfactory  to  Mr.  Beagle  himself, 
they  passed  the  remainder  of  the  evening 
very  pleasantly  together,  and  in  due  time 
retired. 

8 


Valentine,  on  having  his  bed  pointed  out 
to  him,  darted  between  the  sheets  in  the 
space  of  a  minute,  for  as  Mr.  Jonas  Beagle 
facetiously  observed,  he  had  but  to  shake 
himself,  and  everything  came  off,  when  as 
he  did  not  by  any  means  feel  drowsy  at  the 
time,  he  fancied  that  he  might  as  well  am  use 
his  companion  for  an  hour  or  so  as  not. 
He,  therefore,  turned  the  thing  seriously 
over  in  his  mind,  while  Mr.  Beagle  was 
quietly  undressing,  being  anxious  for  that 
gentleman  to  extinguish  the  light  before  he 
commenced  operations. 

*'  Now  for  a  beautiful  night's  rest,"  ob- 
served Mr.  Jonas  Beagle  to  himself  as  he 
put  out  the  light  with  a  tranquil  mind,  and 
turned  in  with  a  great  degree  of  comfort. 

"  Mew! — mew!"  cried  Valentine  softly, 
throwing  his  voice  under  the  bed  of  Mr. 
Beagle. 

"Hish!— curse  that  cat!"  cried  Mr. 
Beagle.  "  We  must  have  you  out  at  all 
events,  my  lady."  And  Mr.  Beagle  at 
once  slipped  out  of  bed,  and  having  opened 
the  door  cried  "  hish!"  again  emphatically, 
and  threw  his  breeches  towards  the  spot  as 
an  additional  inducement  for  the  cat  to 
"  stand  not  on  the  order  of  her  going," 
when,  as  Valentine  repeated  the  cry,  and 
made  it  appear  to  proceed  from  the  stairs, 
Mr.  Beagle  thanked  Heaven  that  she  was 
gone,  closed  the  door,  and  very  carefully 
groped  his  way  again  into  bed. 

"  Mew! — mew! — mew!"  cried  Valentine, 
just  as  Mr.  Beagle  had  again  comfortably 
composed  himself. 

"  What?  are  you  there  still,  madam1?"  in- 
quired that  gentleman  in  a  highly  sarcastic 
tone,  "  I  thought  you  had  been  turned  out, 
madam! — Do  you  hear  this  witch  of  a  eat]" 
he  continued,  addressing  Valentine  with  the 
view  of  conferring  upon  him  the  honorable 
office  of  Tyler  for  the  time  being;  but  Va- 
lentine replied  with  a  deep  heavy  snore,  and 
began  to  mew  again  with  additional  em- 
phasis. 

44  Well,  I  don't  have  a  treat  every  day,  it 
is  true;  but  if  this  isn't  one,  why  I'm  out  in 
my  reckoning  that's  all!"  observed  Mr. 
Jonas  Beagle,  slipping  again  out  of  bed. 
"I  don't  much  like  to  handle  you,  my  lady, 
but  if  I  did,  I'd  of  course  give  you  physic!" 
and  he  "  hished!"  again  with  consummate 
violence,  and  continued  to  "  hish!"  until 
Valentine  scratched  the  bed-post  sharply,  a 
feat  which  inspired  Mr.  Beagle  with  the 
conviction  of  its  being  the  disturber  of  his 
peace  in  the  act  of  decamping,  when  he 
threw  his  pillow  very  energetically  towards 
the  door,  which  he  closed,  and  then  return- 
ed to  his  bed  in  triumph.  The  moment, 
however,  he  had  comfortably  tucked  him- 
self up  again  he  missed  the  pillow  which 


78 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


he  had  converted  into  an  instrument  of  ven- 
geance, and  as  that  was  an  article  without 
which  he  couldn't  even  hope  to  go  to  sleep, 
he  had  of  course  to  turn  out  again  to  fetch  it. 

"  How  many  more  times,  I  wonder,  he 
observed  to  himself,  "shall  I  have  to  get 
out  of  this  blessed  bed  to-night?  Exercise 
certainly  is  a  comfort,  and  very  conducive 
to  health;  but  such  exercise  as  this — why 
where  have  you  got  to!"  he  added,  address- 
ing the  pillow,  which,  with  all  the  sweep- 
ing action  of  his  feet  he  was  for  some  time 
unable  to  find — "  Oh,  here  you  are,  sir,  are 
you?"  and  he  picked  up  the  object  of  his 
search  and  gave  it  several  very  severe  blows 
in  the  belly,  when,  having  reinstated  him- 
self between  the  sheets,  he  exclaimed  in  a 
subdued  tone,  "  Well,  let's  try  again." 

Now  Mr.  Jonas  Beagle  was  a  man  who 
prided  himself  especially  upon  the  even- 
ness of  his  temper.  His  boast  was  that 
nothing  could  put  him  in  a  passion,  and  as 
he  had  had  less  than  most  of  his  contem- 
poraries to  vex  him,  he  had  certainly  been 
able,  in  the  absence  of  all  cause  for  irrita- 
tion, to  preserve  his  equanimity.  As  a  per- 
fectly natural  matter  of  course  he  invariably 
attributed  the  absence  of  such  cause  to  the 
innate  amiability  of  his  disposition;  and 
marvelled  that  men,  men  of  sense  and  dis- 
cernment, should  so  far  forget  what  was 
justly  expected  of  them  as  reasonable  be- 
ings, as  to  suffer  themselves  to  be  tortured 
by  excitement,  inasmuch  albeit  as  human 
nature  and  difficulties  are  inseparable,  hu- 
man nature  is  sufficiently  potent  not  only  to 
battle  with  those  difficulties,  but  eventually 
to  overcome  them.  If  Mr.  Jonas  Beagle 
had  had  to  contend  against  many  of  the 
"  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to,"  he  in  all  proba- 
bility would  have  acted  like  the  majority  of 
his  fellow-men;  but  as  he  had  met  with 
very  few,  and  those  few  had  not  been  of  a 
very  serious  complexion,  he  could  afford  to 
be  deeply  philosophical  on  the  subject,  and 
felt  himself  competent,  of  course,  to  frame 
laws  by  which  the  tempers  of  men  in  the 
aggregate  should  be  governed.  He  did, 
however,  feel  when  he  violently  smote  the 
pillow,  that  that  little  ebullition  partook 
somewhat  of  the  nature  of  passion,  and  had 
just  commenced  reproaching  himself  for  hav- 
ing indulged  in  that  little  ebullition,  when 
Valentine  cried  "  Meyow! — pit! — Meyow!" 

"  Hallo!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Jonas  Beagle, 
"  here  again!" 

44  Mew!"  cried  Valentine  in  a  somewhat 
higher  key. 

44  What  another  come  to  contribute  to  the 
harmony  of  the  evening!" 

44  Meyow! — meyow!"  cried  Valentine  in 
a  key  still  higher. 

44  Well,  how   many  more   of  you!"  in 


quired  Mr.  Beagle.  "  You'll  be  able  to  got 
up  a  concert  by-and-bye;"  and  Valentine 
aegan  to  spit  and  swear  with  great  felicity. 

•'  Swear  away,  you  beauties!"  cried  Mr. 
Jonas  Beagle,  as  he  listened  to  this  volley 
of  feline  oaths;  "I  only  wish  that  I  was 
not  so  much  afraid  of  you  for  your  sakes! 
At  it  again1?  Well  this  is  a  blessing.  Don't 
you  hear  those  devils  of  cats!"  he  cried, 
anxious  not  to  have  all  the  fun  to  himself; 
but  Valentine  recommenced  snoring  very 
loudly.  "  Well,  this  is  particularly  plea- 
sant," he  continued  as  he  sat  up  in  bed. 
"  Don't  you  hear!  What  a  comfort  it  is  to 
be  able  to  sleep  soundly!"  which  remark- 
able observation  was  doubtless  provoked  by 
the  no  less  remarkable  fact,  that  at  that  par- 
ticular moment  the  spitting  and  swearing 
became  more  and  more  desperate.  "  What's 
to  be  done1?  he  inquired  very  pointedly. 
What's  to  be  done?  my  breeches  are  right 
in  the  midst  of  them  all.  1  can't  get  out 
now:  they'd  tear  the  very  flesh  off  my  legs; 
and  that  fellow  there  sleeps  like  a  top. 
Hallo'  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  don't  hear 
these  cats,  how  they're  going  it?"  Valen- 
tine certainly  meant  to  say  no  such  thing, 
for  the  whole  of  the  time  that  he  was  not 
ngaged  in  meyowing  and  spitting,  he  was 
diligently  occupied  in  snoring,  which  had  a 
very  good  effect,  and  served  to  fill  up  the 
intervals  exceedingly  well. 

At  length  the  patience  of  Mr.  Jonas  Beagle 
began  to  evaporate;  for  the  hostile  animals 
continued  to  battle  apparently  with  great 
desperation.  He,  therefore,  threw  a  pillow 
with  great  violence  into  the  bed  of  his  com- 
panion, and  shouted  so  loudly,  that  Valen- 
tine, feeling  that  it  would  be  deemed  perfect 
nonsense  for  him  to  pretend  to  be  asleep 
any  longer,  began  to  yawn  very  naturally, 
and  then  to  cry  out  "  Who's  there?" 

"Tis  1!"  shouted  Mr.  Jonas  Beagle. 
"  Don't  you  hear  these  witches  of  cats?" 

"Hish!"  cried  Valentine,  "why  there 
are  two  of  them!" 

"Two!"  said  Mr.  Beagle,  " more  likely 
two-and-twenty!  I've  turned  out  a  dozen 
myself.  There's  a  swarm,  a  whole  colony 
of  them  here,  and  I  know  no  more  how  to 
strike  a  light  than  a  fool." 

"  Oh,  never  mind,"  said  Valentine:  "  let's 
go  to  sleep,  they'll  be  quiet  by  and  bye." 

44  It's  all  very  fine  to  say,  let's  go  to  sleep, 
but  who's  to  do  it?"  cried  Beagle  empha- 
tically. "Curse  the  cats!  I  wish  ihrrr 
wasn't  a  cat  under  heaven — I  do,  with  all 
my  soul!  They 're  such  spiteful  vermin  too 
when  they  happen  to  be  put  out,  and  there's 
one  of  them  in  a  passion,  I  know  by  her 
spu tincr,  confound  her! — I  wish  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart  it  was  the  very  last  spit 
she  had  in  her." 


, 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


79 


r*  While  Mr.  Jonas  Beagle  was  indulging 
in  these  highly  appropriate  ohservations, 
Valentine  was  laboring  with  great  energy 
in  the  production  of  the  various  bitter  cries 
which  are  peculiarly  characteristic  of  the 
feline  race,  and  for  a  man  who  possessed 
but  a  very  slight  knowledge  of  the  gram- 
matical construction  of  the  language  of 
that  race,  it  must  in  justice  be  said  that  he 
developed  a  degree  of  fluency  which  did 
him  great  credit.  He  purred,  and  mewed, 
and  cried,  and  swore,  and  spit,  until  the 
perspiration  oozed  from  every  pore,  and 
made  the  sheets  as  wet  as  if  they  had  just 
been  "  damped  for  the  mangle." 

44  Well,  this  is  a  remarkably  nice  posi- 
tion for  a  man  to  be  placed  in  certainly," 
observed  Mr.  Beagle  "  Did  you  ever  hear 
such  wailing  and  gnashing  of  teeth'?  Are 
you  never  going  to  leave  off,  you  devi/s?"  he 
added,  throwing  the  bolster  with  great  vio- 
lence under  the  bed,  and  therefore,  as  he 
fondly  conceived,  right  amongst  them. 
Instead,  however,  of  striking  the  cats  there- 
with he  unhappily  upset  something  which 
rolled  with  great  velocity  from  one  end  of 
the  room  to  the  other,  and  made  during  its 
progress  so  singular  a  clatter,  that  he  began 
to  "  tut!  tut!"  and  to  scratch  his  head  audibly. 

"  Who's  there]"  demanded  Plumplee  in 
the  passage  below,  for  he  slept  in  the  room 
beneath,  and  the  rolling  of  the  article  in 
question  had  alarmed  him,  "Who's  there! 
d'ye  hear!  Speak!  or  I'll  shoot  you  like  a 
dog!"  and  on  the  instant  the  report  of  a 
pistol  was  heard,  which  in  all  probably  had 
been  fired  with  the  view  of  convincing  all 
whom  it  might  concern  that  he  had  such  a 
thing  as  a  pistol  in  the  house.  "  Who's 
there!"  he  again  demanded:  "  You  vaga- 
bonds, I'll  be  at  you!"  an  intimation  that 
may  be  held  to  have  been  extremely  natural 
under  the  circumstances,  not  only  because 
he  had  not  even  the  slightest  intention  of 
of  carrying  so  desperate  a  design  into  ex- 
ecution, but  because  he — in  consequence  of 
having  supped  off  cucumbers  and  crabs,  of 
which  he  happened  to  be  particularly  fond, 
seeing  that  as  they  didn't  agree  with  him 
and  invariably  made  him  suffer,  they  par- 
took of  the  nature  of  forbidden  fruit — he 
had  singularly  enough  been  dreaming  of 
being  attacked  by  a  party  of  burglars,  and  of 
having  succeeded  in  frightening  them  away 
by  holding  out  a  precisely  similar  threat. 

44  Beagle!"  he  shouted,  after  waiting  in 
vain  for  the  street-door  to  bang. 

44  Here!"  cried  Beagle,  "come  up  here! 
It's  nothing:  I'll  explain!  For  Heaven's 
sake,"  he  added,  addressing  Valentine, 
44  open  the  door;"  but  Valentine  was  too 
much  engaged  to  pay  attention  to  any  such 
request. 


At  this  moment  the  footsteps  of  Plumplee 
were  heard  upon  the  stairs,  and  Mr.  Beagle, 
who  then  began  to  feel  somewhat  better, 
cried, "  Come~  in!  my  good  friend,  come  in!" 

44  What  on  earth  is  the  matter]"  inquired 
Mr.  Plumplee,  as  he  entered  the  room  pale 
as  a  ghost  in  his  night-shirt,  with  a  pistol 
in  one  hand  and  a  lamp  in  the  other. 

"It's  all  right,"  said  Beagle,  44 'twas  I 
that  made  the  noise.  I've  been  besieged 
by  a  cohort  of  cats.  They  have  been  at  it 
here  making  most  healthful  music  under 
my  bed  for  the  last  two  hours,  and  in  try- 
ing to  make  them  hold  their  peace  with  the 
bolster,  I  upset  that  noisy  affair,  that's  all." 

44  Cats!"  cried  Mr.  Plumplee,  44cats! — 
you  ate  a  little  too  much  cucumber,  my 
friend! — that  and  the  crabs  were  too  heavy 
for  your  stomach! — you  have  been  dream- 
ing!— you've  had  the  night  mare!  We 
haven't  a  cat  in  the  house;  I  can't  bear 
them." 

44  You  are  mistaken,"  rejoined  Beagle, 
44  they're  about  hero  in  swarms.  If  I've 
turned  one  cat  out  this  night,  I'm  sure  that 
I've  turned  out  twenty!  I've  in  fact  done 
nothing  else  since  I  came  up!  In  and  out, 
in  and  out!  Upon  my  life,  I  think  I  can't 
have  opened  that  blessed  door  less  than  a 
hundred  and  fifty  times;  and  that  young 
fellow  there  has  been  all  the  while  fast  as 
a  church!" 

44 1  tell  you,  my  friend,  you've  been 
dreaming!  We  have  never  had  a  cat  about 
the  premises." 

44  Meyow — meyow  !"  cried  Valentine 
quietly. 

44  Now  have  I  been  dreaming!"  trium- 
phantly exclaimed  Mr.  Beagle,  44now  have 
I  had  the  night  mare]" 

44  God  bless  my  life!"  cried*  Mr.  Plum- 
plee, jumping  upon  Mr.  Beagle's  bed, 
44  they  don't  belong  to  me!" 

44 1  don't  know  whom  they  belong  to;" 
returned  Mr.  Beagle,  44  nor  do  I  much  care: 
I  only  know  that  there  they  are!  If  you'll 
just  hook  those  breeches  up  here,  I'll  get 
out  and  half  murder  them!  Only  hook  'em 
this  way! — I'll  wrino-  their  precious  necks 
off!" 

44  They're  out  of  my  reach,"  cried 
Plumplee.  44  Hish!  Irish!"  Finding,  how- 
ever, that  harsh  terms  had  no  good  effect, 
he  had  recourse  to  the  milder  and  more 
persuasive  cry  of  44  Pussy,  pussy,  pussy, 
pussy!  tit,  tit,  tit!" 

44  Hish!  you  devils!"  cried  Mr.  Jonas 
Beagle,  who  began  to  be  really  enraged! 

44  Titty,  titty,  titty,  titty!— puss,  puss, 
puss!"  repeated  Mr.  Plumplee  in  the  bland- 
est and  most  seductive  tones,  as  he  held 
the  pistol  by  the  muzzle  to  break  the  back 
or  to  knock  out  the  brains  of  the  first  un- 


so 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


fortunate  cat  that  made  her  appearance:  but 
all  this  persuasion  to  come  forth  had  no 
effect;  they  continued  to  be  invisible,  while 
the  mewing  proceeded  in  the  most  melan- 
choly strain. 

*'  What  on  earth  are  we  to  do1?"  inquired 
Plumplee,  "  I  myself  have  a  horror  of 
cats." 

"The  same  to  me,  and  many  of  'em!" 
observed  Mr.  Beagle,  "  Let's  wake  that 
young  fellow,  perhaps  he  don't  mind  them." 

"  Hollo!"  cried  Plumplee. 

"  Hul-lo!"  shouted  Beagle;  but  as  neither 
could  make  any  impession  upon  Valentine, 
and  as  both  were  afraid  to  get  off  the  bed  to 
shake  him,  they  proceeded  to  roll  up  the 
blankets  and  sheets  into  balls  and  to  pelt 
him  with  infinite  zeal. 

"Who's  there"?  What's  the  matter1?" 
cried  Valentine  at  length,  in  the  coolest 
tone  imaginable,  although  his  exertions 
had  made  him  sweat  like  a  tinker. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  my  dear  young 
friend,"  said  Mr.  Plumplee,  "do  assist  us 
in  turning  these  cats  out." 

44  Cats!  Where  are  they]  Hish!"  cried 
"Valentine. 

44  Oh,  that's  of  no  use  whatever.  I've 
tried  the  hishing  business  myself.  All  the 
hiahing  in  the  world  won't  do.  They  must 
be  beaten  out:  you're  not  afraid  of  them, 
are  you]" 

"  Afraid  of  them!  afraid  of  a  few  cats!" 
exclaimed  Valentine  with  the  assumption 
of  some  considerable  magnanimity,  "Where 
are  they?" 

44  Under  my  bed,"  replied  Beagle, 
44  There's  a  brave  fellow!  Break  their 
blessed  necks!"  and  Valentine  leaped  out 
of  bed  and  after  striking  at  the  imaginary 
animals  very  furiously  with  the  bolster,  he 
hissed  with  great  violence  and  scratched 
across  the  grain  of  the  boards  in  humble 
imitation  of  those  domestic  creatures  scam- 
pering out  of  a  room,  when  he  rushed  to 
the  door,  and  proceeded  to  make  a  very 
forlorn  meyowing  die  gradually  away  at 
the  bottom  of  the  stairs. 

"Thank  Heaven!  they  are  all  gone  at 
last!"  cried  Mr.  Beagle,  "  we  shall  be  able 
to  get  a  little  rest  now,  I  suppose;"  and 
after  very  minutely  surveying  every  corner 
of  the  room  in  which  it  was  possible  for 
one  of  them  to  have  lingered,  he  lighted 
his  candle,  bade  Plumplee  good  night,  and 
<1  him  to  go  immediately  to  Miss 
Madonna,  who  had  been  calling  for  an  ex- 
planation very  anxiously  below. 

As  soon  as  Plumplee  had  departed,  Val- 
entino assisted  Beagle  to  remake  his  bed; 
suul  when  they  had  accomplished  this  high- 
ly important  business  with  the  skill  and 
dexterity  of  a  couple  of  thoroughbred  cham- 


bermaids, the  light  was  again  extinguished, 
and  Mr.  Beagle  very  naturally  made  up  his 
mind  to  have  a  six  hours'  sound  and  unin- 
terrupted sleep.  He  had,  however,  scarcely 
closed  his  eyes  when  the  mewing  was  re- 
newed, and  as  he  had  not  even  the  smallest 
disposition  to  "listen  to  the  sounds  so 
familiar  to  his  ear,"  he  started  up  at  once 
and  exclaimed,  "  I  wish  I  may  die  if  they're 
all  out  now!  Here's  one  of  them  left!" 
added  he,  addressing  Valentine,  but  Valen- 
tine having  taken  a  deep  inspiration  an- 
swered only  by  respiring  with  a  prolonged 
gargling  sound.  "  He's  off  again  by  the 
living  Jove!"  continued  Beagle.  "  I  never 
heard  of  any  one  sleeping  so  soundly. 
Hollo!  my  good  fellow7!  ho! — Fast  as  a 
four-year-old!  Won't  you  be  quiet,  you 
witch?  Are  you  determined  not  to  let  me 
have  a  wink  of  sleep  to-night]  She  must 
be  in  the  cupboard:  I  must  have  overlooked 
her;  and  yet  I  don't  see  how  I  could.  Oh! 
keep  the  thing  up,  dear!  Don't  let  me 
rest!"  and  he  fumbled  about  for  his  box, 
and  having  taken  a  hearty  pinch  of  snuff, 
began  to  turn  the  thing  seriously  over  in 
his  mind  and  to  make  a  second  person  of 
himself,  by  way  of  having,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, a  companion  with  whom  he 
could  advise,  and  if  necessary  remonstrate. 

"Well,  what's  to  be  done  now?"  in- 
quired he  of  the  second  person  thus  esta- 
blished. "  What's  to  be  the  next  step, 
Jonas]  It's  of  no  use  at  all,  you  know! 
we  can't  go  to  sleep; — we  may  just  as  well 
try  to  get  a  kick  at  the  moon! — nor  must 

we  again   disturb — Hish!   you ,  Jonas! 

Jonas!  keep  your  temper,  my  boy!— keep 
your  temper!  Don't  let  a  contemptible  cat 
put  you  out!"  and  Mr.  Beagle  took  another 
pinch  of  snuff,  from  which  he  apparently 
derived  a  groat  degree  of  consolation. 
44  What,  at  it  again]"  he  continued,  "  I 
wish  I  had  the  wringing  of  your  neck  off, 
madam!  You  want  to  put  me  in  a,  passion; 
but  you  won't!  you  can't  do  it!  therefore, 
don't  lay  that  flattering  unction  to  your 
soul! — Well*  Jonas:  how  are  we  to  act] 
Shall  we  sit  here  all  night,  or  take  up  our 
bed  and  walk,  Jonas] — eh]" 

Jonas  was  so  struck  with  the  expediency 
of  the  latter  course,  that  he  apparently 
urged  its  immediate  adoption;  for  Mr. 
Beagle,  in  the  first  placo,  half-dressed  him- 
self in  bed,  and  in  the  nrxt,  threw  the 
counterpane,  a  blanket,  and  a  sheet  over 
his  shoulder;  when,  tucking  a  pillow  and  a 
bolster  under  his  arm,  said,  "  NYe'll  leavo 
you  to  your  own  conscience,  madam!  Good 
night!"  and  left  the  room  with  the  view  of 
•i  iT  repose  upon  the  sofa. 

Valentine  \\as  astonished  at  the  coolness 
displayed  by  Mr.  Beagle  throughout  the 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


81 


entire  transaction;  and  after  reproaching  the 
spirit  of  mischief  that  was  within  him,  and 
striving  hy  way  of  a  punishment,  to  disturb 
his  own  repose,  and  succeeded  too  as  well 
as  the  monks  of  old  did  when  they  inflicted 
the  scourge  upon  themselves — he  proceeded 
to  justify  himself  upon  the  ground  that  his 
object  was  to  learn  the  true  characters  of 
men,  and  being  perfectly  satisfied  with  that 
justification,  went  soundly  and  solemnly  to 
sleep. 

In  the  morning,  of  course,  nothing  but 
tales  of  horror  went  down.  Mr.  Plnmplee 
told  his  with  the  air  of  a  man  conscious  of 
having  been  inspired  with  the  spirit  of 


valor;  and  Miss  Madonna  told  hers  with 
great  feeling  and  effect;  but  when  Beagle 
began  to  explain  to  them  how  he  had  been 
persecuted,  they  forgot  their  own  troubles 
and  laughed  heartily  at  his,  which  was  cer- 
tainly, under  the  circumstances,  extremely 
reprehensible,  however  natural  philosophers 
may  hold  it  to  be  for  the  risible  faculties  of 
men  to  be  provoked  by  the  little  vexations 
which  others  endure. 

But  where,  during  the  whole  of  this 
time,  was  poor  Goodman"? — While  Valen- 
tine is  on  his  way  to  town — for  which  he 
immediately  after  breakfast  prepared  to 
start — the  next  chapter  will  briefly  explain. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


GOODMAN  IS  CONDUCTED  TO  HIS  NEW  RESIDENCE — THE  LIBERTY  OF  THE  SUBJECT  ILLUS- 
TRATED— THE  COMMENCEMENT  OF  AN  EXPOSITION  OF  A  SYSTEM  WHICH  CANNOT  BE  GENE- 
RALLY KNOWN. 


WHEN  Goodman,  who  had  fainted  on  being 
thrust  into  the  coach,  had  been  restored  to 
a  state  of  consciousness,  he  found  himself 
perfectly  wet,  for  the  ruffians,  when  they 
perceived  all  animation  suspended,  became 
apprehensive  of  having  carried  their  vio- 
lence too  far,  and,  therefore,  at  once  pro- 
cured a  bottle  of  water,  with  which  they 
continued  to  sprinkle  him,  until  he  awak- 
ened to  a  sense  of  his  position,  when, 
grasping  the  arm  of  the  fellow  who  sat 
beside  him,  and  looking  intently  in  his 
face,  he  cried,  "Tell  me,  my  good  man, 
tell  me  the  meaning  of  this  monstrous  out- 
rage!" 

"  Oh,  you'll  know  the  meaning  on't  soon 
enough,  don't  be  impatient,"  replied  the 
fellow. 

"  But  why  have  I  thus  been  seized  like 
a  felon1?  What  have  I  done?  Whom  have 
I  injured?  I  am  unconscious  of  having 
offended  a  single  soul." 

"Don't  ask  us  any  questions,"  replied 
the  fellow.  "  We  know  nothing  at  all 
about  it.  We've  got  our  orders,  and  that's 
enough." 

"  But  tell  me  this,"  urged  Goodman, 
"  only  this,  to  what  place  are  you  taking 
me  now!" 

"Oh,  you'll  know  fast  enough!— All  in 
good  time! — wait  a  little,  and  then  an 
idea'll  strike  you." 

"  But  surely  you  can  have  no  serious 
objection  to  let  me  know  that1?"  observed 
Goodman. 

"0!  tell  the  genelman,"  cried  the  ruffian 
who  sat  opposite.  "  He  a'n't  like  some  on 


'em,  you  know.    0!  tell  him!  it  can't  make 
much  odds  you  know  now!" 

"  It  taint  reg'lar,"  cried  the  other;  "  I 
haven't  no  partickler  objection,  only  it  taint 
the  thing.  Howsever,  I  don't  dislike  him, 
'cause  he  is  a  genelman,  so  I  don't  mind." 

"  Tell  me,  then,"  said  Goodman,  impa- 
tiently. 

"  Don't  be  in  sich  a  hurry!"  cried  the 
fellow;  "you  patients  always  is  in  sich  a 
sweat." 

"Don't  trifle  with  me,  for  Heaven's 
sake." 

"There  you  go  again!"  cried  the  fellow, 
"  there  you  go! — why  can't  you  be  cool?  I 
don't  mind  telling  you!  we're  going  to  take 
you  where  you're  going  to  be  taken  care 
on." 

"  To  a  Lunatic  Asylum? — Is  it  not  so1?" 
cried  Goodman. 

"  You  couldn't  have  guessed  it  much 
nearer  if  you'd  tried  every  day  for  a  month. 
But  it's  a  werry  nice  place;  werry  private 
and  genteel.  None  o'  your  public  'uns! — 
every  thing  slap  and  respectable!" 

Goodman  had  heard  much  of  private  Lu- 
natic Asylums:  he  had  heard  of  the  villa- 
nies  practised  therein — villanies,  however, 
which  he  had  conceived  to  be  mere  fictions, 
coined  in  the  diseased  imaginations  of  those 
who  had  been  properly  confined,  for  he  had 
hitherto  repudiated  the  idea  of  its  being 
possible  for  such  monstrous  proceedings  to 
to  be  tolerated  in  a  country  like  this.  Those 
acts  of  barbarity,  however,  which  he  had 
assumed  to  be  fictions,  at  this  moment 
flashed  across  his  mind  in  the  shape  of 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


realities,  and  prompted  him  to  make  a 
desperate  effort  to  escape,  for  he  felt  quite 
convinced,  that  if  once  they  secured  him 
unknown  to  his  friends,  they  in  all  proba- 
bility would  keep  him  there,  lingering  in 
tortures  till  the  day  of  his  death.  He, 
therefore,  in  order  that  no  suspicion  might 
be  excited,  assumed  an  air  of  perfect  calm- 
ness, and  after  having,  as  he  imagined,  suf- 
ficiently ingratiated  himself  with  the  ruf- 
fians by  whom  he  had  been  seized,  placed 
five  sovereigns  in  the  hand  of  him  who 
appeared  to  be  the  principal,  and  explained 
to  him  that  he  would  give  him  a  cheque  for  a 
hundred  more,  if,  instead  of  driving  him  to 
the  so-called  asylum,  he  would  permit  him 
to  return.  * 

"  It's  no  go,"  said  the  fellow.  "  It  can't 
be  done.  I  wish  it  could.  It's  impossible. 
We're  watched.  The  two  doctors  is  be- 
hind with  your  "  Here  the  fellow 

checked  himself  suddenly. 

"  With  whom,  my  good  friend,  "with 
•whom1?"  inquired  Goodman. 

"  Why — with — with  the  genelman  as 
sent  for  the  doctors,"  replied  the  fellow 
with  considerable  hesitation. 

"  And  who  is  that1?"  said  Goodman, 
anxiously.  "Who  is  it?  Tell  me  but 
that!" 

"  Why,  that's  against  the  law!"  cried 
the  fellow — "  It's  a  secret!  howsever,  you'll 
know  by  and  bye,  I  des  say." 

"  Are  they  behind  us  now?"  inquired 
Goodman,  attempting  to  look  out  of  the 
•window. 

"  Yes,  yes,  they're  acoming;  sit  down, 
sit  down,"  said  the  fellow — and  Goodman, 
whose  object  was  to  allay  all  suspicion,  at 
once  resumed  his  seat. 

"  Have  we  far  to  go  now?"  he  inquired. 

"  Not  far;  we're  just  at  hand;  we  shall 
be  there  in  the  matter  o'  ten  minutes." 

Goodman  now  saw  that  no  time  was  to 
be  lost,  for  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
make  one  desperate  effort.  He  knew  that 
if  he  once  got  fairly  out  of  the  coach,  it 
would  require  an  exceedingly  swift  man  to 
overtake  him,  and,  emboldened  by  that 
knowledge,  he  prepared  for  a  spring. 

"  Another  five  minutes  will  do  it,"  said 
one  of  the  men,  thrusting  his  head  out  of 
the  \\indow — a  movement  of  which  Good- 
man took  instant  advantage,  and,  making  a 
desperate  plunge,  dashed  clean  through  the 
opposite  door. 

•*  He's  off,  by  Stop!  coachman, 

stop!"  shouted  one  of  the  fellows.  "We 
shall  never  be  able  to  catch  him,  for  he  has 
no  flesh  to  carry."  Nor  would  they  have 
caught  him,  had  it  not  most  unfortunately 
happ< -tied  that  in  plunging  he  sprained  one 
of  his  ankles  and  !'<!!. 


The  coach  stopped  on  the  instant,  and  the 
ruffians  leaped  out;  and  as  Goodman  was 
unable  to  use  both  feet  with  firmness,  they 
easily  overtook  him,  when  one  of  them 
struck  him  a  sledge-hammer  blow  upon  the 
back  of  the  neck,  and  felled  him  at  once  to 
the  ground. 

"  Is  this  the  way  you  serve  us  for  all  our 
kindness"*"  cried  the  fellow,  as  he  kicked 
him  most  cruelly  in  the  stomach.  "  Is  this 
your  gratitude?" 

"Villains!"  shouted  Goodman,  and  the 
cowardly  scoundrels  kicked  him  more 
severely. 

"  Up  with  you!"  cried  one  of  them, 
"  Sam!  here,  where  are  the  ruffles?"  and  the 
fellow  addressed  instantly  produced  a  pair 
of  handcuffs,  and  begun  to  unlock  them. 

"  I  will  not  be  manacled!"  cried  Good- 
man, seizing  the  handcuffs,  and  holding 
them  up  as  a  weapon  of  defence,  "It  is  for  my 
personal  liberty  I  fight,  and  will  peril  my  life 
to  defend  it.  Although  not  mad,  I  am  despe- 
rate now,  and  the  blood  of  him  who  attempts 
again  to  seize  me  be  on  his  own  head!" 

The  fellows  for  the  moment  held  back. 
Accustomed  as  they  had  been  to  deal  with 
desperation,  they  for  an  instant  appeared  to 
be  appalled.  "Let me  have  justice!"  con- 
tinued Goodman,  "If  lam  mad,  let  it  be 
proved  before  the  world!  I  will  not  be 
stolen  from  society  thus!" 

At  this  moment  a  coach  drew  up  to  the 
spot,  towards  which  Goodman's  eyes  were 
directed  with  an  expression  of  anxious  hope, 
which  the  ruffians  no  sooner  perceived,  than 
they  sprang  at  him,  seized  him  by  the 
throat,  and  kicked  his  legs  from  under  him 
violently. 

"  Help!"  shouted  Goodman,  as  he  saw 
the  coach  stop,  "  Help! — murder!" 

"  We'll  help  you!"  cried  a  person  alight- 
ing, "  Oh!  yes;  we'll  assist  you  with  a  ven- 
geance!" cried  another,  who  instantly  fol- 
lowed, "We'll  help  you!" 

Goodman  remembered  those  voices  well, 
and  on  turning  to  the  quarter  whence  they 
came,  every  hope  he  had  inspired  was  blast- 
ed by  the  sight  of  Doctors  Bowlemout  and 
Dobb. 

"  In  with  him!"  cried  Dobb,  with  a  fiend- 
like  smile. 

"Your  yonnjr  bully  is  not  here  now!" 
shouted  Ho\\  leinout;  and  he  and  Dobb  seized 
Goodman's  legs,  while  the  t\v<>  keepers 
lilted  his  body  and  carried  him  towards  tho 
coach  door. 

Goodman,  however,  still  strnggled  with 
all  the  strength  at  his  command,  and  several 
times  succeeded  in  thrusting  the  two  doc- 
tors from  him;  and  although  they  returned 
each  time  to  tho  charge  with  renewed  des- 
peration, every  effort  to  throw  him  into  the 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


83 


coach  proved  abortive,  which  so  enraged  the 
two  keepers,  that  after  kicking-  him  brutally 
in  order  to  compel  him  to  bend  his  legs, 
they  again  seized  him  violently  by  the 
throat  with  the  view  of  making  him  insen- 
sible by  partial  strangulation.  But  all 
would  not  do.  His  struggles  were  still 
desperate.  They  could  not  get  him  in. 
They  applied  to  the  coachmen  for  aid;  but 
in  vain:  they  would  render  no  assistance; 
they  would  not  interfere. 

"  Tell  him,"  at  length  cried  Dobb,  "  that 
he  must  come!  It's  of  no  use;  we  shall 
never  get  him  in;  come,  he  must!''1  And  as 
a  man,  who,  had  till  then  kept  concealed  in 
the  second  coach,  was  being  dragged  forth 
by  Bowlemout,  Goodman  shrieked,  "  Mer- 
ciful God!— my  brother!— Oh,  Walter!  Wal- 
ter; dear  Walter,  save  me!  Save  me  from 
these  murderous  men!" 

Walter  approached;  and  Goodman  strug- 
gled more  violently  than  before,  but  instead 
of  rescuing  him  from  the  hands  of  the  ruf- 
fians, he  assisted  in  throwing  him  into  the 
coach  like  a  dog! 

The  very  moment  he  was  in,  the  keepers 
followed,  and  the  doctors  followed  them; 
when  the  former  at  once  seized  him  by  the 
collar  and  stuck  their  knuckles  furiously  into 
his  throat;  while  the  latter  tied  his  legs  and 
held  them  down. 

"  My  brother!"  cried  Goodman — "  my 
brother  against  me!  God! — can  it  be1?"  and 
tears  of  agony  rolled  down  his  cheeks,  and 
he  sobbed  like  a  child.  "  You  need  use  no 
violence  now,"  he  continued.  "  My  bro- 
ther—my own  brother!  whom  I  have  cherish- 
ed, is  my  enemy:  do  with  me  as  you  please; 
I  shall  now  make  no  further  resistance!" 

"  No!"  cried  one  of  the  ruffians,  shaking 
him  brutally,  "  we'll  take  care  you  don't! 
We've  had  enough  of  you  for  one  bout,  at 
all  events.  We'll  take  care  we  don't  have 
any  more  of  it."  And  the  villain  again 
thrust  his  knuckles  into  his  throat,  and  con- 
tinued to  shake  him  like  a  fiend. 

The  coach  stopped.  The  outer  gates  of 
an  attractive  and  well  built  house  opened 
to  admit  them,  and  closed  again  the  moment 
they  were  in,  when  the  fellow  relaxing  his 
hold,  cried,  "  Now,  you  old  scoundrel,  con- 
sider yourself  booked  here  for  life.  You 
are  safe  enough  now!  Give  us  as  much  of 
your  nonsense  as  you  dare!" 

As  soon  as  the  door  of  the  coach  had 
been  opened,  the  doctors  alighted,  and  when 
the  keepers  had  unbound  Goodman's  legs, 
they  left  him  for  a  moment  alone,  still 
sobbing. 

44  Now,  a'n't  you  coming  out1?"  demanded 
one  of  them,  at  length;  and  poor  Goodman, 
who  felt  quite  exhausted,  made  an  effort  to 
alight,  but  before  he  had  descended  two 


steps,  the  heartless  ruffian  pulled  him  vio- 
lently forward,  and  dashed  him  with  his 
face  downwards  upon  the  rough  gravel  path. 

44  Come!  up  with  you!"  shouted  the  ruf- 
fian, kicking  him  over  as  he  would  a  dead 
dog;  when,  as  Goodman  was  utterly  una- 
ble to  rise,  he  proceeded  to  drag  him  along 
the  ground,  as  the  blood  gushed  in  streams 
from  his  nose  and  ears. 

'4  Act  like  men!"  cried  the  coachman, 
who  sickened  at  the  sight.  "If  he  is  mad, 
damme  don't  tr^at  him  like  a  varmint!" 

44  Mind  your  own  business,"  cried  a  black- 
looking  scoundrel,  who  appeared  to  be  the 
proprietor  of  this  infamous  den.  44  What's 
your  fare!" 

44  Seven  shillings!"  indignantly  shouted 
the  coachman. 

44  Here  it  is.  Now  be  off! — we  want 
none  of  your  insolence  here." 

44  Lor  send  I  may  never  have  such  ano- 
ther job  as  this!"  cried  the  coachman  on 
mounting  his  box.  4<  If  I'd  ha'  knowed  it, 
you  should  ha'  pulled  me  up  five  hundred 
times  afore  I'd  ha'  taken  such  a  fare." — 
And  he  lashed  his  horses  violently  with  a 
view  of  expressing  his  indignation,  and 
gave  the  fellow  who  held  open  the  gates  an 
apparently  accidental  cut  across  the  cheek," 
as  he  drove  through. 

Poor  Goodman,  as  well  as  he  was  able, 
now  looked  for  his  unnatural  brother,  who, 
however,  remained  in  the  coach  outside — 
but  no  sooner  had  he  turned  his  head  round, 
than  he  was  dragged  into  a  room,  when, 
another  flood  of  tears  having  somewhat  re- 
lieved him,  he  said  faintly  to  the  person  to 
whom  a  paper  in  which  Bowlernout  and 
Dobb  had  certified  to  his  insanity,  was  de- 
livered. 44  Are  you,  sir,  the  proprietor  of 
this  establishment]" 

44 1  am!"  said  that  person,  with  a  scowl. 

44  Will  you  do  me  the  favor  then  to  show 
me  your  authority  for  my  detention?" 

•4  Hold  your  tongue,  sir!" 

44 1  merely  wish — " 

4'  Silence!"  interrupted  the  scowling 
brute;  44  strip  him,  and  put  him  to  bed!" 
added  he,  addressing  his  myrmidons.  44If 
he  dares  to  show  any  of  his  devil's  tricks 
here,  why  you  know  how  to  serve  him." 

Goodman  was  accordingly  dragged  into 
a  narrow  dark  cell,  stripped  and  thrown 
upon  a  pallet!  when  the  ruffians,  after 
swearing  that  they  would  come  and.  knock 
his  brains  out  if  he  made  the  slightest  noise, 
locked  him  up  for  the  night. 

44  Heaven's  will  be  done!"  exclaimed 
Goodman,  on  being  left  alone.  44  But,  oh 
God!  am  I  mad1? — I  must  be— I  feel  that  I 
must;  for  I  thought  and  still  think  I  saw 
my  brother!  that  brother  to  whom  I  have 
never  been  unkind — whom  I  have  cherished 


84 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


through  life,  with  the  most  affectionate  ten- 
derness— whom  I  have  sustained. — Oh!  it 
cannot — impossible! — I  am,  1  am  mad' 
And  yet — surely,  this  cannot  be  a  dream? 
No! — no!  I  am  awake  now!  GOD!  what 
can  it  be?  Not  madness?  I  can  remember 
every  circumstance — can  connect  and  re- 
view.— Those  physicians!  they  spoke  of 
my  connection  with  an  emperor!  /  never 


imagined  myself  to  be  thus  connected!  It 
must  be  a  mistake.  Yet  who  sent  them? 
Walter?  his  motive? — immediate  posses- 
sion! It  must  have  been!  Oh!  what  a  vil- 
lanous  system  is  this!  what  man  is  secure 
from  being  seized,  confined,  murdered?  If 
I  am  not  mad,  I  soon  shall  be!"  And  thus 
he  proceeded  until  mental  and  physical 
agony  induced  absolute  exhaustion. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


VALENTINE    VISITS    THE    BRITISH    MUSEUM — IMPARTS    BREATH    TO    MEMNON     AND    RAISES    A 

VOICE    FROM    THE    TOMB. 


ON  reaching  the  residence  of  Goodman, 
Valentine  found  the  old  servant  in  tears, 
and,  as  he  became  apprehensive  of  some- 
thing of  a  very  serious  character  having 
occurred,  he  walked  immediately  into  the 
parlor,  and  desired  her  to  follow  him. — 
"  Something  has  happened,  Ann,"  said  he 
•with  much  earnestness,  "  tell  me,  what  is 
it?" 

Ann  sobbed  bitterly,  but  managed  to  ob- 
serve, "  I  don't — know — what — I've  done, 
sir — I  thought — I — gave — good — satisfac- 
tion." 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter?"  cried 
Valentine  impatiently. 

"Master,  sir's — given  me — wa-arning." 

"  Oh— when  did  he  return?" 

"  I  haven't  set  eyes  on  him  since  Satur- 
day, when  he  left  with  you,  sir." 

"Then  how  can  he  have  given  you 
warning?" 

"  He  sent  it  by  his  brother,"  cried  Ann. 
"  Mr.  Walter  has  been  here  and  read  a  let- 
ter he'd  just  received  from  master,  where 
he  says  he's  going  to  be  out  of  town  for  a 
time,  and  that  I  must  look  out  for  another 
place." 

"And  where  is  he  now?" 

"Mr.  Walter  says  that  mayn't  be  known." 

"He  read  the  letter  to  you?" 

"  Yes,  all  but  where  it  came  from,  and — 
dear  me,  I'd  almost  forgot:  he  wished  me 
to  say,  sir,  that  master's  kind  regards,  and 
as  he  shouldn't  p'rhaps  come  back  for  some 
weeks  or  a  month,  he  thinks  you'd  better 
return  to  the  country,  and  he'll  send  you 
another  invitation  by  and  bye." 

"This  is  very  extraordinary!"  thought 
Valentine,  "  I'd  no  idea  of  his  being  even 
in  the  slightest  degree  involved. — When 
are  you  to  leave,  Ann?" 

"  To-night,  sir." 

"  To-night!" 

"Yes,  sir,  this  blessed  night!    Mr.  Wal- 


ter has  settled  with  me  and  paid  me  my 
month,  and  I'm  to  leave  this  night,  sir! — 
would  you  believe  it?" 

"  And  who's  to  take  charge  of  the  house?" 

"  Mrs.  Horace  is  coming  this  evening, 
and  she  and  her  husband  are  going  to  re- 
main." 

"  Indeed!     I  must  see  Mr.  Walter." 

"  Yes,  do,  sir.  But  won't  you  have 
nothing  to  take? — You'll  come  home  to 
dinner,  sir,  wont  you?" 

"  No,  I  shall  dine  out,"  said  Valentine; 
and  he  left  the  house  at  once  with  the  view 
of  calling  upon  Walter.  "Poor  old  gentle- 
man!" he  murmured,  on  his  way,  "  He  has 
been  entering  into  some  unsuccessful  specu- 
lation. What  an  extraordinary  passion  is 
this  love  of  wealth!  An  old  man  like  that 
now,  having  plenty,  to  risk  probably  all 
that  he  possessed  with  a  view  of  gaining 
more  than  he  could  possibly  enjoy!  How 
is  it  that  men  are  never  satisfied  with  that 
which  they  have?"  Before  he  had  framed 
a  satisfactory  answer  to  this  question  ho 
reached  the  door  of  Walter's  residence. 

"Mr.  Goodman  is  not  at  home  sir,"  said 
the  servant,  in  answer  to  Valentine's  in- 
quiry. 

"  Nor  Mrs.  Goodman?" 

"No,  sir;  they  went  out  with  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Horace,  and  I  don't  expect  them  home 
before  night?" 

"  Valentine  perceived  in  a  moment  by  the 
unsteady  eye  and  the  hesitating  speech  of 
the  girl  that  what  she  had  stated  was  not 
exactly  correct.  He  did  not,  however,  press 
the  matter  farther,  but  left  his  card,  and 
bade  her  say  that  he  would  call  in  the 
evening. 

"Now  what  shall  I  do  with  myself?" 
thought  Valentine,  as  he  walked  very 
leisurely  from  the  house.  "  I  wish  that  I 
knew  a  little  more  about  London.  How- 
ever, I  must,  I  suppose,  be  content  to 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


85 


my  chance."  Aud  he  continued  to  walk, 
without  knowing  or  caring  much  where. 
He  had  not,  however,  proceeded  any  very 
great  distance  before  he  came  to  an  old- 
fashioned  red  hrick  building,  on  either  side 
of  the  gates  of  which  a  sentinel  was  walk- 
ing, with  a  view  to  the  uninterrupted  cir- 
culation of  his  blood. 

"  What  place  is  this1?"  he  inquired  of  one 
of  these  national  guardians. 

"  Brish  Museum,"  returned  the  sentinel, 
marvelling  at  his  ignorance,  and  walking 
away  as  stiffly  as  if  he  had  that  morning 
swallowed  his  ramrod  by  mistake. 

"The  British  Museum!"  said  Valentine, 
without  thanking  the  soldier  for  his  extra- 
ordinary politeness!  "The  very  place  I 
want  to  see!"  And  he  entered  the  court- 
yard at  once,  and  after  looking  with  a  curi- 
ous eye  at  a  creature  in  a  long  wooden  wig, 
and  at  a  canoe  of  great  antiquity,  which  ap- 
peared to  have  been  constructed  by  some 
ingenious  wild  gentlemen  out  of  the  bark 
of  a  tree,  he  reached  the  hall,  when,  after 
having  purchased  a  catalogue  of  one  indi- 
vidual, and  delivered  his  stick  to  another, 
he  passed  a  well  stuffed  rhinoceros  that  had 
evidently  known  what  it  was  to  have  a  bul- 
w'  let  or  two  in  his  body,  and  proceeded  up 
stairs,  at  the  top  of  which  stood  a  few  very 
gigantic  giraffes,  with  necks  sufficiently 
long  to  have  enabled  them  to  dine  without 
the  slightest  inconvenience  in  an  attic,  while 
standing  outside  the  street  door. 

Having  surveyed  these  lofty  creatures, 
he  passed  through  the  rooms  in  which  the 
specimens  of  various  animals  were  so  nu- 
merous that  a  student  in  Natural  History 
might  spend  the  full  term  of  his  natural  life 
without  acquiring  a  perfect  knowledge  of 
their  respective  characteristics!  These, 
however,  did  not  appear  to  the  majority  of 
the  visitors  to  be  the  most  attractive  animals 
in  this  vast  collection.  The  chief  attraction 
seemed  to  be  centred  in  the  visitors  them- 
selves, and  from  the  number  of  nods  of  re- 
cognition, and  meetings  by  appointment 
which  came  under  the  immediate  cogni- 
sance of  Valentine,  he  was  naturally  led  to 
infer  that  this  national  establishment  was  a 
national  place  of  assignation.  He  never 
had  lavished  upon  him  at  any  one  time  so 
many  really  wicked  glances.  The  widows 
were  desperately  intent  upon  something; 
they  appeared  to  be  especially  on  the  qui 
vive,  and  as  his  eyes  met  theirs  at  every 
turn,  he  jumped  at  once  to  the  conclusion 
that  if  they  were  really  virtuous  they  were 
really  not  very  discreet,  and  after  taking  a 
good  steady  look  at  a  lobster,  that  was 
pinned  very  closely  to  the  wainscot,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  the  Gallery  of  Antiquities  below. 

This  place  he  found  remarkably  cool  and 


pleasant.  He  surveyed,  without  the  slight- 
est interruption,  a  legion  of  little  gods  which 
appeared  to  have  been  barbarously  muti- 
lated in  their  infancy;  and  then  turned  his 
attention  to  a  number  of  young  artists,  who 
had  obviously  inspired  the  conviction  that 
they  were  on  the  high  road  to  immortal 
fame. 

One  was  sketching  a  goddess  without 
a  nose:  another  was  portraying  a  ram-head- 
ed lady;  a  third  was  engaged  upon  a  strik- 
ing colossal  fist;  a  fourth  was  drawing  the 
fragment  of  some  hero,  who  appeared  to 
have  lost  the  greater  part  of  himself  in  some 
desperate  battle;  a  fifth  was  depicting  an 
excellent  woman,  who  had  not  only  lost 
her  head  and  one  of  her  shoulders,  but  out 
of  whose  arm  a  large  piece  appeared  to 
have  been  bitten,  and  who  was  represented 
kneeling  behind  a  tablet  well  covered  with 
exceedingly  interesting  hieroglyphics;  while 
a  sixth  was  engaged  upon  three  very  bandy 
little  deities,  who  looked  as  if  they  might 
have  accomplished  great  things  in  their 
time. 

Having  inaudibly  awarded  to  these  artists 
all  the  praise  which  appeared  to  be  due  to 
them  respectively,  Valentine  passed  on  un- 
til he  came  to  a  figure  of  which  a  number 
of  persons  appeared  to  be  at  that  moment 
lost  in  admiration,  This  figure  was  placed 
upon  a  huge  block  of  stone,  and  although 
its  face  was  by  far  the  most  pleasing  of 
them  all,  one  side  of  its  head  had  been 
chopped  off,  apparently  with  sorae  heavy 
implement,  while  the  left  arm  and  shoulder 
with  the  whole  of  the  bedy  below  the  third 
rib  had  been  blown  clean  away. 

On  referring  to  his  catalogue,  Valentine 
found  this  to  be  the  bust  of  young  Memnon, 
and  as  certain  elderly  gentlemen  who  formed 
part  of  the  group  were  conversing  on  the 
subject  of  oracles  in  general,  he  listened 
with  considerable  attention  to  their  dis- 
course, and  found  them  to  be  exceedingly 
communicative  men. 

"  There  is  nothing,"  said  one  of  the 
elderly  persons,  "  that  can  have  so  great  a 
tendency  to  prove  the  rapid  progress  of  the 
human  intellect  as  an  oracle.  If  any  man 
of  the  present  age  were  capable  of  even 
dreaming  that  a  mere  mass  of  stone  had 
the  power  to  speak,  he  would  be  set  down 
at  once  as  a  natural  fool;  yet  to  what  an 
extent  did  the  priests  and  false  prophets, 
the  eugastrimandi  of  the  Greeks,  the  ma- 
gicians, the  soothsayers,  and  sorcerers  of 
Rome  impose,  in  the  remote  ages,  upon  the 
superstitious  multitude!" 

"Surely,"  thought  Valentine,  "those 
prophets  and  priests  knew  nothing  of  ven- 
triloquism!" 

"  They  were  artful  cards  doubtless,"  ob- 


86 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


served  a  tall  thin  person,  who  wore  a  sin- 
gularly small  pair  of  spectacles;  "but  how 
did  they  manage  it?  thai  puzzles  me.  By 
what  means  were  they  able  to  carry  on 
their  games'?" 

"  It  is  utterly  impossible  to  say,"  replied 
the  elderly  gentleman  who  had  started  the 
subject.  "  It  is  reported,  you  know,  of  the 
famous  Kireber,  that,  in  order  to  undeceive 
the  credulous  people,  and  to  account  for 
certain  strange  things  relating  to  the  cele- 
brated Delphic  Oracle,  he  fixed  a  tube  in 
his  bed-chamber,  so  that  when  persons 
came  to  his  garden  gate,  he  could  hear 
them  if  they  but  whispered,  and  by  means 
of  this  tube  he  asked  questions  and  gave 
answers,  and  that  he  afterwards  removed  it 
to  his  museum  and  fixed  it  in  a  figure,  so 
that  it  seemed  to  be  animated,  and  distinct 
sounds  apparently  issued  from  its  mouth, 
for  he  clearly  supposed  that  the  pagan 
priests  by  using  such  tubes,  used  to  make 
the  superstitious  believe  that  the  idol  itself 
returned  answers  to  their  questions.  And 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  was  done  by 
some  trickery  on  the  part  of  the  priests, 
who,  when  they  found  their  power  waning, 
sought  to  sustain  it  by  the  performance  of 
miracles  of  this  kind." 

"  \Vas  this  Memnon  a  vocal  god?"  in- 
quired the  tall  thin  gentleman. 

"  Of  course  he  was!  and  one  of  the  very 
greatest." 

"  He  appears  to  have  been  a  big  one,  but 
I  can  see  no  tube,  nor  any  place  into  which 
a  tube  could  possibly  have  been  inserted." 

"It  was  not  done  with  tubes!"  said  Va- 
lentine to  himself.  "  In  those  days  I  should 
have  made  an  excellent  miracle-monger;  I 
may  as  well  try  the  effect  now;"  when, 
placing  himself  in  a  favorable  position, 
"Fools,"  he  cried,  in  a  deep  sepulchral 
tone,  making  his  voice  proceed  apparently 
from  the  thick  lips  of  Memnon,  "  Think  ye 
that  Memnon  was  never  inspired?" 

The  group  at  once  shrank  back  appalled; 
some  felt  quite  faint  for  the  moment,  as 
they  stared  at  the  statue  and  trembled, 
while  the  rest  looked  amazed  at  each  other, 
but  neither  of  them  ventured  to  utter  a 
word. 

"Be  off!"  shouted  Valentine  through 
Memnon.  "If  they  hadn't  left  my  legs 
behind  in  Egypt,  I'd  jump  down  and  kick 
you  out  of  the  place!" 

"  Wonderful!"  involuntarily  exclaimed 
the  old  gentleman,  who  had  been  BO  severe 
upon  the  pious  men  of  old. 

"  Wonderful!"  cried  Valentine,  contempt- 
uously; "convince  thyself!  Test  my  pro- 
phetic soul!  test  it!  Would'st  thou  know 
thy  destiny?  Speak!" 

*•  Ye^yes!"  cried  the  stout  old  gentleman, 


who  evidently  prided  himself  upon  his 
courage.  "  Who's  afraid?" 

"Tip  then!"  cried  Memnon.  "Tip!  I 
never  did  duty  without  it,  and  I  shan't  com- 
mence now!" 

The  astonished  group  again  stared  wildly 
at  each  other.  "Did  you  see  his  lips 
move?"  inquired  one.  "I  thought  that  I 
did!"  replied  another;  "I  fancied  I  saw 
them  move." 

"  Fool!"  exclaimed  Memnon;  "dost  thou 
wish  to  insult  me?  Think'st  thou,  idiot, 
the  inspired  Memnon  would  condescend  to 
wag  his  sacred  lips  like  a  grovelling  mor- 
tal?" 

At  this  moment  an  individual  who  had  a 
remarkably  red  face,  and  whose  breath  told 
a  tale  about  his  having  indulged  recently  in 
hot  rum-and-water,  approached,  and  when 
the  assumed  fact  of  Memnon  having  spoken 
had  been  communicated  to  him,  he  laughed 
very  heartily  as  a  matter  of  course. 

"  You  will  not  believe  it? — Speak  to  him 
and  be  convinced,"  urged  the  stout  old  gen- 
tleman seriously. 

"Speak  to  him?"  cried  he  with  the  florid 
face;  "  speak  to  him? — Well,  my  old  trump, 
how's  your  mother?" 

"  Irreverent  wretch!"  exclaimed  Memnon 
indignantly;  "know  thyself  and  drink  less 
rum!" 

"  Hollo!"  cried  the  gentleman  with  the 
highly  colored  countenance.  "Hul-lo!" 
and  he  closed  one  eye  in  order  to  have  a 
good  stare  at  the  statue  with  the  other, 
while  his  mouth  was  as  wide  open  as  a 
mouth  of  that  size  could  conveniently  be 
strained. 

"Are  ye  satisfied?"  cried  Memnon.  "Learn 
to  respect  what  ye  cannot  comprehend.  I 
want  repose.  D'ye  hear?  Be  off;  and  dis- 
turb me  no  more!"  And  Valentine  viewed 
with  silent  pleasure  the  astonishment  de- 
picted in  the  countenances  of  the  group 
while  engaged  in  conversing  on  the  mar- 
vellous nature  of  that  which  they  imagined 
they  had  witnessed. 

Having  heard  these  amazed  individuals 
declare,  that  although  they  might  meet 
during  their  progress  through  life  with 
many  staunch  unbelievers,  nothing  on  earth 
would  ever  be  able  to  shake  their  faith  in 
the  assumed  fact  that  the  oracle  had  abso- 
lutely spoken,  Valentine  proceeded  to  sur- 
vey the  Elgin  marbles,  and  derived  much 
amusement  from  a  couple  of  highly-git'ird 
connoisseurs,  who  were  loudly  and  learn- 
edly descanting  on  their  peculiar  excel- 
lencies. 

'•  Well,  Jones,"  said  one  of  these  gen- 
tlemen, "  What  do  you  think  of  UHMM— rh  ?" 

"Think  of  %>in!"  contemptuously  cried 
Jones,  thrusting  his  hand  into  his  ample 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


87 


coat  pockets.  *'  I  wouldn't  give  two-pence 
for  the  lot." 

"You  don't  know  the  value  of  them 
surely!" 

"  I  don't  if  they're  worth  more  money. 
Did  you  ever  in  all  your  born  days  see  such 
rubbish1?  Why  I  wouldn't  pick  'em  up  in 
the  street!  I  wouldn't  own  'em!  If  they 
belonged  to  me  I'd  pitch  the  whole  failing 
into  the  Thames." 

"  But  look,  my  dear  fellow — take  this  for 
example— just  look  at  the  symmetry  — " 

"  Symmetry!  What's  the  good  of  that1? 
He  aint  got  no  head  and  not  above  half  a 
body.  Where  are  his  legs  gone  to] — look 
at  that  arm  there  chopped  all  to  smash  at 
the  elbow!  Symmetry!  come,  that's  good, 
Why  I've  got  a  group  of  goddesses  at 
home  that  I  gave  fifteen  pence  for,  that 
would,  in  point  of  Symmetry,  beat  the 
whole  biling  into  fits!" 

"  But  take  them  as  fragments." 

"  That's  precisely  what  I  do  take  'em  as! 
I  can't  take  'em  as  any  thing  else!— and 
pretty  fragments  they  are!" 

"  But  their  age,  my  dear  fellow!" 

"  Now,  don't  tell  me!  Just  look  at  this 
woman  here!  Send  I  may  live! — why  there 
aint  above  a  quarter  on  her  left!" 

"  But  you  must  look  at  the  parts  that  are 
remaining!" 

"  And  so  I  just  do!  There's  nothing  eke 
to  look  at!  It  won't  do,  you  know,  at  least, 
it  won't  do  for  me! — However  they  can  gam- 
mon the  people  to  believe  that  there's  any 
thing  fine  in  such  rubbish  as  this,  puts  me 
out  altogether.  There  isn't  one  of  'em  per- 
fect, nor  any  thing  like  it.  That  fellow 
there's  the  best  of  the  bunch,  and  they've 
smashed  off  the  biggest  part  of  his  corpo- 
ration!— to  have  a  post  mortal  examination 
I  s'pose!  Of  all  the  rum  rotten  trash  that 
ever  was  scraped  together  this  queer  lot 
bangs  all! — Come!"  he  added,  seizing  the 
arm  of  his  friend  and  dragging  him  from 
the  room;  "  let's  go  and  look  at  something 
a  leetle  worth  while." 

Valentine  derived  so  much  pleasure  from 
the  learned  observations  of  this  individual 
and  the  John-Bull-ish,  solemn,  self-satisfied 
air  with  which  those  observations  were 
made,  that  he  left  the  Elgin  marbles  to  fol- 
low him  and  his  friend,  with  the  view  of 
still  farther  indulging  his  taste  for  the  sub- 
lime. 

"This  is  a  pretty  good  sized  coffin,"  ob- 
served Mr.  Jones  approaching  a  ponderous 
granite  sepulchre,  the  lid  of  which  was  held 
up  by  a  strong  wooden  frame  that  the  whole 
of  the  interior  might  be  viewed.  "It 
would  hold  a  couple  of  dozen  dead  bodies 
well  packed!  The  water  couldn't  get  in 
very  well  here  I  say,  could  it?  And  as  to 


the  worms! — they  might  try  till  they  ground 
their  teeth  down  to  the  level  of  their  old 
gums  before  they'd  be  able  to  nibble  their 
way  through.  This  is  just  the  sort  of  coffin 
that  I  should  like  to  have  now — only  it 
would  cost  so  much  to  carry  it  to  the  grave. 
It  would  take  twenty  men,  and  even  then 
they'd  make  a  muddle  of  it.  Here's  an- 
other of  them,"  he  added  as  he  crossed  to 
the  opposite  side,  "  they  appear  to  be  fel- 
lows." 

Now  as  the  lid  of  this  happened  to  be 
down,  and  as  it  was  perfectly  obvious  that 
Mr.  Jones  had  entered  the  Museum  ex- 
pressly in  order  to  be  astonished;  it  recur- 
red at  once  to  Valentine,  that  it  would  be  a 
pity  to  allow  him  to  depart  disappointed. 
He,  therefore,  while  apparently  admiring 
with  others  an  exceedingly  broad  Egyptian 
pedestal,  introduced  a  quiet  groan  into  the 
sepulchre,  as  Jones  was  engaged  in  point- 
ing out  to  his  friend  the  ridiculous  character 
of  certain  heiroglyphics. 

"  Hush!  hush!"  cried  that  gentleman, 
starting  back  suddenly  and  seizing  the  arm 
of  his  friend.  "  Hush!  didn't  you  hear]" 

"  I  thought  I  heard  something,"  observed 
his  friend  whispering. 
t  "  Hush!   hush-sh!  Listen!"  and   Valen- 
tine sent  in  another  small  groan. 

"  Send  I  may  live! — 'tis  a  man!"  ex- 
claimed Jones. 

"  Impossible!"  cried  his  friend.  "  Why, 
do  you  know  the  age  of  this  thing]" 

"  I  don't  care  a  dump  about  the  age!  If 
it  is  in  its  fifty  millionth  year  it  don't  mat- 
ter a  button:  there's  something  alive  in  it 
now— listen  again!"  and  the  violence  of 
his  action  drew  several  persons  round,  of 
course  anxious  to  ascertain  what  had  caused 
so  much  excitement. 

Now  Valentine  happened  to  be  by  no 
means  conversant  with  the  language  of  the 
Egyptians,  and  as  he  conceived  that  it 
might  spoil  the  whole  thing  if  he  ventured 
to  speak,  he  confined  himself  simply  to  the 
introduction  of  a  long  drowsy  yawn  which 
he  presumed  to  have  been  well  understood  in 
all  ages  and  climes.  Before  he  had  finished 
yawning,  however,  Jones  again  started  up, 
and  addressing  an  individual  who  was  sleep- 
ing in  a  chair  with  a  long  white  wand  in  his 
hand,  cried,  "  Here!  he's  been  buried  alive! 
— He's  just  awoke! — do  you  hear]" 

The  individual  with  the  wand  opened  his 
eyes,  and  scratched  his  head  and  approached 
crying,  "  What's  the  matter] — what's  all 
this— eh]" 

"  Why  here's  somebody  been  buried 
alive  here,"  said  Jones. 

"  Pooh!  nonsense!— are  you  mad]"  cried 
the  person  with  the  wand  assuming  some 
considerable  amount  of  official  dignity. 


88 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"I  don't  care  a  straw  what  yon  say,"] 
returned  Jones,  "  I  know  that  there's  some  ! 
one  in  there! — did  you  never  hear  of  a  man 
being  buried  in  a  trance?" 

"  Why  you  must  he  insane!"  cried  the 
functionary.  "  That  tomb  has  been  empty 
ever  since  before  you  and  your  grandmo- 
thers and  grandfathers  before  you  were 
born!" 

"  I  don't  care  a  button  how  long  it  has 
been  empty!  I'll  bet  fifty  pounds  that 
there's  some  one  in  now!" 

"I  certainly  myself  heard  something," 
observed  a  gentleman  who  had  been  attract- 
ed with  others  to  the  spot. 

"  Oh  nonsense!" — cried  the  official — 
"  Why  it  was  only  cleaned  out  the  other 
day!" 

"  But  satisfy  yourself!"  exclaimed  Jones, 
really  wondering  at  the  stubborn  cool- 
blooded  incredulity  of  the  man. 

"  I  am— I  am  satisfied!"  cried  the  official; 
but  another  yawn  which  Valentine  dexte- 
rously introduced  at  the  moment,  caused 
him  to  start  back  amazed.  Down  went  his 
wand,  and  away  he  flew,  in  order  to  pro- 
claim as  well  as  he  could  the  fact  to  his 
brother  officers;  who,  inferring  from  the 
highly  excited  state  of  his  nerves  that  some- 
thing was  the  matter,  returned  with  him  at 
once,  with  the  view  of  rendering  whatever 
assistance  the  case  might  demand. 

The  very  moment,  however,  that  the  case 
was  explained,  they  treated  the  thing  with 
an  air  of  derision.  They  all  laughed  as 
heartily  as  men  could  laugh,  and  in  a  man- 
ner well  calculated  to  be  serviceable  to 
them  in  a  physical  point  of  view— inasmuch 
as  it  gave  them  great  pain,  as  they  had  not 
had  a  really  good  lauijh  for  an  age. 

"  W7hy,  Sirnpkins,"  cried  one,  "  upon  my 
soul,  I  didn't  think  you'd  been  so  soft!" 
But  Mr.  Simpkins  by  no  means  regarded  it 
as  so  excellent  a  joke  as  they  appeared  to 
imagine,  He  took  an  altogether  different 
view  of  the  matter,  for  although  he  felt  per- 
fectly sure  that  the  tomb  did  not  contain  an 
Egyptian,  as  he  had  seen  it  but  a  few  days 
previously  open  and  empty,  he  was  not  quite 
so  sure  that  the  workmen  in  closing  the  lid 
had  not  shut  in  some  poor  devoted  laborer, 
whom  they  had  either  forgotten  or  cared  not 
to  release.  He,  therefore,  heeded  not  their 
derision;  but  being  an  extremely  humane 
man  kept  his  ear  very  closely  to  the  tomb, 
while  they  were  laughing  and  joking  with 
glee  by  his  side. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake!"  at  length  he  ex- 
claimed, "be  silent  for  a  moment!"  Hut 
they  would  not  be  silent:  they  continued  to 
laugh  very  loudly  and  very  wantonly,  until 
Jones  and  several  others  made  an  earnest  ap- 
peal to  their  humanities,  begging  them  to 


hold  their  peace,  but  for  an  instant,  in  order 
that  they  themselves  might  be  convinced 
that  the  sounds  were  not  the  offspring  of 
mere  imagination. 

"  Well,  let's  give  these  very  silly  people 
a  chance!"  cried  one  of  the  men  who  had 
been  so  strongly  moved  to  laughter.  "  Let 
us  listen  to  the  cries  and  groans  of  this 
mummy.  Now  hush!— hush!"  And  several 
of  those  who  had  been  thus  enjoined  to 
silence  commenced  groaning  very  furiously 
— a  feat  which  not  only  excited  another 
peal  of  laughter,  but  inspired  Mr.  Jones 
with  much  real  indignation.  "Inhuman 
wretches!"  he  exclaimed,  "assist  me  in 
raising  the  lid  of  this  tomb,  I  tell  you  there's 
some  one  inside;  I  know  it;  I'm  sure  of  it; 
I'll  bet  any  one  of  you  fifty  younds  of  it!" 
And  Mr.  Jones  produced  a  pocketbook  con- 
taining a  roll  of  notes,  which  astonished 
the  official  eyes  of  the  functionaries  around 
him  and  caused  them  respectfully  to  open 
their  ears.  The  effect  was  electric.  Their 
countenances  dropped  in  a  moment.  A 
more  powerful  argument  could  not  have 
been  adduced,  for  they  began  to  believe  at 
once  that  there  must  be  something  in  it, 
and,  hence,  to  pay  all  due  attention. 

Finding  that  the  general  impression  was 
that  he  whom  they  imagined  to  be  in  the 
tomb,  was  not  an  Egyptian,  but  a  laborer, 
Valentine  concluded  that  as  a  laborer  must 
of  course  mean  an  Irishman,  he  couldn't  go 
very  far  wrong  if  he  gave  them  a  spice  of 
the  brogue. 

"  Och!— what  the  blazes  will  I  do  thin!" 
he  cried,  "  be  me  sowl  I'm  clane  didd  althe- 
gidher  entirely — murther!" 

"Now,  what  d'ye  think  of  it!"  cried 
Simpkins,  triumphantly. 

"  Somebody's  there,  sure  enough;"  said 
one  of  those  who  had  previously  tre:it--d 
the  whole  thing  with  contempt.  "  Eut  how 
could  he  get  in1?" 

"Never  mind  a  dump,"  cried  Jones, 
"how  he  got  in;  let's  try  to  get  him  out." 

"  Dirthy  wather  to  ye,  lit  me  thin  have  a 
brith  of  air — I'll  be  slimudher'd  complate 
wid  th'  want  of  it — och!" 

"  Hut  a  moment,  my  good  fellow — now 
— now  give  a  lift!"  And  Mr.  Jones  and 
the  whole  of  the  officials  put  the  palms  of 
their  hands  to  the  lid  of  the  tomb,  which 
however  (UTied  all  their  strength.' 

"  Run — run,  for  the  workmen!"  cried 
Simpkins,  "  bring  them  at  once,  or  tho  man 
will  be  a  corpse!"  and  two  wand-bearers 
started  off  immediately  for  the  men  who 
were  engaged  in  a  different  part  of  the  mu- 
seum. 

"What  a  lucky  thing  it  was  that  I  hap- 
pened to  hoar  him!"  observed  Mr.  Jones. 
••It'  1  hadn't,  the  chances  are  that  he'd 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


89 


never  have  come  out  alive.  It  was  the 
merest  miracle  in  nature  I  heard  him  groan." 

"Why,"  said  Simpkins,  "he  must  have 
been  in  five  days — the  thing  hasn't^been 
opened  since  Wednesday." 

"  Five  days!"  exclaimed  several  of  the 
visitors,  in  a  breath,  as  a  violent  thrill  of 
horror  ran  through  them.  "  Five  days!" 
and  they  made  up  their  minds  to  see  a 
skeleton. 

"Shall  nobody  thrag  me  out  of  this!" 
cried  Valentine.  "  Will  I  be  shmudher'd 
at  last!" 

"  Wait  a  moment,  my  good  fellow,  wait 
but  a  moment!"  cried  Jones  putting  his  lips 
to  the  lid  of  the  tomb. 

"  In  a  moment  I'm  didd  widout  doubt.  I 
fale  dhreadful.  Arrah  thin  you  devils!  Is 
it  thin  at  yer  aise  ye'd  be  afther  shtanthing 
whin  yer  say  a  boy  murther'd  to  dith!  Take 
the  top  off  cornplate,  or  be  the  sowl  that's 
inside  o'me — " 

"Don't  be  impatient!"  cried  Jones — 
"You  must  not  be  impatient." 

"  It's  impatient  yer  mane!  Opin  the  top 
then,  bad  luck  t'yer,  opin  the  top!  Aint  it 
just  like  a  baste  I've  been  thrated  sure! — 
Opin  the  top!" 

At  this  moment  the  workmen  arrived  with 
their  tools,  and  after  some  slight  delay — 
during  which  the  imaginary  Irishman  was 
engaged  in  calling  out  very  fiercely — they 
succeeded  in  introducing  a  lever.  This  was 
no  sooner  done  than  Valentine  perceiving 
that  the  game  was  nearly  up,  cried,  "  It's 
all  complately  over  wid  me  now.  I'm  quite 
murthered — I'm  gone — I'm  at  pace!" — and 
turned  round  with  a  view  to  the  full  enjoy- 
ment of  the  scene. 

The  visitors  were  in  a  state  of  the  most 
painful  anxiety;  the  wand-bearers  felt 
scarcely  able  to  breathe;  while  the  workmen 
perspired  with  infinite  freedom,  for  the 
weight  of  the  lid  was  immense.  They  did, 
however,  eventually  succeed  in  raising  it 
sufficiently  to  enable  them  to  examine  the 
interior,  and  this  was  no  sooner  accom- 
plished than  a  dozen  simultaneously  looked 
in,  very  naturally  expecting  to  behold  a 
fellow-creature  lying  prostrate  at  the  bot- 
tom. 

"  Where  is  he!"  cried  one.      "  I  can't 


see  him!"  cried  another.    "  Not  here!"  cried 
a  third — "the  thing's  empty!" 

"  Oh  nonsense!"  shouted  several  of  the 
visitors  who  were  behind. 

";Well  you'd  better  come  and  find  him," 
said  those  who  had  looked,  giving  way  to 
the  incredulous  creatures  who  had  not. 

"  Where  can  he  be  got  to!"  inquired  Mr. 
Jones. 

"  He  was  never  there  at  all!"  cried  the 
very  official  who  had  previously  laughed 
the  very  heartiest  of  the  lot.  "It's  pre- 
cisely what  I  said!  The  idea  of  a  man 
being  in!  How  could  he  have  got  there!" 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  observed  Jones, 
"  that  you  don't  think  a  man  was  in  this 
thing  at  all!" 

"  I  do!"  replied  the  official  very  firmly. 

"  Then  /  mean  to  say  you  know  nothing 
about  it!  The  go  is  a  rum  go  certainly,  a 
very  rum  go;  but  isn't  a  man  to  believe  his 
own  ears!  I  heard  him  myself!  Didn't 
you,  sir! — and  you!"  As  several  of  the 
visitors  bore  testimony  to  the  fact  of  having 
heard  some  voice  proceed  from  the  tomb, 
Jones  continued,  "  Of  course!  W7e  all 
heard  it!  One  may  be  deceived,  or  two  may 
be  deceived,  or  even  three  may  be  deceived, 
but,  send  I  may  live,  we  can't  all  be  de- 
ceived!" 

"  Well  where  is  he  now! — where  is  he!" 

"  That's  jist  the  very  pint  that  I  can't 
make  out:  it's  in  fact  the  only  pint  to  be 
considered." 

And    the    point    was    considered — very 
deeply   considered — but  the  consideration 
yielded  nothing  bearing  even  the  semblance 
of  a  conjecture!     They  could  not  conceive 
how  a  man  could  have  escaped,  nor  could 
they  believe  that  no  man  had  been  there. 
j  They  examined    the  tomb  minutely  again 
and  again,  but  failed  to  find  even  so  much 
as  a  crack  to  give  weight  to   any  opinion 
having  reference  to  the  exit  of  any  thing  like 
a  human  being.     They  still,  however,  tried 
I  very  hard — very,  very  hard  indeed — torecon- 
I  cile  the  fact  of  their  having  heard  the  voice  of 
[  a  man,  with  the  fact  of  no  man  being  there; 
and   as    Valentine's   appetite   began   to  be 
somewhat  troublesome,  he  left  them  engaged 
in  unravelling  that  mystery  which  he  per- 
fectly well  knew  they  were  unable  to  solve. 


90 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTUERS  OF 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  SALE  OF  GOODMAN'S  PROPERTY  BY  WALTER,  AND  THE  EXTRAORDINARY   STOPPAGE 

THEREOF  BY  VALENTINE. 


HAVING  dined  at  the  first  decent  tavern  ' 
he  came  to,  Valentine  started  for  poor 
Goodman's  house;  but  as  he  found  it  locked 
up  and  entirely  deserted,  he  proceeded  at 
once  to  the  residence  of  Walter,  with  the 
view  of  ascertaining-,  if  possible,  the  cause 
of  this  unusually  sudden  change. 

On  reaching  the  house,  he  found  the  ser- 
vant at  the  door,  and  in  answer  to  his  nu- 
merous  inquiries,  the  girl  told  an  interesting 
tale  about  how  Mr.  Goodman,  her  master, 
had  been  out  all  the  day  with  her  mistress: 
how  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Horace  had  been  out  all 
day  with  them;  how  they  were  all  out  to- 
gether on  some  pressing  business,  then,  and 
how  she  didn't  expect  they  would  be  home 
before  midnight. 

"I'll  leave  a  note  for  your  master,"  said 
Valentine;  "I  suppose  1  shall  find  a  pen 
and  ink  in  the  parlor1?" 

"Oh,"  said  the  girl,  placing  herself  hur- 
riedly before  him,  "  Missis  has  locked  up 
the  parlor,  sir;  she  always  does  when  she 
goes  out  for  any  time." 

"  Has  she  locked  up  the  drawing-room 
tool"  inquired  Valentine. 

"Yes,  sir — there's  a  tavern  over  the  way, 
6ir:  if  you'll  write  a  note  there,  sir,  if  you 
please,  I'll  be  sure  to  give  it  master,  directly 
he  comes  home." 

At  this  moment  Walter,  of  course  quite 
unconscious  of  the  door  being  open,  rushed 
out  of  the  parlor  in  his  morning  gown  and 
slippers,  and  was  about  to  proceed  up  stairs, 
when  he  caught  a  glance  of  Valentine  in 
the  passage. 

"  Oh!  how  do  you  do1?"  he  cried,  making 
an  extremely  awkward  attempt  to  conceal 
the  confusion  into  which  he  had  been 
thrown.  "  Happy  to  see  you! — very  happy 
to  see  you! — walk  in,"  and  he  gave  a  most 
withering  look  at  the  girl,  although  it  was 
clearly  by  no  means  her  fault. 

On  entering  the  parlor  Valentine  found 
the  whole  family  engaged  in  the  perusal  of 
a  mass  of  papers  with  which  the  table  had 
been  strewed;  and  although  they  received 
him  with  much  affected  pleasure,  he  per- 
ceived in  a  moment  that  he  was  an  unwel 
come  guest. 

"  So  the  old  buffer's  bolted  and  left  you 
in  the  lurch,"  observed  Horace,  trying  to 
conceal  the  iron  safe  which  belonged  to 
Goodman.  "It's  just  like  the  old  out-and- 
outer." 


"I  hope  nothing  serious  has  occurred," 
bserved  Valentine. 

"  Oh,  not  a  ha'porth  of  it!— serious! — no 
chance  of  that!"  returned  Horace.  "  But 
you  know  he's  such  a  jolly  old  rum  un 
here's  no  such  thing  as  holding  him  any 
how." 

c  I  feared,"  said  Valentine,  "  that  he  had 
entered  into  some  unsuccessful  speculation, 
and  had  thus  become  involved." 

'Speculation!"  cried  Horace,  "well, 
come,  that's  rich!  Why,  did  you  ever 
suppose  that  a  regular  old  know-nothing 
out-and-out  cove  of  his  kidney  had  half 

enough  pluck  to " 

"My  dear  Horace,  how  you  do  talk!" 
interrupted  Mrs.  Goodman,  "  when  you 

know  that  he  has  been  speculating " 

"  Oh!  ah!  exactly!"  said  Horace,  who 
had  evidently  forgotten  his  part. 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Walter,  "  he  has 
been  dabbling  a  little,  aud  that  has  rendered 
it  inexpedient  for  him  to  be  seen  for  a  week 
or  two — you  understand!"  Valentine  nod- 
ded, for  he  did  understand  what  they  wish- 
ed him  to  understand;  but  no  more.  There 
is  something  behind,  thought  he.  These 
hesitating  speeches  and  secret  looks  mean 
something. 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  doing,  my 
trump?"  said  Walter,  as  Valentine  was 
steadily  watching  their  actions.  "  Do  you 
mean  to  remain  here  in  this  little  village,  or 
do  you  mean  to  cut  back!" 

"  Why  the  thing  is  so  sudden,  I've  not 
at  present  made  up  my  mind.  Of  course  1 
shall  eventually  return." 

"  My  brother,"  observed  Walter,  "in  his 
letter  to  me,  states  that  he  should  advise 
you  to  return  at  once,  and  that  when  every- 
thing is  settled  he  shall  again  be  most  hap- 
py to  see  you." 

"  Had  he  written  to  me  to  that  effect," 
said  Valentine,  "  I  should  doubtless  have 
acted  at  once  upon  his  advice;  but  as  he  Ir.is 
not — and  1  cannot  but  think  it  must  extraor- 
dinary that  he  has  not— I  feel  justified  in 
looking  to  my  own  feelings  for  a  guide.1" 

'•  \\  e  ought,  I'm  sure,  to  make  a  thou- 
sand apologies,"  observed  Mrs.  Goodman; 
as  she  pinned  three  pieces  of  parchment  to- 
gether, and  rnarked  them;  "but  I  hope  that 
the  next  time  you  favor  us  with  a  visit  wo 
slr.tll  not  be  so  deeply  engaged." 

"Where  do  vou  think  of  holding  out 
until  )ou  cut  It!"  inquired  Horace. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


91 


"  T  hardly  know  yet,"  replied  Valentine. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  Mrs.  Goodman,  "  that 
we  have  not  a  bed  to  offer  you;  but  we 
shall  be  truly  happy  to  see  you  whenever 
you  will  favor  us  with  a  call." 

"My  boxes,"  said  Valentine,  "1  sup- 
pose that  if  I  send  for  them  to-morrow,  I 
can  have  them?" 

"  Most  certainly,  my  dear  sir,"  replied 
Walter,  "  I'll  see  that  they  are  safely  deli- 
vered myself." 

"  Well,  ta,  ta,  my  tulip,  if  you  will  go," 
cried  Horace:  "Take  care  of  yourself,  and 
let's  know  where  you  are,  you  know!" 

Valentine  promised  to  do  so,  and  after 
taking  leave  of  the  ladies  was  attended  to 
the  door  by  W'alter,  who  displayed  an  ex- 
traordinary degree  of  politeness;  and  left 
the  house  deeply  inspired  with  the  convic- 
tion that  something  was  exceedingly  wrong. 

As  he  wandered  down  the  street  review- 
ing steadily  all  that  he  had  seen,  it  occur- 
red to  him  that  in  a  window  immediately 
opposite  the  house  in  which  he  and  poor 
Goodman  had  resided,  he  had  noticed  a  card 
on  which  was  printed  "APARTMENTS  FOR  A 
SINGLE  GENTLEMAN;"  and  as  he  strongly 
suspected  foul  play,  and  felt  that  by  engag- 
ing those  apartments  he  should  be  able  to 
-  watch  the  movements  of  Walter  and  his 
family  unseen,  he  went  at  once  to  the  house 
— came  to  terms  with  the  widow  by  whom 
it  was  kept,  and  after  stating  the  fact  of  his 
having  lived  opposite — a  fact  which  ap- 
peared to  be  perfectly  well  known — took 
immediate  possession. 

He  had  not  been  seated  long  at  his  win- 
dow, which  commanded  of  course  a  full 
view  of  Goodman's  house,  when  he  saw 
Walter,  Horace,  his  wife  and  her  servant, 
with  two  workmen,  enter.  The  moment 
they  were  in,  the  door  closed,  and  soon 
after  the  workmen  were  seen  in  the  draw- 
ing-room and  then  at  the  windows  above, 
where  they  appeared  to  be  receiving  in- 
structions from  Walter,  with  reference  to 
the  removal  of  certain  fixtures,  and  shortly 
afterwards  quitted  the  house  with  him, 
leaving  in  charge  of  it  Horace  and  his  wife. 

As  the  evening  drew  on,  the  shutters 
were  closed,  and  all  seemed  secured  for  the 
night,  when  Valentine,  who  had  had  but 
little  sleep  the  night  previously  in  conse- 
quence of  having  persecuted  Beagle  with 
the  cats,  had  a  very  early  supper  and  re- 
tired. 

In  the  morning  the  whole  family  were  at 
work  long  before  he  was  up,  and  through- 
out the  entire  day  they  were  busily  engag- 
ed with  clerks,  carpenters,  and  porters  with 
green  aprons,  examining,  tying  up  and  lot- 
ting the  furniture.  Valentine  watched  their 
actions  narrowly,  and  towards  the  evening 


slipped  ou-t,  took  a  coach,  and  called  him- 
self for  his  boxes,  without  apparently 
noticing  the  confusion  that  prevailed;  and 
after  driving  right  away  that  they  might 
not  know  where  he  resided,  came  back  to 
his  lodgings  unseen. 

That  night  about  ten  a  cart  came  to  the 
door,  and  when  a  number  of  baskets  which 
evidently  contained  plate,  china  and  glass,- 
had  been  deposited  with  care  it  drove  off,  v. 
when  Valentine  watched  it  to  the  house  of 
Walter,  saw  it  emptied,  and  returned. 

Nothing  more  was  removed  that  night, 
but  early  the  following  morning  three  large 
vans  were  loaded  with  great  facility.  Whi- 
ter appeared  to  be  extremely  anxious  for 
them  to  start,  and  when  they  did  start,  Va- 
lentine followed  and  saw  their  contents  de- 
posited at  the  rooms  of  an  auctioneer.  He 
then  knew  of  course  that  they  were  to  be 
sold  off  at  once,  and  as  he  saw  by  the 
papers  that  a  sale  of  household  furniture 
was  to  take  place  the  following  day  at  those 
rooms,  he  resolved  to  be  there,  in  order  to 
fathom  the  thing,  if  possible,  to  the  bottom. 

Accordingly  at  twelve  the  next  day  he 
started  off,  and  having  arrived  at  the  en- 
trance, on  either  side  of  which  were  exhi- 
bited a  variety  of  catalogues  and  placards — 
he  proceeded  up  a  long  narrow  passage, 
and  then  ascended  a  small  flight  of  steps, 
which  led  immediately  into  the  Sale  Room. 

In  the  centre  of  this  room  stood  a  circu- 
lar table,  round  which  certain  children  of 
Israel  were  seated  with  a  view  of  securing 
all  bargains  to  themselves,  while  behind 
them  stood  small  mobs  of  people  of  the 
same  persuasion,  conversing  on  the  expe- 
diency of  giving  certain  sums  for  certain 
lots,  and  of  out-bidding  any  Christian  per- 
son who  might  have  a  desire  to  purchase 
those  "  lots  worth  the  money." 

The  moment  Valentine  entered,  he  look- 
ed round  for  Walter  and  his  amiable  family, 
whom,  in  a  short  time,  he  saw  in  a  state  of 
great  consternation,  which  had  evidently 
been  induced  by  his  unexpected  presence. 
He  seemed,  however,  to  take  no  notice  of 
them;  but  apparently  directed  the  whole  of 
his  attention  to  the  actions  of  those  who 
by  constantly  attending  these  Sale  Rooms 
raise  fortunes  upon  Fortunes'  ruins. 

Before  he  had  concluded  the  minute  sur- 
vey he  had  commenced,  a  tall  white-faced 
personage  entered  the  room,  and  having 
jumped  upon  the  circular  table,  shut  him- 
self quietly  in  a  juvenile  pulpit,  made  a 
sort  of  speech  touching  the  matter  in  hand, 
stuck  an  eye-glass  very  dexterously  be- 
tween his  cheek  bone  and  his  brow,  and 
brought  forth  his  professional  hammer.  He 
was  a  remarkably  short-sighted  person,  and 
had  to  brinsf  his  head  down  within  an  inch 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


of  the  catalogue  in  order  to  ascertain  the 
exact  number  of  the  first  lot;  and  when  this 
had  been  accomplished  to  his  entire  satis- 
faction, he  very  delicately  scratched  his 
head,  every  whitey-brown  hair  upon  which 
seemed  to  be  too  independent  to  stand  on 
any  but  its  own  bottom,  when  after  having 
slightly  rubbed  his  nose,  which,  albeit,  it 
was  hooked  like  the  majority  of  the  noses 
present,  was  yet  of  a  totally  different  caste, 
inasmuch  as  in  his  caso  the  hook  was  in- 
verted; he  coughed  twice  with  spirit,  gave 
several  a-hems!  and  then  boldly  commenced 
operations. 

The  first  lot  was  put  up  and  knocked 
down  without  the  slightest  interruption  from 
Valentine,  for  although  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  stop  the  sale,  he  was  compelled  of 
course  to  wait  until  he  had  ascertained  pre- 
cisely how  the  thing  was  conducted;  but 
when  the  second  lot  came — which  happened 
to  be  poor  Goodman's  writing  desk,  worth 
about  forty  or  fifty  shillings— he  felt  him- 
self sufficiently  aufait  to  begin. 

"A  pound,"  said  a  Jew-looking  gentle- 
man. 

"  One  pound  is  bid,"  said  the  auctioneer. 

"Thirty  shillings,"  cried  Valentine,  in 
an  assumed  voice  of  course. 

"  Thirty  shillings;  a  splendid  rose-wood 
writing  desk,  secret  drawers  complete  for 
thirty  shillings." 

"Two  pounds,"  cried  Valentine  in  a 
different  voice. 

"Two  pounds  bid  —  going  for  two 
pounds!" 

"  Five,"  said  an  Israelite. 

"  Five — two  five— for  two  pounds  five" — 
when  as  this  was  the  highest  legitimate 
offer.  Valentine's  voices  had  it  all  their  own 
way—"  Going  for  two  five!" 

"  Two  pounds  ten,"  cried  Valentine. 

"Two  ten — two  pounds  ten — Any  ad- 
vance on  two  ten1?" 

"Three  pounds." 

"Three  bid;  three  pounds—" 

"  Ten." 

"Thank  you — three  ten!  This  elegant 
writing  desk  going  for  three  ten." 

"  Four  pounds." 

"  Four  pounds  bid;  four  pound.  Any 
advance  on  four  pound" 

"  Four  pounds  ten." 

"  Four  ten  in  two  places;  four  ten.  This 
most  valuable  writing  desk  going  for  four 
ten." 

"Fifteen." 

"Four  fifteen—four  fifteen— going  for 
lour  fifteen!" 

"  Five  pounds." 

"Five  pounds  bid:  no  advance  on  five 
pound!" 

"  Five  pounds  ten." 


"  Five  ten — for  five  ten — going  for  five 
pounds  ten!  I'm  sure  the  value  of  it  can- 
not be  generally  known.  Any  advance  on 
five  ten?" 

"  Six  pounds." 

"  Six  pounds — this  is  really  a  most  valu- 
able desk — six  pound — going  for  only  six 
pound." 

"Ten." 

"  Six  ten — six  pound — going  for  six  ten." 

"  Seven  bid — seven  pounds — any  ad- 
vance on  seven  pounds — going  for  seven!" 
— and  down  went  the  hammer. 

The  Israelites  marvelled  exceedingly, 
and  began  to  reproach  themselves  for  not 
bidding  higher;  feeling  perfectly  certain 
that  in  one  of  the  drawers  either  notes,  gold, 
or  diamonds  were  secreted. 

"  What  name  for  this  writing-desk!"  in- 
quired the  auctioneer. 

"  Goodman!"  cried  Valentine,  assuming 
Goodman's  voice,  at  which  Walter  and  his 
family  started  up  amazed,  and  trembled 
violently  as  they  looked  round  the  room  in  the 
full  expectation  of  seeing  Goodman  himself. 

The  clerk  went  to  the  spot  from  which 
the  voice  appeared  to  proceed,  but  no  pur- 
chaser could  be  found. 

"  Who  purchased  this  writing-desk!" 
demanded  the  auctioneer;  but  no  answer 
was  returned. 

"  Putsh  te  pargain  up  againsh,"  cried  an 
Israelitish  gentleman,  "  tatch  te  fairesht  vay 
ma  tear,  tatsh  te  fairesht  vay!"  and  it  was 
put  up  again,  and  as  the  Jews  bid  higher 
under  the  impression  that  it  contained  some- 
thing valuable,  Valentine  easily  ran  it  up 
again  to  seven  pounds,  when  the  auctioneer, 
whose  sight  was  not  sufficiently  strong  to 
enable  him  to  see  who  had  bid,  stopped  to 
inquire  the  name  of  the  bidder,  "  Who  bid 
seven  pounds!"  said  he. 

"Goodman!"  cried  Valentine. 

*4  Cootmansh  againsh!"  cried  a  Jew, 
"  Arl  for  Cootmansh!" 

The  clerk  looked  again  for  the  purchaser, 
while  the  violence  with  which  Walter  and 
his  family  trembled  had  the  effect  of  con- 
firming the  suspicion  of  foul  play  which 
Valentine  had  so  deeply  inspired.  Had 
they  murdered  poor  Goodman,  thought  he, 
they  could  not  be  more  alarmed  at  the  sound 
of  his  voice;  and  the  idea  of  their  having 
murdered  him  absolutely  seemed  to  be  under 
the  circumstances  extremely  reasonable. 

"  This  is  very  extraordinary,"  observed 
the  auctioneer,  when  he  found  that  no  pur- 
chaser came  forward.  "  If  there  be  any 
persons  hero  who  have  come  with  the  view 
iting  confusion  they  had  better  leave 
before  they  are  turned  out!— our  time  can- 
not be  wasti-d  in  this  way.  Put  the  desk 
aside;"  he  added,  addressing  the  porter, 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


93 


"  and  let's  have  the  next  lot.  The  next  lot, 
gentlemen,  is  an  elegant  silver  gilt  tea  ser- 
vice, milk  jug,  and  finely-chased  basin, 
complete.  What  shall  we  say  for  this  ele- 
gant service?" 

From  thirty  shillings  the  Jews  rarr  it  up 
to  four  pounds,  and  from  four  pounds  Val- 
entine ran  it  up  to  ten,  when  of  course,  on 
its  being  knocked  down,  no  purchaser  was 
discoverable. 

"  What's  the  meaning  of  this?"  demanded 
the  auctioneer,  indignantly.  "  Who  is  the 
purchaser  of  this  lot?" 

"  GOODMAN?"  cried  Valentine,  and  Mrs. 
Walter  uttered  a  loud  shriek  and  fainted. 

"  Cot  plesh  ma  hart!  Cootmansh? — 
veresh  Cootmansh?  Nothing  put  Coot- 
mansh!" and  the  whole  of  the  Israelites 
looked  round  amazed  as  Mrs.  Walter  was 
borne  insensible  from  the  room. 

Under  any  other  circumstances  Valen- 
tine would  have  rushed  to  her  assistance, 
but  the  impression  that  she  must  have  been 
a  party  to  the  execution  of  some  dark  design 
upon  Goodman  caused  him  to  regard  what- 
ever pain  he  might  have  inflicted  as  a  mea- 
sure of  retributive  justice.  Indeed,  so  per- 
fectly convinced  did  he  feel  that  the  absence 
of  Goodman  had  been  induced  with  a  view 
to  the  promotion  of  some  villanous  object, 
that  he  absolutely  saw  with  delight  Walter 
struggling  with  those  feelings  which  his 
conscience  had  created. 

44  This  is  very  extraordinary,"  observed 
the  auctioneer.  "If  this  course  be  pur- 
sued, it  will  be  utterly  impossible  to  go  on 
with  the  sale." 

**  Veresh  Cootmansh!"  cried  a  Jew. 
*'  Vat  ish  he?  Letsh  know  vat  he  ish,  ma 
tear! — tatsh  te  propersh  vay  ma  tear  to 
shettle  arl  tish." 

"Will  Mr.  Goodman  step  forward?"  said 
the  auctioneer;  and  at  that  moment  Walter 
being  unable  to  stand,  fell  into  the  arms 
of  Horace,  who,  with  the  assistance  of  a 
broker,  carried  him  into  an  adjoining  room. 

"Te  shentilmansh  fainted  arl  avay," 
cried  an  Israelite.  "  Vatsh  to  pe  tun  wit 
tish  lotsh?" 

"  Put  it  aside,"  said  the  bewildered  auc- 
tioneer. "The  next  is  a  pier  glass  with 
richly  carved  frame.  What  shall  we  say 
for  this  lot?" 

The  Jews  bid  with  their  accustomod 
liberality,  and  then  Valentine  commenced, 
and  when  the  thing  had  been  knocked 
down  for  five  times  its  value,  the  name  of 
the  purchaser  was  called  for  again,  and  the 
reply  was  again,  "  Goodman." 

"  Shtill  Cootmansh!— arl  Cootmansh! — 
he'll  puy  ush  arl  upsh,"  cried  a  Jew,  whose 
bright  sally  was  received  with  a  loud  burst 
of  Israelitish  merriment. 


"  It's  of  no  use  going  on  thus,"  said  the 
auctioneer,  warmly.  "  I  must  ascertain 
the  meaning  of  this,"  and  he  bounced  out 
of  his  pulpit  and  proceeded  to  the  room  into 
which  the  trembling,  conscience-stricken 
Walter  had  been  carried.  During  the 
whole  of  the  time  he  was  there,  the  Jews 
were  laughing  and  joking  with  infinite 
glee.  One  of  them,  seizing  the  greasy  hat 
of  another,  called  out,  "  Mishter  Cootmansh 
ma  tear! — vill  you  pid  for  tish  lotsh?" 
This  produced  another  loud  burst  of  laugh- 
ter which  lasted  till  the  auctioneer  returned. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,  let  us  proceed;"  said 
he,  on  remounting  his  pulpit,  and  the  next 
lot  was  brought  by  the  porter  and  put  up, 
and  bid  for  with  precisely  the  same  result, 
when  the  auctioneer  really  began  to  exhi- 
bit strong  symptoms  of  pent-up  rage. 

At  length  Valentine  cried  in  a  loud  com- 
manding voice,  which  apparently  proceeded 
from  the  other  end  of  the  room.  "Who 
authorised  this  sale?" 

"  Mr.  Goodman,"  replied  the  Auctioneer. 

"  Cootmansh  againsh!  Veil,  shtrike 
ma!"  exclaimed  all  the  tribe,  in  a  breath. 

"  He  has  no  authority,"  cried  Valentine. 
"The  goods  are  not  his." 

'*  Veil  vatsh  tat  mattersh  ma  tear?"  said 
several  of  the  Israelites  looking  'towards 
the  spot  from  which  the  voice  had  appa- 
rently proceeded.  "  Te  shentelmansh  re- 
shponshible  ve  sphosh  if  he  shtole  'em!" 

"  Will  that  gentleman  accompany  me 
into  the  other  room?"  said  the  auctioneer, 
who  was  really  a  respectable  man,  and  who 
had  inferred  from  the  highly  excited  state 
of  Walter's  feelings  that  something  was 
wrong.  "  Will  he  be  kind  enough  to  fol- 
low me?"  he  added,  going  again  towards 
the  room  in  which  Walter  was  still  trem- 
bling. 

No  one  followed,  but  in  he  went,  and  the 
Jews  became  more  and  more  lively.  They 
still  called  for  Goodman  to  bid  for  the  vari- 
ous articles  which  they  held  in  their  hands. 
"  Vill  you  puy  ma  stockingsh,  Mishter 
Cootmansh?"  cried  one  of  them.  "  Vat 
vill  you  pid  for  ma  shirtsh?"  cried  another. 
"  Heresh  a  coot  pair  of  beautiful  pootsh," 
cried  a  third,  as  he  forced  the  legs  of  his 
neighbor  upon  the  table,  and  displayed  a 
pair  of  bluchers  rather  dropsical  and  airy, 
while  a  fourth  cried,  "  Shelp  ma!  I'll  shell 
ma  own  shelf  to  Mishter  Cootmansh!" 

The  auctioneer  returned,  and  having 
mounted  his  desk,  said,  "  Gentlemen,  I'm 
sorry  to  inform  you  that  this  sale  cannot 
proceed."  This  announcement  was  met 
with  a  burst  of  much  Israeiitish  murmur- 
ing. "I  am  sorry,"  he  continued,  "as 
sorry  as  any  of  you  can  be,  but  I  will  not 
be  a  party  to  any  thing  wrong. — (Cries  of 

9* 


94 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"Vynotsh?  You're  intemnified,  I  shposh?") 
— No  indemnity,  gentlemen,  will  do  for  me, 
unless  I  am  satisfied  that  all  is  correct." 
An  observation  which  was  treated  with 
marked  contempt  by  the  Israelites  general- 
ly. "  I,  therefore,  gentlemen,  will  not  de- 
tain you  any  longer,  and  can  only  express 
ray  sorrow  that  I  have  taken  up  so  much 
of  your  valuable  time." 

The  countenances  of  the  tribe  at  this 
moment  developed  much  dark  indignation, 
and  by  degrees  their  murmurings  swelled 
into  a  loud  Jewish  yell,  which  seemed  to 
threaten  extensive  destruction.  The  fact 
of  its  being  suspected  that  all  was  not 
right,  appeared  to  possess  the  sharpest 


sting,  for  they  looked  at  the  loss  of  what 
they  thereby  might  have  gained.  In  vain 
the  auctioneer  endeavored  to  calm  them. 
They  would  not  be  pacified.  "  I'll  preak 
arl  te  cootsh  in  te  plash!"  cried  one. 
"  Vatsh  you  mean  by  making  foolsh  of  us!" 
shouted  another.  "  Vy  don't  you  go  on  wit 
te  sale1?"  cried  a  third;  and  the  auctioneer 
perceiving  their  rage  likely  to  increase,  left 
the  room,  followed  by  the  indignant  sons  of 
Israel,  who  hooted,  yelled,  and  pushed  him 
about,  until  he  had  locked  himself  securely 
in  an  office  below,  when  Valentine,  who 
had  then  no  desire  to  see  Walter,  or  any 
part  of  his  family,  quitted  the  place  with 
the  angry  Jewish  stream. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


VALENTINE  VISITS  GUILDHALL — BECOMES  ACQUAINTED  WITH  THOSE  ANCIENT  AND  RESPECT- 
ABLE WARRIORS,  GOG  AND  MAGOG,  TO  WHOM  HE  IMPARTS  SPEECH  PRO  TEM.,  AND  THEN 
PROCEEDS  TO  DISCUSS  MATTERS  OF  PERSONAL  IMPORTANCE  WITH  THE  ELOQUENT  MEMBERS 
OF  THE  COURT  OF  COMMON  COUNCIL. 


WHAT  a  thimble-rig  is  human  life!— the 
thimbles  being  the  emblems  of  fate:  the 
peas  the  types  of  its  slippery  chances. 
How  mortals  gamble  at  this  rig  even  from 
the  cradle  to  the  grave!  They  fix  intently 
on  a  pea  and  see  it  covered;  they  watch  its 
windings,  firmly  convinced  of  its  being 
there,  or  there;  they  back  that  firm  convic- 
tion with  a  stake;  and  when  they  lose  they 
lavish  curses  on  their  adverse  stars;  but 
should  they  win,  how  pleasantly  they 
swindle  themselves  into  the  belief  of  the 
fact  being  attributable  solely  to  their  own 
most  extraordinary  acuteness!— they  cannot 
tolerate  the  slightest  reference  to  the  power 
by  which  the  thimbles  move — that  power 
which  holds  the  pea  at  pleasure  to  place  it 
where  it  will.  A  moment's  reflection  will 
enable  all  well-disposed  persons  to  perceive 
that  this  juggle,  which  has  been  so  vehe- 
mently denounced,  really  comprehends  all 
human  actions,  and  that  its  invention — if  an 
invention  it  may  be  called— instead  of  being 
dated  from  Alfred  the  Great,  may  be  traced 
clearly  back,  without  any  mistake,  to  "the 
good  old  days  of  Adam  and  Eve." 

Now  in  this  most  remarkable  "rig**  Va- 
lentine began  to  take  an  extremely  active 
part.  He  congratulated  himself  very  natu- 
rally upon  the  skill  with  which  he  found 
out  the  Furniture  pea;  but  there  yet  was  a 
pea  which  he  had  to  discover,  and  that  pea 
was  Goodman.  His  energies  were  there- 
fore directed  to  the  task  of  ascertaining 
under  what  earthly  thimble  poor  Goodman 
could  be  found. 


Bent  upon  this  subject,  he  on  the  morn- 
ing after  the  day  of  the  intended  sale  by 
auction,  started  for  the  city  for  the  purpose 
of  consulting  with  Mr.  St.  Ledger,  the 
merchant  upon  whom  Goodman  had  called 
on  his  way  to  the  steam-packet  wharf.  The 
Royal  Exchange  clock,  as  he  passed,  struck 
twelve,  and  the  chimes  were  playing  mer- 
rily the  favorite  tune  of  "  See  the  conquer- 
:  ing  hero  comes!"  as  he  entered  the  office 
of  Mr.  St.  Ledger,  and  found  that  genlle- 
1  man  not  only  at  home,  but  disengaged. 

"  I  have  called,"  observed  Valentine, 
I  after  the  usual  brief  ceremonies  had  been 
!  performed,  "to  solicit  your  advice  in  a  mat- 
I  ter  which  to  me  appears  very  extraordi- 
nary." 

"  Well,  my  young  friend,  what  is  it1?" 
inquired  Mr.  St.  Ledger.  "You  may  com- 
mand my  best  judgment;  but  why  not  so- 
I  lick  the  advice  of  friend  Goodman?" 

"  It  is  precisely  because  I  cannot  find 
him,"  returned  Valentine. 

"  What!  have  you  not  seen  him  since 
you  called  upon  me  before! — did  you  not 
find  him  at  home?" 

"  He  has  not  been  at  home  since;  and  I 
therefore  wish  to  know  by  what  means  I 
can  ascertain  where  he  is  to  be  found." 

"Upon  my  word  1  can't  guess.  llm> 
you  been  to  his  brother?" 

"  I  have;  and  he  says  that  in  conse- 
quence of  some  unsuccessful  speculation 
he  is  at  present  compelled  to  keep  out  of 
the  way." 

"  Indeed!"  exclaimed  Mr.  St.  Ledger,  as 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


95 


he  pulled  down  a  thick  heavy  book,  and 
referred  to  a  certain  page  with  some  appa- 
rent anxiety.  "  It's  very,  very  singular," 
he  continued,  having  closed  the  book  with 
an  air  of  satisfaction,  that  /  should  have 
known  nothing  about  it.  Speculation! — 
Oh!  Spanish  of  course.  Very  foolish!  I 
could  have  told  him  all  about  it;  but  if  men 
will  act  without  advice  in  matters  of  this 
kind,  they  must  of  course  take  the  conse- 
quences. Don't,  however,  disturb  yourself 
about  it.  It  will  all  come  round  right  by 
and  bye,  I  dare  say.  Foolish  man! — fool- 
ish man!" 

"  But  is  it  not  very  extraordinary  that — " 

"  God  bless  my  life,  not  at  all !  I  know 
fifty  in  the  same  predicament,  and  in  an- 
other week — mark  my  words — we  shall 
hear  of  fifty  more.  I  know  it;  I'm  sure  of 
it;  I'd  stake  my  existence  upon  it.  I  saw 
how  it  was  going  from  the  first." 

"  But  the  whole  of  his  furniture  — " 

"My  dear  young  friend,"  interrupted 
Mr.  St.  Ledger,  "when  you  are  older  you'll 
know  more;"  and  having  made  this  re- 
markable observation,  he  placed  his  hand 
firmly  upon  Valentine's  shoulder,  and  in  a 
lower  tone  added,  "Don't  say  a  single  syl- 
lable about  it  to  any  soul.  You  «iay  injure 
his  credit  materially.  He  may  be  involved 
in  other  matters,  you  know,  and  if  he  be, 
men  will  pounce  upon  him  like  tigers  as 
they  invariably  do,  when  there  happens  to 
be  anything  like  a  screw  a  little  loose." 

"But  I  fancied  that  he  was  a  man  of 
some  considerable  property." 

"And  so  he  is;  but  men  don't  let  their 
property  sleep.  Few  men  are  able  to  pay 
all  demands  at  an  hour's  notice.  You  have 
heard  of  a  run  upon  the  Bank? — Same  thing 
— same  thing.  Foolish  man!  He'd  no 
business  to  do  anything  of  the  sort;  but 
make  no  stir,  no  noise,  no  inquiries;  not  a 
word  on  the  subject  to  any  single  soul  if 
you  dont't  wish  to  injure  his  credit." 

Valentine  had  certainly  no  wish  to  do 
that,  and  as  he  found  that  he  could  get 
nothing  more  from  Mr.  St.  Ledger,  who 
treated  the  whole  thing  as  a  business-like 
matter  of  course,  he  left  the  office  conside- 
rably relieved;  albeit  when  he  reflected 
upon  the  extraordinary  conduct  of  Walter 
in  the  sale-room  as  he  imitated  Goodman's 
voice,  he  still  felt  that  there  was  something  at 
the  bottom  of  the  affair  which  had  not  enter- 
ed into  Mr.  St.  Ledger's  purely  commercial 
calculations.  He  therefore  resolved  to  keep 
an  eye  upon  the  family,  and  just  as  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  be  silent  for  a  time, 
he  crossed  a  well-built  business-like  street, 
at  the  bottom  of  which  stood  an  old-fash- 
ioned edifice,  whose  front  was  adorned  with 
a  couple  of  rampant  and  highly  respectable 


looking  griffins  which  seemed  to  be  grin- 
ning with  remarkable  energy  at  an  over- 
grown cauliflower  cap  which  stood  between 
them,  and  digging  their  claws  into  a  poor 
devoted  heart  which  already  contained  a 
dagger,  and  which,  with  the  griffins,  sur- 
mounted the  motto  of  "  Domine  Dirize 
Aos." 

As  the  gates  of  this  remarkable  edifice 
stood  open,  and  as  persons  were  walking  in 
and  out  with  great  freedom  of  step,  he  at 
once  passed  the  portal,  and  introduced  him- 
self into  a  fair-sized  hall  with  a  flag- stone 
floor,  two  apologies  for  galleries,  four 
groups  of  sculpture  upon  rather  lofty  pe- 
destals, and  a  queerly  stained  window  at 
each  end.  As  Valentine  entered,  the  place 
seemed  to  wear  a  vacant  hungry  aspect,  but 
on  turning  to  the  western  extremity,  he 
perceived  a  rather  interesting  couple  of 
full-blown  gentlemen  on  guard,  and  con- 
cluded, that  if  they  had  been  trained  in  that 
hall,  it  was  clearly  no  place  for  the  genius 
of  starvation.  As  these  two  gigantic  gen- 
tlemen seemed  to  form  the  chief  attraction, 
Valentine  approached  them  with  a  view  to 
a  more  minute  survey.  The  first  that  he 
examined  sported  a  pair  of  white  trousers, 
which  he  had  outgrown  considerably,  and 
he  stood  in  his  shirt  sleeves  quite  ready  for 
action.  His  breast  was  adorned  with  a 
broad  crimson  scarf,  and  in  his  right  hand 
he  held  a  long  pole,  from  the  top  of  which 
hung  a  ball  studded  with  interesting  spikes, 
invented  obviously  to  puzzle  the  brains  of 
all  with  whom  they  might  come  in  imme- 
diate contact.  This  personage  looked  down 
very  mournfully,  albeit  his  countenance  was 
very  much  flushed,  and  his  brows  were 
adorned  with  a  painted  wooden  circlet, 
which  conveyed  to  the  imaginative  the  idea 
of  a  wreath  of  laurels.  The  other  was  a 
bolder  looking  fellow  altogether,  but  even 
he  looked  as  if  he  had  not  for  some  time 
been  quite  comfortable  in  his  mind.  He 
wore  a  green  tunic,  held  a  shield  in  one 
hand,  and  a  spear  in  the  other,  while  his 
sword  belt  and  sandals  were  so  painted,  as 
to  impart  a  correct  notion  of  sapphires, 
rubies,  and  pearls. 

Just  as  Valentine  had  concluded  his  sur- 
vey of  these  warriors,  two  pale  thin  diminu- 
tive individuals  approached.  They  were 
Spital fields  weavers,  and  had  been  con- 
ducted to  that  quarter  of  the  world  to  re- 
ceive a  magisterial  admonition  for  hunting 
an  old  cow,  which,  by  an  extraordinary 
stretch  of  the  caoutchouc  imagination,  they 
had  conceived  to  be  a  raving  mad  bull. 

"  Sen  I  may  live,  Bill!  -  My  hi,  vot  a 
vunner!"  exclaimed  one  of  these  interesting 
young  gentlemen.  "  Jist  on'y  twig  his 
shanks!  Vy  it'd  take  seven  yards  and  a 


96 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


arf  o'  thrums  on'y  to  make  that  'ere  cove  a 
pair  o'  garters!" 

"  Vich  is  Gog  and  vich  is  Magog]"  in- 
quired his  companion,  who  was  an  emblem 
of  simplicity  in  his  way. 

"  Vy  him  in  the  smalls  to  be  sure!"  re- 
plied the  other,  "an  they  both  on  em  cuts 
avay  to  dinner  ven  they  'ears  that  'ere  clock 
strike  vun." 

"  Yorker!"  observed  his  companion,  as 
with  a  knowing  wink  he  pointed  to  his  left 
shoulder.  "  Tell  that  to  the  moreens." 

*'  Vel  on'y  jist  vait  till  they  'ears  it,  an' 
then  you'll  be  conwinced,"  said  the  other 
with  a  chuckle.  "Them  'ere's  the  on'y 
two  vich  Jack  the  Giant-killer  couldn't 
vop" — an  observation  which  induced  his 
companion  to  gaze  upon  the  long-bearded 
giant  with  mingled  admiration  and  amaze- 
ment. 

"  Well!  exclaimed  Valentine,  imparting 
a  deeply  indignant  tone  to  the  great  Gog; 
'*  What  are  you  staring  at—eA?" 

The  greener  individual  grasped  the  arm 
of  his  guide,  and  as  he  was  at  the  moment 
in  the  act  of  shrinking  back  himself,  the 
additional  impetus  knocked  him  fairly 
down,  and  his  friend  fell  heavily  upon  him. 

'*  Away!"  cried  Gog,  through  the  imme- 
diate instrumentality  of  Valentine.  "  How 
dare  you  insult  my  friend!"  exclaimed 
Magog,  through  precisely  the  same  medi- 
um; "Retreat!"  and  the  two  little  terror- 
stricken  weavers  scrambled  up  with  all 
imaginable  alacrity,  and  rushed  towards 
the  portal.  The  moment  they  had  reached 
it,  a  personage,  evidently  high  in  office, 
enveloped  in  a  robe  trimmed  tastily  with 
fur  and  embellished  with  an  immense  gold 
chain,  preceded  by  a  military  individual, 
with  a  Marshal's  hat  in  one  hand  and  a 
staff  in  the  other;  and  a  graver  looking  per- 
son, who  carried  a  remarkably  long  sword, 
happened  to  be  proceeding,  with  unequivo- 
cal solemnity,  into  the  hall,  from  the  gaily 
emblazoned  carriage,  from  which  he  had 
just  alighted.  Against  those  who  composed 
this  truly  dignified  procession,  the  little 
weavers  ran,  most  certainly  without  pre- 
meditation, and  almost  unconsciously,  but 
with  so  much  force,  that  in  an  instant  the 
personage,  adorned  with  the  chain,  was  on 
the  ground,  with  the  two  little  weavers 
struggling  desperately  upon  him.  The 
grave  bearer  of  the  long  sword,  and  the 
military-looking  individual,  at  once  dropped 
their  dignity  and  rushed  to  his  assistance, 
while  several  minor  officials  tried  to  secure 
the  little  weavers,  who  managed,  however, 
to  bob  through  their  hands  like  a  couple  of 
small  silver  eels,  and  succeeded  eventually 
in  darting  right  away. 

The  affectionate  concern  manifested  by 


those  around  towards  the  personage  who 
had  been  so  unceremoniously  placed  in  a 
horizontal  position  was  excessive.  Their 
apprehensions  for  the  safety  of  his  person 
as  a  whole,  and  for  the  perfect  integrity  of 
each  particular  limb,  were  unspeakable. 
They  could  not  by  any  process  make  up 
their  minds  to  believe,  that  he  was  unhurt: 
they  were  perfectly  certain  that  he  had  been 
in  the  receipt  of  some  serious  injury;  and  it 
was  not  until  he  had  earnestly  reiterated 
his  assurance  that  all  was  quite  right,  that 
the  procession  moved  slowly  and  solemnly 
across  the  hall,  and  then  up  a  flight  of  steps 
into  a  long  narrow  passage. 

"To  what  place  does  that  lead]"  in- 
quired Valentine,  of  a  person  who  was 
standing  very  thoughtfully  with  his  thumbs 
stuck  firmly  in  the  arm-holes  of  his  waist- 
coat. 

"  Which]  That]  Oh,  to  all  sorts  of 
offices,  and  rooms,  and  courts,  and  places," 
replied  that  thoughtful  person. 

"Indeed!"  observed  Valentine,  grateful- 
ly acknowledging  the  extremely  explicit 
character  of  the  information;  "  Is  there  any 
thing  of  importance  going  forward]" 

"  Why,  I  s'pose,"  said  the  communica- 
tive creature,  "  they're  agoing  for  to  hold  a 
Court  of  Alderman  perhaps,  I  shouldn't 
wonder,  or  something  of  that  sort  no  doubt, 
but  I  don't  exactly  know;"  and  he  walked 
towards  the  statue  of  the  great  Lord  Chat- 
ham. 

In  Valentine's  mind  the  idea  of  an  alder- 
man was  associated  with  all  that  is  fat. 
Steaming  spectres  of  barons  of  beef,  veni- 
son, turtle,  ox-tail,  and  mulligatawny  flitted 
vividly  across  his  imagination  the  very  mo- 
ment he  heard  the  sound  of  the  name.  He 
expected  to  see  them  all  with  glorious 
countenances,  adorned,  of  course,  with  rich 
purple  pimples,  and  noses  resembling  fine 
bunches  of  grapes,  without  double  chins, 
immense  backs,  and  bellies  immeasurable, 
extending,  in  fact,  so  far  forward  as  to 
render  it  impossible  for  any  one  of  them  to 
catch  even  a  glimpse  of  his  toes,  which,  as 
a  natural  matter  of  course,  he  conceived 
must  be  gouty.  Ho  had,  from  his  earliest 
infancy,  been  led  to  believe,  by  every  print 
which  had  even  the  smallest  pretensions  to 
a  faithful  portrayal  of  aldermanic  character- 
istics, that  no  kind  of  men  could  in  reality 
be  aldermen,  unless  they  were  beefy-faced, 
broad  individuals,  whose  most  capacious 
paunches  imparted  to  them  the  power  of 
gorging,  and  stowing  away  quantities  of 
matter  altogether  unexampled.  lie,  tin  re- 
fore,  at  once  made  up  his  mind  to  see 
twenty-four  natural  curiosities,  exclude 
of  the  Lord  Mayor,  whom,  of  course,  he 
imagined  to  be  the  fattest  and  the  j oiliest 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


97 


of  the  lot,  and  hence  proceeded  up  the  pas- 
sage, placed  a  coin  into  the  open  hand  of  a 
person  in  a  blue  stuff  gown,  and  requested 
to  be  shown  at  once  into  the  Court. 

"It  ain't  a  Court  of  Aldermen  to-day," 
said  that  person. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  then?" 

"It's  a  Court  of  Common  Council." 

"Indeed!  who  presides?" 

"  Vy,  the  Lord  Mayor  in  course!" 

"Oh,  that  will  do,"  said  Valentine,  and 
into  the  chamber  he  went;  but  as  he  saw  a 
small  thin-faced  personage  in  the  chair — the 
very  personage,  in  fact,  whom  he  had  seen 
knocked  down  by  the  little  weavers — Jie 
felt  perfectly  sure  that  there  must  be  some 
mistake!  He,  therefore,  came  out  at  once, 
and  addressing  the  individual  in  the  gown, 
said,  "  I  wanted  to  go  into  the  other  court!" 

"  Vot  other  court?" 

"Why,  the  Court  of  Common  Council!" 

"  Veil!  that  is  the  Court  of  Common 
Council!" 

"  Indeed,"  observed  Valentine,  with  an 
expression  of  increjulity;  "when  will  the 
Lord  Mayor  arrive?" 

"  The  Lord  Mayor  has  arrived!  That's 
him  in  the  cheer." 

Valentine  looked  at  the  fello\y  as  if  he 
meant  to  pin  him  to  the  wall.  "  Do  you 
mean  to  tell  me,"  said  he,  "  that  that  little 
man  is  the  real  Lord  Mayor?" 

"In  course  he's  the  real  un,  and  nothink 
else,"  replied  the  man.  "  Don't  you  see 
his  goold  chain,  and  the  sword  of  jistice 
afore  him?" 

"Well,"  thought  Valentine,  "this  is 
extraordinary."  "  Has  he  been  ill?"  he  in- 
quired. 

"  Hill?  no;  vot  made  you  think  of  that 
'ere?" 

"  Simply  because  he  seems  to  be  wasted 
almost  wholly  away." 

"  Oh,  he  never  was  bigger,"  replied  the 
man.  "  He  was  always  the  same  size  since 
1  know'd  him,  and  a  good  size  too." 

Valentine  again  felt  amazed.  "  Is  it  pos- 
sible," thought  he,  "that  a  person  so  small 
can  be  the  Lord  Mayor  of  London!  Why, 
he  is  only  the  ghost  of  a  Lord  Mayor!— the 
mere  skeleton  of  one!  If  the  whole  of  the 
aldermen  at  the  present  day  are  any  thing 
like  the  same  size,  what  a  strangely  degen- 
erate race  they  must  be!" 

With  such  reflections  as  these  he  re-en- 
tered the  court,  which  was  really  an  unique 
and  a  well-arranged  place,  not  certainly 
quite  so  large,  but  far  more  elegantly  fitted 
up  than  the  present  House  of  Commons.— 
At  the  extremity  sat  the  president,  who,  in 
spite  of  the  unjustifiable  incredulity  of  Val- 
entine was  the  real  Lord  Mayor,  while  on 
either  side  of  the  chamber,  compact  rows  of 


civic  senators  were  arranged  on  remarkably 
well-stuffed  benches,  and  they  all  looked 
extremely  nice  and  comfortable,  except 
when  they  ventured  to  rise.  Valentine 
could  not  help  smiling  at  the  change  which 
the  mere  act  of  rising  induced  in  the  coun- 
tenances of  the  honorable  members  gene- 
rally. When  sitting  they  appeared  to  be 
perfectly  at  ease,  confidence  glowed  upon 
their  cheeks,  and  they  looked  as  fierce  as 
Bengal  tigers  whenever  the  development  of 
fierceness  was  deemed  essential  to  the  safe 
conveyance  of  an  idea  of  opposition  to  any 
sentiment  advanced;  but  when  they  rose 
they  became  as  pale  as  spectres  crossed  in 
love,  and  each  trembled  with  more  energy 
than  a  Neapolitan  greyhound  with  a  cold. 
There  were,  however,  two  or  three  honora- 
ble exceptions  who  laid  about  them,  right 
and  left,  with  extraordinary  force  and  effect, 
as  men  who  are  great  among  little  ones 
will,  more  especially  when  the  whole  of 
our  glorious  institutions  are  about  to  crum- 
ble into  sanguinary  dust,  and  revolution 
stares  us  full  in  the  face  without  moving  a 
muscle. 

Valentine  had  no  desire  to  interrupt  busi- 
ness. He,  therefore,  waited  with  patience 
until  all  the  important  questions  of  the  day 
had  been  duly  considered,  when  he  felt  that 
he  might  as  well  enliven  the  honorable 
members,  of  whom  the  majority — as  was 
indeed  under  the  circumstances  extremely 
natural — manifested  a  strong  inclination  to 
sleep. 

Accordingly,  as  a  prosy  individual  was 
proceeding  to  explain  how  essential  to  the 
security  of  the  city's  health  it  was  that  a 
certain  Augean  stable,  which  formed  a  short 
arm  of  the  Thames,  should  be  purified; 
Valentine  ventured  to  cry,  "  enough!" 
making  his  voice  proceed  apparently  from 
the  other  end  of  the  court. 

"  My  Lord  Mayor,"  said  the  honorable 
member,  who  was  then  on  his  legs;  "  it 
may,  my  Lord  Mayor,  be  'enough'  for  the 
honorable  members  opposite.  Every  thing 
in  nature  is  '  enough'  for  them.  They 
would  have  things  remain  as  they  are. — 
They  would  have,  my  Lord  Mayor,  they 
would  have  every  thing  stagnant.  They 
would  have,  not  a  huge  heap  of  physical 
filth  alone,  but  one  chaotic  mass  of  moral 
muck,  that  nature  might  wallow  in  reeking 
corruption.  They  would  have,  my  Lord 
Mayor,  the  city  covered  with  intellectual 
chickweed,  spreading  its  contagious  influ- 
ence from  Temple  Bar  to  Aldgate  pump!" 
— a  highly  poetical  observation,  which  was 
loudly  cheered  by  the  honorable  members 
on  the  eloquent  gentleman's  side,  of  whom 
several  cried  sotto  voce,  "  Walk  into  him! — 
give  it  him  home! — sarve  him  out!" — 


98 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"  They  would  have,"  continued  the  speaker, 
"  they  would  have,  my  Lord  Mayor — " 

44  Sitxlown!"  cried  Valentine. 

"Oh!  of  course!  doubtless;"  resumed  the 
interrupted  individual,  in  a  highly  sarcastic 
tone.  "They  would  like  me,  my  Lord 
Mayor,  to — " 

"  Stick  to  the  question!"  cried  Valentine. 

44  The  question,"  observed  the  speaker, 
44  is  the  very  thing  to  which  I  do  stick?  It 
is  solely  in  consequence  of  my  sticking1  to 
the  question  that  makes  me — " 

44 An  idiot!"  cried  Valentine.  "Down! 
Don't  expose  yourself." 

u  Order!  order!  order!"  shouted  several 
honorable  members;  while  several  others 
chuckled  at  the  prospect  of  a  somewhat 
lively  scene. 

44  Will  the  honorable  member  who  was 
pleased  to  make  that  observation  stand  forth 
like  a  man?"  cried  the  eloquent  speaker 
very  loudly,  and  with  no  inconsiderable 
wrath. 

Valentine  inquired  the  name  of  an  honor- 
able member  who  happened  to  be  asleep  in 
one  corner  of  the  court,  and  having  ascer- 
tained his  name  to  be  Snobson,  proceeded, 
in  various  voices,  to  call  upon  Mr.  Snobson 
for  a  prompt  and  unconditional  apology. 
The  name  of  Snobson  was  loudly  reiterated 
by  honorable  members,  who  felt  sure  that 
Snobson  was  the  man,  and  that  he  was  then 
feigning  asleep  for  the  sole  purpose  of  avoid- 
ing detection. 

At  length  the  calls  for  Snobson  became 
so  loud,  that  that  gentleman  awoke,  and 
after  rubbing  his  eyes  with  some  consider- 
able energy,  begged  naturally  enough  to 
know  why  he  was  called  upon,  seeing  that 
he  had  no  motion  whatever  to  bring  before 
the  court.  His  innocence,  however,  was 
felt  to  be  assumed,  and  it  was  held  that 
such  an  assumption  ought  not  to  protect 
him.  They  therefore  called  still  more  ener- 
getically, "  Snobson!  Snobson!"  accom- 
panying that  call,  with  the  demand  for  a 
most  ample  apology. 

Mr.  Snobson  felt  confused.  He  was  a 
stout  stumpy  person,  but  still  he  felt  con- 
fused. He  looked  pale  and  red  alternately 
for  some  few  minutes,  when  his  complexion 
settled  down  into  a  yellowish  blue;  and  as 
the  demand  for  an  apology  was  reiterated 
with  increased  zeal,  he  at  length  said,  with 
all  due  solemnity  and  point: — "  My  Lord 
Mayor,  I  can't  say  as  I  exactly  understand 
the  true  natur  of  this  'ere  business;  but  all 
I've  got  to  aay  is,  that  all  I  can  say  is  this 
'ere,  wiz:  that  if  I've  done  any  body  any 
how  wrong,  I  am  willing  in  course  to  make 
it  right;  for  there's  no  indiwidnal  in  this 
'ere  court  more  readier  to  apologise  for  the 
tame." 


44  Apology!  apology!"  shouted  several 
honorable  members. 

44  Vot  for!  Vot  have  I  done?  Tell  me 
that?"  cried  Mr.  Snobson,  who  really  began 
to  get  warm  upon  the  subject. 

44  If  the  honorable  member,"  observed 
the  Mayor,  with  much  precision  and  dignity, 
"made  use  of  the  expressions  attributed  to 
the  honorable  member,  I  am  sure  that  the 
honorable  member  will  perceive  the  neces- 
sity which  exists  for  its  immediate  with- 
drawal." 

Here  the  demand  for  an  apology  were 
loudly  reiterated  by  those  who  were  anxious 
to  fix  upon  some  one,  it  mattered  not  whom 
a  single  straw,  so  long  as  he  happened  to 
be  a  political  opponent,  for  party  feeling  at 
that  period  ran  high,  and  as  every  question 
brought  before  the  court  was  made  a  pnrely 
party  question,  that  which  had  immediate 
reference  to  Mr.  Snobson  was  regarded  as 
an  exception  by  no  means. 

44  My  Lord  Mayor,"  said  the  honorable 
accused  calmly,  after  a  pause,  during  which 
he  had  been  looking  about  him  as  if  he  had 
lost  some  dear  friend.  "Ven  I  know  the 
percise  natur  of  the  acquisation,  I'll  per- 
ceed  for  to  rebut  the  same,  and  not  afore." 

44  It  wont  do,  Master  Snobson!  it  wont 
do,  my  boy!"  cried  Valentine  in  a  sonorous 
wobbling  voice,  whose  tones  singularly 
enough  resembled  those  of  an  honorable 
member  who  appeared  to  be  deriving  much 
amusement  from  the  manifest  confusion  of 
the  accused. 

The  Lord  Mayor,  as  soon  as  he  had  re- 
covered from  the  state  of  amazement  into 
which  he  had  been  thrown  by  the  anti-sena- 
torial style  of  that  wobbling  address  to  Mr. 
Snobson,  rose  steadily  and  solemnly,  and 
looking  with  due  severity  of  aspect  full  in 
the  face  of  the  honorable  member  whose 
voice  had  been  so  unjustifiably  assumed, 
said:—44!  really  am  sory  to  be  compelled  to 
make  any  remark  touching  the  conduct  of 
any  honorable  member,  but  I  have  a  great 
public  duty  to  perform,  which  duty  I  cer- 
tainly should  not  perform,  were  I  not  to  say 
that  honorable  members  should  remember 
that  they  are  where  they  are!" 

The  tail  of  this  stinging  rebuke  was  so 
pointed,  that  it  appeared  to  pierce  the  soul 
of  the  honorable  member  for  whom  the 
whole  of  its  poignancy  was  designed,  for 
he  instantly  rose,  and  placing  his  hand  with 
much  solemnity  upon  his  heart,  said: — "  My 
Lord  Mayor.  Hif  it  be  imagined  it  was 
me,  it's  a  hutter  mishapprehension,  'cause 

n't!" 

"Why  you  know  that  it  was!"  shrmtrd 
Valentine,  throwing  his  voice  just  behind 
the  honorable  member,  who  on  the  instant 
turned  round  with  the  velocity  of  a  whip- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


99 


ping-top,  and  scrutinized  the  countenance 
of  every  member  in  his  vicinity,  with  the 
view  of  ascertaining  who  had  uttered  those 
words! 

"Really,"  said  the  Mayor,  "these  pro- 
ceeedings  are  most  irregular;"  and  the  jus- 
tice of  that  observation  was  duly  appreciat- 
ed by  all,  save  Valentine,  who,  with  the 
most  reprehensible  temerity,  exclaimed, 
44  Mind  your  own  business!"  and  that  to  the 
Lord  Mayor! 

"Mind  my  own  business!"  cried  his 
Lordship,  utterly  shocked  at  the  monstrous 
character  of  that  injunction.  "  Mind  my 
own  business!"  he  repeated  in  a  still  more 
intensely  solemn  tone;  and  he  looked  round 
amazed,  and  held  his  breath  to  give  his 
bosom  an  opportunity  of  swelling  with  in- 
dignation, and  then  turned  to  the  Recorder, 
and  said,  "Did  you  ever?"  to  which  the 
Recorder  replied,  "  No,  I  never." 

"  Shame!  Shame!"  snouted  several  honor- 
able members  the  very  moment  they  had 
recovered  the  power  to  shout. 

41  Mind  my  own  business!"  cried  his 
lordship  for  the  third  time,  and  Valentinr, 
regardless  of  the  official  dignity  of  the  fir^jt 
magistrate  of  the  first  city  in  the  world, 
absolutely  cried  again,  "  Yes!  mind  your 
own  business!" 

A  thrill  of  horror  ran  clean  through  the 
court.  Every  member  appeared  to  be  para- 
lysed. However  cold-blooded,  however 
atrocious,  however  unequivocally  vile  that 
observation  might  have  struck  them  as 
being,  it  was  one  to  which  they  were  unable 
to  conceive  a  sufficient  answer.  Several 
of  them  made  desperate  efforts  to  rise,  with 
the  view  of  protesting  against  and  denounc- 
ing its  spirit,  but  every  faculty,  physical  as 
well  as  moral,  appeared  to  have  forsaken 
them,  and  death-like  silence  for  some  time 
prevailed. 

At  length  his  lordship,  reccollecting 
what  was  due  to  himself  as  a  Mayor  and 
as  a  man,  broke  the  spell  which  had  bound 
him,  and  said  "I  demand  an  explanation!" 

44  An  explanation1?"  said  Valentine. 

44  Aye!  an  explanation!"  cried  his  lord- 
ship with  great  magnanimity.  "  1  have 
been  told  by  some  honorable  member  to 
mind  my  own  business.  I  am,  I  beg  to 
say,  1  am  minding  my  own  business.  I 
beg  the  honorable  member  to  understand 
that  it  is  my  own  business;  and  I  beg  to  in- 
form him  farther,  that  so  long  as  I  have  the 
honor  to  occupy  this  chair,  the  respect 
which  is  due  to  the  office  I  have  the  honor 
to  hold  shall  be  enforced" 

At  this  moment  Valentine  had  the  auda- 
city to  make  three  distinct  bursts  of  laugh- 
ter apparently  proceed  from  three  different 
quarters. 


44 1  wish,"  continued  his  lordship,  tug- 
ging desperately  at  his  official  habiliments; 
1  wish  honorable  members  distinctly  to 
understand  that  I  am  not  to  be  insulted. 
The  dignity—" 

44  Dignity!"  interrupted  Valentine,  in  a 
tone  of  bitter  mockery,  which,  under  any 
circumstances,  would  have  been  extremely 
culpable.  "  Dignity!" 

44 1  repeat  it!"  cried  his  lordship  with 
considerable  warmth.  "The  dignity  of 
the  office  to  which  I  have  been  elected 
shall  descend  from  me  untarnished!" 

Before  the  cheering  which  this  majestic 
observation  elicited  had  completely  died 
away,  an  honorable  member,  whose  portly 
person  and  crimson  face  met  Valentine's 
views  of  what  an  alderman  ought  to  be, 
rose  for  the  purpose  of  moving  a  direct  vote 
of  censure;  but  no  sooner  had  he  explained 
the  object  for  which  he  had  risen,  than  Va- 
lentine shouted,  "  Upon  whom]"  and  in  a 
moment  there  were  loud  cries  of  "  Name! 
name!  name!"  which  seemed  to  puzzle  the 
honorable  member  exceedingly.  "  I  am 
not,"  said  h'e  at  length,  after  having  held  a 
conference  with  those  around  him,  "in  pos- 
session of  the  honorable  member's  name, 
but  probably  some  other  honorable  member 
will  inform  me." 

Valentine  had  unfortunately  heard  but 
one  honorable  member's  name  mentioned, 
and  therefore  had  no  hesitation  in  calling 
out  "  Snobson!" 

44  No,  no!"  cried  that  honorable  member, 
starting  up  and  appealing  energetically  to 
many  other  honorable  members  who  bore 
instant  testimony  to  the  fact  of  his  being 
innocent. 

44  As  far  as  I  am  personally  concerned," 
observed  his  lordship,  who  had  been  strug- 
gling to  regain  his  apparent  equanimity, 
"  I  should  take  no  farther  notice  of  the  in- 
sulting expression,  but,  I  feel  it  to  be  rny 
duty  as  chief  magistrate." 

44  You  a  chief  magistrate!"  cried  Valen- 
tine, who  had  really  a  great  contempt  for 
the  size  of  his  lordship,  albeit  he  held,  the 
office  in  very  high  respect.  "  You  are 
joking!" 

44  Joking!"  cried  his  lordship  with  an 
expression  of  horror. 

44  Do  you  think  that  you  are  fit  now  to 
be  a  chief  magistaatel"  said  Valentine, 
44  Why  you  don't  weigh  above  nine  stone 
two!" 

An  honorable  member  knitting  his  brows 
and  looking  remarkably  fierce,  rose  to  move 
that  the  offensive  expressions  be  taken 
down;  and  "  Mind  your  own  business." — 
44  You  a  chief  magistrate!" — "  Do  you  think 
that  you  are  fit  now  to  be  a  chief  magistrate"?" 
— and  "  Why,  you  don't  weigh  above  nine 


100 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


stone  two" — were  taken  down  accord- 
ingly. 

"  Now,"  said  the  honorable  gentleman, 
"I  will  not,  my  Lord  Mayor,  look  for  pre- 
cedents with  the  view  of  ascertaining  how 
to  act  in  this  case,  for  as  conduct  like  that 
which  we  have  witnessed  is  altogether  un- 
precedented, no  precedent  for  such  conduct 
can  be  found;  but  I  mean  to  say  this,  my 
Lord  Mayor,  that  nothing  more  utterly  dis- 
graceful, more  desperately  atrocious,  more 
palpably  irregular,  or  more  altogether  out 
of  the  way,  ever  occurred  in  this  or  any 
other  court,  either  in  this  or  in  any  other 
country,  laying  claim  to  the  highest  point 
in  the  scale  of  civilisation;  and  all  I  can 
say,  my  Lord  Mayor,  is  this,  that  such  con- 
duct reflects  the  very  lowest  aud  most 
abominable  pitch  of  shame  upon  the  honor- 
able member — I  care  not  who  he  is — for 
he  has  not  the  common  manliness  to  avow 
like  a  man  the  detestable  atterance  of  lan- 
guage on  the  one  hand  so  monstrously  vile, 
my  Lord  Mayor,  and  so  rash  and  extremely 
leatherheaded  on  the  other!" 

This  burst  o'f  indignant  eloquence  was 
hailed  with  loud  cheers,  and  as  the  general 
impression  was  that  the  offending  party 
never  could  stand  such  a  broadside  as  that, 
honorable  members  looked  round  with  con- 
siderable anxiety  for  the  rising  of  the  delin- 
quent. For  several  seconds  the  suspense 
was  profound,  when,  as  the  offender  by  no 
means  came  forth,  due  contempt  was  in- 
spired for  the  character  of  such  a  man,  and 
an  alderman  rose  with  the  most  perfect 
self-possession  for  the  purpose  of  express- 
ing his  sentiments  on  the  subject. 

Jt  was  evident  at  a  glance,  that  this 
worthy  individual  was  one  of  the  most 
brilliant  of  the  sparkling  wits  with  which 
civic  society  is  so  abundantly  studded.  He 
appeared  to  be  perfectly  at  home,  and  after 
smiling  a  most  interesting,  if  not  a  most 
fascinating  smile,  observed: — "Really  this 
appears  to  be  a  very  queer  business;  but  that 
branch  of  the  business.which  seems  the  most 
queer,  is  that  which  refers  to  your  lordship's 
weight.  The  honorable  member  complains 
that  your  lordship  don't  weigh  more  than 
nine  stone  two,  and  his  estimate  appears  to 
be,  as  far  as  it  goes,  as  nearly  correct  as 
possible;  but  he  contends  that  your  lord- 
ship is  not  a  fit  and  proper  person  to  be  a 
chief  magistrate,  because  you  don't  \v»  i<jli 
more  than  nine  stone  two!  Why  what  in 
the  name  of  all  that's  rational  would  he 
have  a  chief  magistrate  weigh"?  Would  he 
like  to  have  every  Lord  Mayor  a  huge 
mountain  of  flesh — a  human  porpoisel 
Would  he  have  him  elected  by  weight  with 
the  standard  fixed  at  twenty  or  live-and- 
twenty  stone!" 


"  He  ought  certainly  to  have  a  little  flesh 
upon  his  bones,"  cried  Valentine,  throwing 
his  voice  behind  the  speaker. 

"  Flesh!"  cried  the  worthy  and  eloquent 
alderman,  wheeling  sharply  round,  **  A 
little  flesh!  Upon  my  word  this  is  very 
extraordinary.  An  error  has  been  engen- 
dered in  the  minds  of  the  ignorant — an  error 
which  has  descended  in  fact,  from  genera- 
tion to  generation  with  the  most  hereditary 
regularity,  until  it  has  partaken  of  the 
character  of  an  heir  loom — that  aldermen 
possess  all  the  external  characteristics  of 
gluttons  in  consequence  of  their  assumed 
unconquerable  inclination  to  feed  to  satiety, 
when,  in  point  of  fact,  aldermen,  instead  of 
being  gorgers,  and  crammers,  and  stowers 
away  of  immense  masses  of  food,  are  de- 
cidedly the  most  abstemious  body  of  men 
in  existence.  I  know — nay,  we  all  know, 
that  aldermen,  like  bishops,  are,  to  please 
the  morbid  taste  of  the  vulgar,  represented 
as  persons  with  red  bloated  cheeks,  mul- 
berry noses,  and  immense  corporations, 
although  the  great  majority  of  them  are  ex- 
tremely narrow-bellied,  with  no  more  incli- 
nation to  obesity  than  drummers;  but  when 
I  hear  an  honorable  member  of  this  court, 
who  must  know  all  the  aldermen  personal- 
ly, contend  that  a  man  is  unfit  to  fill  the 
office  of  chief  magistrate  because  he  don't 
weigh  above  nine  stone  two,  I  must  say, 
that  in  the  annals  of  queer  affairs,  a  queerer 
don't  stand  upon  record." 

This  novel  and  eloquent  speech  did  not 
appear  to  give  general  satisfaction.  It  is 
true,  the  worthy  aldermen  present — of  whom 
there  were  several — held  their  savory  breath, 
and  tried  desperately  to  make  their  abdomi- 
nal drums  look  genteel,  and  endeavored — 
with  a  virtuous  view  doubtless — to  swallow 
the  belief  that  they  really  were  very  ab- 
stemious men;  but  the  commoners,  who  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  looking  forward  with 
delight  to  the  grand  periodical  feasts,  keen- 
ly felt  that  if  such  an  inhospitable,  hungry 
idea  as  that  of  abstemiousness  being  In M 
to  be  one  of  the  civic  virtues,  were  to  ob- 
tain, the  glowing  members  of  the  corpora- 
tion would  be  frozen  into  whole-hog  tee-to- 
tallers,  and  the  Mansion-house  itself  would 
be  metamorphosed,  eventually,  into  a  shiv- 
ering temperance  den.  That  so  revolting  a 
state  of  things  ought  by  no  means  to  be 
promoted,  they  were  perfectly  and  naturally 
convinced:  they,  therefore,  felt  it  incum- 
bi'iit.  upon  them  as  citizens,  to  repudiate  thr 
notion  with  sovereign  contempt,  and,  as 
Valentine  perceived  the  expression  of  this 
feeling  to  be  almost  universal,  he  raised  a 
loud  laugh  at  the  conclusion  of  the  worthy 
alderman's  oration,  which  was  promptly 
responded  to  in  tones  of  bitter  irony. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


101 


"  It's  hall  werry  well  for  the  court  to  be 
merry,"  said  an  honorable  member,  when 
the  laughter  had  subsided;  "but  touching 
the  hinsult!  vot  about  that] — the  indignity 
showered  upon  the  cheer! — that's  vot  I 
mean  for  to  contend  should  be  noticed." 

"  Vot  a  hanimal!"  said  Valentine,  "  ex- 
asperating the  A,  and  contemning  the  cor- 
rect pernounciation  of  the  wowell." 

"  Such  language,"  cried  his  lordship  in- 
dignantly, "  cannot  be  tolerated." 

"  Why  don't  you  then  make  him  speak 
better?"  cried  Valentine,  which  was  cer- 
tainly, under  the  circumstances,  extremely 
reprehensible. 

"  Order!"  exclaimed  the  Lord  Mayor, 
"  I  will  not  sit  here  to  be  thus  insulted!" 

"  Shame!  shame!"  shouted  several  honor- 
able members  simultaneously,  while  his 
lordship  conferred  with  the  recorder. 


"It's  perfectly  disgraceful!"  cried  several 
others,  but  the  majority  were  smiling  as  if 
they  enjoyed  it. 

"  I  do  not,"  said  his  lordship,  having 
taken  the  opinion  of  his  legal  adviser,  "  by 
any  means  envy  the  feelings  of  those  honor- 
able members  whose  conduct  this  day  has 
been  so  highly  discreditable,  but  I  do  hope 
and  trust  that  they  will  reflect  upon  the 
course  they  have  adopted,  and  as  I  find  it 
impossible  to  recall  due  attention  to  busi- 
ness, I  have  only  to  add,  that  this  court  is 
adjourned." 

His  lordship  then  rose,  and  as  the  honor- 
able members  were  forming  themselves 
into  groups,  with  the  view  of  expressing 
their  private  opinions  on  the  subject,  Val- 
entine left  them  to  revel  in  conjecture,  and 
quietly  quitted  Guildhall. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

SHOWS  WHAT  A  CONSCIENCE  GOODMAN'S  BROTHER  HAD.   . 


IT  has  bf>en  said  that  some  men  have  no 
conscience;  but  if  such  men  there  be,  they 
must  be  dead  men;  and  as  dead  men  have  ! 
been  said  to  be  no  men  at  all,  the  two  posi- 
tions form  a  problem,  of  which  the  solu- 
tion is  not  easy.     It  seems  plain  enough —  j 
yet  who  knows? — that  a   man   without  a 
conscience  must  be  be  without  a  soul;  and 
were  the  existence  of  such  an  animal  re- 
corded in  natural  history,  the  thing  would 
be  at  once  as  clear  as  crystal;  but  as  we  : 
have  no  record  of  any  such  thing,  the  fair  | 
inference  is,  that  the  first  grand   position 
has  yet  to  be  established.     Be  this,  how-! 
ever,  just  as  it  may,  it  is  perfectly  certain  : 
that  Walter  had  a  conscience;  and  one,  too,  | 
which  belonged  emphatically  to  the  work- 
ing   class    of   consciences — a    conscience ; 
which  delighted  in  the  cultivation  of  moral 
thorns,  which  pricked  and  stnng  him  day 
and  night  with  much  point  and  effect.    His  j 
brother's    form    was    perpetually    in    his  | 
44  mind's  eye;"  his  brother's  voice  as  per- 
petually rang  in  his  imagination's  ear:  na- 
ture's  sweet  restorer  was   conquered  and  j 
kicked  about  by  nature's  grim    disturber, 
and  a  very  fine  lime  of  it  he  had  upon  the  j 
whole.     Nor  were  the  minds  of  his  amia- 
ble family  much  more  at  ease;  forasmuch 
as  they  had  no  precise  knowledge  as  to  the 
whereabout  of  Goodman,  they  were  induced 
by  the  horrible  state  of  Walter's  nerves  to 
apprehend  that  he  had  either  murdered  him, 
or  caused  him  to  be  murdered,  but  dreaded 
10 


that  only  in  consequence  of  such  an  event 
being  calculated  to  bring  down  upon  him 
the  vengeance  of  the  law. 

"  It's  of  no  use,"  observed  Mrs.  Walter, 
a  few  evenings  after  the  furniture  had  been 
sold  by  private  contract;  "  It  isn't  of  the 
slightest  earthly  use,  you  know,  attempt- 
ing to  go  on  in  this  way.  I  must  have 
a  separate  bed.  I  really  cannot  sleep  with 
you — I  cannot  indeed;  for  you  talk,  and 
groan,  and  sigh,  and  throw  your  arms  about, 
and  kick! — I'm  sure  my  legs  are  nothing 
but  one  mass  of  bruises;  and  as  for  the 
clothes! — if  I  pull  them  on  once  during  the 
night,  I  have  to  pull  them  on  at  least  fifty 
times.  I  can't  endure  it — I  really  cannot 
if  you  go  on  in  this  way,  and  so  it  don't 
signify  talking!" 

"It's  very  unpleasant!"  observed  Mrs. 
Horace,  sympathetically. 

"  Unpleasant,  my  dear! — it's  really  dread- 
ful! I  wonder,  I'm  sure,  that  I  don't  catch 
my  death.  There  was  only  last  night — you 
know  how  tired  I  was? — well,  I  hadn't 
been  asleep  five  minutes  when  he  turned 
on  his  right  side,  and  off  they  all  went! — 
blankets,  sheet,  counterpane — every  thing 
in  the  world;  although  I  pinned  them,  as 
I  thought  securely  to  the  palliasse,  and 
tucked  them  well  in  before  I  got  into 
bed." 

"That's  just  for  all  the  world  like  my 
Horace,  when  he  comes  home  a  little  bit 
tipsy." 


102 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"  Of  course!"  cried  Horace.  "  What  is 
it  I  don't  do?" 

"Why  you  know  yon  do  every  thing 
that's  disagreeable,  then;  you  turn  about 
and  snore,  and — " 

"  Now  you  have  said  it!  /snore! — come 
that's  good — you  won't  beat  that  to-night! 
I  never  snore;  I'd  scorn  the  action!  If  I 
were  ever  to  catch  myself  at  it,  I'd  get  up 
and  cut  my  own  throat.  I  detest  it — I 
can't  snore." 

"  My  goodness,  Horace!" 

"I  never  do  it,  I  tell  you! — Snrely  I 
ought  to  know!" 

"But  how  can  you  know  when  you're 
asleep!" 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you'll 
make  me  believe  that  if  I  were  to  snore 
away,  and  grunt  like  a  JQlly  old  hog  in  dis- 
tress, I  shouldn't  wake  myself  1" 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Walter,  "I  don't 
know,  I'm  sure,  who  it  was;  but  when  you 
slept  in  the  next  room  to  us,  I  know  one  of 
you  used  to  make  a  horrible  noise." 

"  Why,  of  course!— that  was  Poll!"  ob- 
served Horace,  "  she's  a  regular  out-and-out 
snorter." 

"  Why,  good  gracious,  Horace!" 

"  Well,  you  know  that  you  are!  It's  of 
no  use  denying  it.  Before  I  got  used  to  it 
I  couldn't  get  a  wink  while  you  were  cut- 
ting away  in  that  dreadful  state  of  mind; 
but,  like  every  thing  else,  it  has  become  so 
natural  that  I  look  for  it,  and  can't  close 
my  eyes  till  you  begin." 

"  Well,  your  father  never  snores,"  said 
Mrs.  W alter,  "I  must  say  that;  but  he 
does  kick  most  cruelly." 

"  Well!  some  more  grog!"  growled 
Walter,  whose  obsequious  manners  had 
been  changed  into  those  of  a  bear,  and 
whose  countenance  developed  a  fixed  and 
sullen  gloom. 

"Don't  drink  any  more,  there's  a  love!" 
said  Mrs.  Walter,  "you've  had  five  very 
strong  glasses  already." 

"  What  if  I've  had  five-and-fifty!  I  don't 
care  a  dump:  I  want  more!" 

"  Well,  it  must  be  a  very,  very  little,  and 
that  very  weak." 

44  Here,  push  it  this  way!— I'll  mix  for 
myself.  You  scarcely  take  the  rawness 
off  the  water."  And  he  did  mix,  but 
scarcely  took  the  rawness  off  the  brandy; 
and  having  mixed,  and  swallowed  the 
greater  part  of  the  mixture,  his  muscles  ap- 
peared to  be  a  little  relaxed,  and  he  made 
a  very  lamentable  effort  to  sing 

**  Mynheer  Van  Dunk,  who  never  got  drunk, 

Sipped  brandy  and  water  gaily; 
Ik  quenched  his  thirst  with  two  quarts  of  the 

To  a  pint  of  the  latter  daily, 

To  a  pint  of  the  latter,  daily." 


"The  governor's  getting  mops  nnd 
brooms,"  whispered  Horace  to  his  amiable 
spouse;  "  he's  going  it!  I  shouldn't  at  all 
wonder  if  he  opens,  by-and-bye,  like  a  por- 
cupine. I  say,"  he  continued,  addressing 
his  venerable  father,  *'  won't  you  have  a 
cheroot!  Here's  an  out-and-outer  here!" 
and  he  picked  out  the  blackest  and  strong- 
est he  could  find,  which  Walter  took,  and 
began  to  smoke  desperately. 

"Try  him  now,"  whispered  the  senior 
Mrs.  Goodman. 

"Well,  how  do  you  like  it!" 

"  Not  at  all:  it's  particularly  nasty,"  re- 
plied WTalter,  "but  any  thing  to  drive  the 
blue  devils  away. 

4  Begone  dull  care!  I  pr'ythce  begone  from  me!' 
I  say,  old  girl!  let's  have  a  bowl  of  punch! 

'  If  any  pain  or  care  remain, 
Let's  drown  it  in  a  bo — o— owl.' 

Who  cares!  who  cares,  eh!  Give  us  a  kiss, 
old  girl!  Why  don't  you  sing!  Come, 
let's  have  a  song  all  round!" 

"The  thing  was  well  managed,"  said 
Horace,  "  after  all,  eh!— wasn't  ft!" 

"  No!  not  at  all!  it  wasn't  well  managed! 
— he  saw  me; — it  wasn't  well  managed!" 

"  I  wonder  how  he  liked  it." 

"Ask  him!"  cried  Walter,  directing  his 
eyes  to  a  vacant  part  of  the  room.  "  There! 
ask  him!— there  he  is!" 

"  Where!"  shouted  Horace,  as  he,  his 
wife,  and  mother  turned  to  the  spot  to 
which  Walter  still  pointed. 

"  Why,  there!  Are  you  blind! — He  has 
been  standing  up  there  for  the  last  hour!" 

"Good  gracious!  how  you  frighten  me!" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Goodman,  "you  make  my 
very  blood  run  cold.  It's  just  the  way  you 
went  on  last  night.  You  would  have  it 
that  he  was  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed." 

"And  so  he  was! — but  who  cares!"  and 
he  nodded  to  the  space  to  which  he  had 
pointed,  and  emptied  the  glass.  "\Vell, 
why  don't  you  sing! — Here!  mix  some 
grog." 

"I  say,  where  have  you  stowed  him!"   L 
inquired  Horace. 

"  Don't  I  tell  you  he's  there!"  V 

"  Oh,  nonsense!  but  where  did  you  take 
him  to!" 

Walter  pushed  the  candles  aside,  and 
having  closed  one  eye  to  make  the  other 
more  powerful  and  steady,  looked  earnestly 
at  Horace,  and  said,  "  Don't  ask  me  any 
questions,  and  then  you'll  not  have  to  tell 
lies. — Now,  where's  this  brandy-an<l-\\  ah  r? 
— The  treacherous  crew!  They'd  no  ri«/lit 
to  1«  t  him  out!  They  promised  tlu-y 
wouldn't,  so  loner  as  I  kept  up  my  pay- 
ments; yet  there  he  is  now!"  and  he  cover- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


103 


ed  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  and  sank  back 
in  the  chair,  in  which,  yielding  to  the  com- 
bined influences  of  brandy  and  tobacco,  he 
soon  fell  asleep. 

"  He  has  dropped  off,"  said  Horace, 
"  don't  wake  him.  I  never  before  saw  him 
above  half  so  far  gone." 

"  But  how  strange!"  said  Mrs.  Goodman, 
"is  it  not]  There  is,  however,  one  conso- 
lation; I  think  he  hasn't  rushed  into  ex- 
tremes." 

"  No!  that's  pretty  certain,"  said  Horace, 
"  I  thought  he  had  at  first.  But  where  can 
he  have  stowed  him!  That  puzzles  me 
above  a  bit.  He  couldn't  have  cocked  him 
into  a  workhouse;  nor  could  he  well  have 
fixed  him  in  prison.  It  certainly  is  about 
the  rummest  thing  I  ever  heard  of." 

"  Probably,"  suggested  Mrs.  Goodman, 
"  he  has  sent  him  abroad!" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!"  cried  Horace,  "he's 
somewhere  near  at  hand.  Besides,  you 
know,  he  isn't  a  fool.  He  wouldn't  be  kept 
there — hush!"  he  added  sharply,  for  Walter 
at  the  moment  gave  a  strong  convulsive 
start. 

"  That's  the  way  he  goes  on  throughout 
the  night,"  gently  whispered  Mrs.  Good- 
man, "  hush,  listen! — he's  dreaming!" 

"There  are  a  kind  of  men  so  loose  of  soul, 
That  in  their  sleep  will  mutter  their  affairs;" 

and  one  of  this  "kind"  was  Walter. 

"  Now  do  your  worst!"  cried  he,  folding 
his  arms  with  an  air  of  defiance.  "  Do 
your  worst! — I  am  safe! — The  certificate! — 
that  was  the  authority. — Well,  I  know  it! 
what  of  that1? — And  so  you  were!-r-you 
were  mad! — No!  not  at  all! — WThy  for  your 
safety! — Look  to  those  who  certified. — Not 
a  word! — Do  il! — I'm  ready  to  defend  my- 
self!— Cool!  very  cool — Never!  don't  be- 
lieve it."  Having  uttered  these  sentences, 
as  if  in  answer  to  a  series  of  interrogatories, 
he  curled  his  lip  proudly;  but  in  tossing  his 
head,  he  struck  it  against  the  back  of  the 
chair  with  so  much  force,  that  he  awoke  on 
the  instant,  and  started  up,  exclaiming, 
"  Oh,  you  shall  pay  dearly  for  that! — that 
blow  shall  be  your  last!  Now!" 

"Walter!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Goodman, 
who,  with  the  assistance  of  Horace,  sus- 
tained him.  "  Walter!  awake!" 

"  Did  you  not  see  him  strike  me!" 

"  No!  no!  he  is  not  here." 

"  How  can  you  tell  me  that!  why  there 
he  stands  now! — Am  I  not  to  believe  my 
own  eyes!  Have  you  all  turned  against 
me!  Curse  you  all!  Why  do  you  hold 
me! — I'll  strangle  him! — Why  do  you  hold 
me!"  and  he  stared  again  wildly,  and  point- 
ed to  the  imaginary  form  of  him  whom  he 
had  injured.  "  Let  me  go!"  he  continued 


struggling  with  additional  violence;  "  Am  I 
to  be  pinioned  here,  while  he  thus  triumphs 
over  me!" 

"  Come,  come!"  said  Horace,  "  fight  it 
out  another  time.  I'll  bet  ten  to  one  you. 
can  beat  him;  but  let's  have  a  clear  stage, 
you  know,  and  no  favor." 

"My  dear,  dear  Walter,  wake  up,"  said 
Mrs.  Goodman,  "  it  is  nothing  but  a  dream. 
Indeed,  indeed,  he  is  not  here,  love!  he  is 
not,  indeed!" 

"  No,  he  isn't  here  now;  you  have  let 
him  escape!" 

"  Of  course,  he  has  cut  it,"  said  Horace. 
"  Never  mind;  take  it  out  of  him  to-morrow. 
He  has  got  no  bottom,  you  know;  he  never 
had.  Come,  governor,  come!"  and  as  Wal- 
ter had  sunk  into  their  arms  in  a  state  of 
exhaustion,  they  quietly  carried  him  up  to 
bed. 

"The  murder's  out  now,"  said  Horace, 
returning  to  the  parlor.  "  He  has  put  the 
old  boy  into  some  private  madhouse:  there 
can't  be  two  opinions  about  it.  I  see  it  all 
now." 

"  Good  gracious  me,  impossible!"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Goodman.  "  Why,  he  is  not 
mad!" 

"  Oh!  that  makes  no  sort  of  odds  at  all!" 
rejoined  Horace. 

"  But  surely  frhey  would  not  take  him  in 
unless  he  were!" 

"Wouldn't  they!  WThat  does  it  matter 
to  them  whether  a  man's  mad  or  not,  so 
long  as  he's  paid  for!  I  could  shove  the 
old  governor  there  to-morrow  if  I  chose; 
and  he  could  do  the  same  for  me.  It  don't 
matter  a  straw  who  it  is.  They've  only  to 
send  for  a  couple  of  jolly  mad-doctors,  the 
majority  of  whom  are  to  be  bought  for  half 
a  sovereign,  and  they'll  sign  away  like  rat- 
tle-snakes." 

"  What!  without  knowing  whether  the 
man's  insane  or  not!" 

"  Without  knowing! — what  is  it  to  them? 
They  are  called  in  to  certify;— they  are  paid 
to  certify; — they  therefore  do  certify,  and 
pocket  the  coin." 

"You  perfectly  astonish  me!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Goodman. 

"That's  good! — Astonish  you! — Why 
one-half  the  world  would  be  astonished  to 
learn  how  the  thing  is  arranged  by  these 
medical  snobs." 

"  But  they  examine  them  of  course!" 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it!  They  will  occasionally 
certify  without  even  seeing  the  '  patient;' 
and  if  they  do  take  the  trouble  to  visit  him, 
they  question  him,  and  harass  him,  and  put 
him  into  a  most  uncomfortable  state  of  ex- 
citement, in  order  that  they  may  satisfy 
their  beautiful  consciences  that  he  is  in 
reality  insane.'' 


104 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"  But  isn't  that  very  wrong1?" 

"  Why  it's  very  convenient.  Of  course,  if 
we  come  to  the  rights  of  the  thing,  it  is  clear 
that  no  man  should  be  confined  in  any  one 
of  these  dens,  until  his  case  had  been  fully, 
and  publicly  investigated.  But  then,  you 
see,  that  wouldn't  answer!  They  would 
never  be  able  to  get  a  sane  man  out  of  the 
way,  however  rich  he  might  be,  if  that  sys- 
tem were  adopted." 

"  But  how  do  they  manage  ill"  inquired 
Mrs.  Goodman. 

"  Why,  suppose,  now,  I  wanted  to  lock 
up  the  governor.  Well,  I  have  only  to 
write  to  the  proprietor  of  one  of  these  private 
bastiles  to  this  effect: — 

"  Sir: — 1  beg  you  will  send  me  two  blank 
forms  of  order  and  certificate  to-morrow 
morning,  together  with  two  stout  keepers, 
for  a  very  violent  patient  who  is  dangerous, 
and  whom  I  desire  to  commit  to  your  care, 
and  if  you  will  send  also  two  doctors  to 
certify,  it  will  save  a  deal  of  trouble,  and 
much  oblige." 

"  Well,  at  the  time  appointed,  in  walk 
the  doctors,  who  bore  the  old  govenor  with 
a  series  of  out-and-out  questions,  until  they 
excite  him  to  such  a  pitch  of  glory,  that  he 
threatens,  very  naturally,  to  kick  them  out 
of  the  house;  and  he  no  sooner  reaches  this 
point  of  the  compass,  than  they  call  in  a 
couple  of  coal-heaving  keepers,  who  clap  a 
strait  jacket,  or  a  pair  of  handcuffs  upon 
him,  without  any  ceremony,  and  bundle  him 
off,  with  the  certificate  signed,  to  the  bastile 
to  which  they  belong." 

"And  would  you  be  justified  in  doing 
this  by  law?" 

"Law!  What  should  I  care  about  law1? 
Law  has  little  to  do  with  private  lunatic 
asylums.  Once  in,  the  poor  devils  are  I 
booked  for  the  whole  distance:  it  must  be, 
indeed,  an  extraordinary  occurrence  which 
enables  them  ever  to  get  out.  There  they 


are,  and  there  they  stick,  so  long  as  the 
payments  are  kept  up;  and  when  they  die, 
why  what  does  it  matter  where  or  how  they 
are  buried?  If  they  are  murdered,  it's  just 
the  same  thing:  no  inquest  is  held  upon  the 
body.  The  coroner  has  no  power  there — 
not  a  bit  of  it — nothing  of  the  sort." 

"This  really  appears  to  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Goodman,  "  to  be  very  dreadful;  but  of 
course  they  are  well  treated?" 

"Oh!  of  course!"  returned  Horace  ironi- 
cally; "  of  course!  they  have  every  com- 
fort in  life,  and  all  its  luxuries.  The  pro- 
prietor is  paid  for  each  so  much  a-year;  and 
of  course  he  don't  want  to  make  anything 
out  of  them!  He  is  generally  a  mild,  out- 
and-out  nice  man — a  man  whose  humani- 
ties are  conspicuously  developed — and  he 
spends  all  the  money  he  receives,  no  doubt, 
in  administering  to  their  several  necessities, 
and  becomes  at  once  so  fond  of  them,  that 
he  never  parts  with  one  if  he  can  possibly 
help  it,  while  the  payments  continue  to  be 
regular:  nay,  his  attachments  are  so  ex- 
tremely strong,  that  if  one  of  his  patients 
should  die  or  escape,  he  regards  it  as  a  very, 
very  serious  loss  indeed." 

At  this  moment  the  cry  of  "  Murder!" 
was  heard  from  above,  and  that  cry  was 
succeeded  by  a  heavy  crashing  fall.  Mrs. 
Goodman  gave  a  shrill  scream  and  fainted; 
and  Horace  rushed  into  the  bed-room  of 
Walter,  whom  he  found  lying  prostrate 
upon  the  floor.  On  being  raised,  he  was 
perfectly  insensible,  and  it  was  some  con- 
siderable time  before  animation  could  be 
restored;  and  when  it  was,  his  delirium  con- 
tinued wild  and  powerful.  Horace,  there- 
fore, consented  to  sit  up  all  night;  and  having 
sent  his  wife  and  mother  to  bed,  got  a  bot- 
tle of  brandy  and  a  box  of  cheroots,  and 
then  dropped  into  a  large  easy  chair  with 
appropriate  resignation. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


THE  WIDOW'S  VICTIM. 


As  Valentine  sat  in  his  own  room  alone  the  j  and  says  she  hopes  you'll  excuse  the  liberty, 
evening  on  which  the  conscience  of  Walter    but  she  has  a  little  party  to-night,  and  she 

had  developed  itself  to  his  amiable  family,    —:n  u"  -~  u-"~ "  :f '"  »-*-t— »—»- 

wondering  what  had  become  of  the  card 
which  had  been  given  to  him  by  the  father 
of  the  lovely  creature,  whom  he  rescued 


\\ill  be  so  happy  if  you'll  join 'em,  as  she's 
sure  it  must  be  lonesome  to  be  here  alone." 
"  Yonr  mistress  is  very  polite,"  said 
Valentine,  "  I'll  do  myself  the  pleasure — 
Oh,  have  you  seen  a  small  glazed  card 


from    "Old  Father  Thames,"  the  servant 

of  the  widow  with  whom  he  lodged  knocked    about  the  room?" 

ypiitly  at  the  door,  and  having  entered,  said,  I      ••  No,  I  haven't,  sir— least  ways,  not  to 

"  O,  if  you  pie,  sir,  miaseses  compliments, ;  my  knowledge,  but  if  I  should  see" — 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


103 


•*  I  have  it!"  said  Valentine.  "  My  com- 
pliments to  your  mistress;  I'll  be  down  in 
five  minutes." 

Although  it  may  probably  be  inferred  from 
Valentine's  exclamation,  "  I  have  it!"  that 
he  had  it,  he  had  it  not;  but  simply  recol- 
lected at  the  moment  that  he  had  left  it  in 
the  pocket  of  the  steward's  striped-jacket, 
which  had  been  lent  to  him  to  go  on  shore 
at  Gravesend.  He  knew  not  the  name  of 
the  steward,  nor  did  he  know  the  name  of 
the  vessel  to  which  he  belonged,  but  then 
—which  was  certainly  the  next  best  thing — 
he  knew  the  name  of  the  wharf  from  which 
she  started.  He,  therefore,  at  once  made 
up  his  mind  to  go  down  to  that  particular 
wharf  the  next  morning,  with  a  view  to  the 
recovery  of  the  card,  and  proceeded  to  join 
his  fair  landlady's  party  in  the  parlor. 

Now  of  all  the  speculations  whose  fruits 
have  a  tendency  to  confer  immortal  honor 
upon  the  learned,  there  is  probably  not  one 
so  directly,  so  eminently  calculated  to  send 
a  man  down  to  posterity,  as  that  which  has 
reference  to  the  origin  of  personal  names. 
That  there  are  so  many  Smiths,  may  be 
easily  accounted  for,  seeing  that  there  are 
so  many  Smiths— namely,  white  Smiths, 
black  Smiths,  silver  Smiths,  gold  Smiths, 
lock  Smiths,  coach  Smiths,  gun  Smiths, 
and  so  on,  whose  descendants  have  assumed 
the  pure  name,  although  clearly  the  son  of 
the  first  Mr.  Smith  should  have  called  him- 
self Smithson;  the  son  of  Mr.  Srnithson, 
Smithsonson;  and  the  son  of  Mr.  Smithson- 
son,  Smithsonsonson;  or,  for  shortness, 
Smithsonsonsgrandson.  This,  however, 
might  have  been  very  fairly  objected  to,  on 
the  ground  that  such  a  course,  however 
proper,  would,  in  a  few  generations,  draw 
the  names  of  the  descendants  of  the  original 
Smith  to  a  somewhat  inconvenient  length. 
But  how  the  thousands,  nay,  the  millions 
of  names  which  are  to  be  met  with  in  civi- 
lised society,  were  originally  got  hold  of  by 
our  ancestors  respectively,  is  a  question 
which  opens  a  very  wide  field  for  antiqua- 
rian research — a  field  whose  cultivation 
would  doubtless  confer  upon  mankind,  in 
the  aggregate,  benefits  incalculable.  They 
who  minrht  enter  this  glorious  field  might 
meet  with  a  few  proper  names  of  a  very 
queer  character;  they  might,  indeed,  be  for 
a  time,  in  some  slight  degree,  gloriously 
puzzled;  but  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  their 
eventual  success  if  they  boldly  and  reso- 
lutely proceeded  upon  the  just  and  eternal 
principle,  that  every  effect  must  have  a 
cause. 

This  profound  vein  of  reflection  has  been 
opened  by  the  fact  that  Valentine's  land- 
lady possessed  the  name  of  Smugman. 
That  she  got  it  from  her  late  lamented  hus- 


band is  manifest,  but  how  did  the  original 
Smugman  obtain  it?  The  solution  of  this 
mystery  is  not,  however,  absolutely  essen- 
tial to  the  progress  of  these  adventures,  and 
therefore  it  may  as  well  at  once  be  observ- 
ed, that  Mrs.  Smugman  had  been  languish- 
ing in  a  weary  state  of  widowhood  for 
nearly  twelve  months,  and  that,  however, 
ardently  she  might  have  loved  the  name  of 
Smugman  at  one  time,  she  then  had  an 
equally  ardent  desire  to  change  it.  Her 
husband  had  been  in  the  navy,  and  from  the 
Admiralty  she  received,  in  consequence, 
seventy  pounds  per  annum,  to  which,  in 
conformity  with  the  general  practice,  she 
was  entitled  so  long,  but  only  so  long,  as 
she  remained  a  widow — a  practice  whose 
tendency  is  far  more  immoral  than  the  wise 
men  by  whom  it  was  established,  conceived; 
for,  as  the  annuitants  cannot  legally  marry 
without  sacrificing  their  respective  annui- 
ties, the  temptation  to  marry  illegally  is 
sometimes  too  strong  to  be  resisted  by  those 
who  do  not  in  reality  prize  virtue  as  it  ought 
to  be  prized,  above  all  other  sublunary 
blessings. 

That  such  considerations,  however,  en- 
tered not  into  the  head  of  Mrs.  Smugman, 
all  are  bound  to  believe,  for,  independently, 
of  her  being  strictly  virtuous,  she  had  her 
eye  upon  two  mostrespectable  bachelors — 
namely,  Mr.  Foxglove,  a  quiet  bank  clerk, 
and  Mr.  Crankey,  a  money-making  grocer, 
the  latter  of  whom  she  did  rather  prefer, 
but  in  consequence  solely  of  his  wealth 
being  calculated  to  cause  the  match  on  her 
part  to  obtain  the  direct  sanction  of  prudence. 

The  gentleman  upon  whom  this  prefer- 
ence was  bestowed  was  a  sour-looking,  por- 
cupine-headed person,  whose  smiles  were 
so  forced,  that  they  gave  pain  to  all  who 
beheld  them;  yet  the  widow  was  conversing- 
with  him  very  affectionately  when  Valen- 
tine entered  the  room.  A  variety  of  greet- 
ings and  fussy  introductions  to  the  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  who  were  engaged  in  the 
purely  commercial  game  of  speculation, 
were  immediately  consequent  on  his  entree, 
for  the  fair  widow  really  felt  honored  by 
his  presence,  and  scarcely  knew  how  to 
lionize  him  enough. 

It  soon  became  manifest,  however,  to 
Valentine,  that  Crankey  by  no  means  ap- 
proved of  these  attentions;  that  he  looked 
dark  and  dreadful,  and  scowled  very  furi- 
ously, both  at  the  widow  and  at  him;  and 
as  he  subsequently  made  himself  particu- 
larly disagreeable,  indulging  occasionally 
in  certain  very  pointed  insinuations  having 
reference  to  the  impropriety  of  such  atten- 
tions to  young  men  in  general,  Valentine 
resolved  on  punishing  Mr.  Crankey  for  his 
bear-like  behavior. 
10* 


106 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


**  What  a  sour  old  crab,  to  be  sure,"  said 
he,  making  his  voice  apparently  proceed 
from  the  speculation  table.  "  I  can't  say  I 
admire  the  taste  of  Mrs.  Smugman." 

"  Indeed!"  muttered  Crankey,  knitting 
his  black  bushy  brows,  and  looking  round 
the  table  in  question,  with  the  view  of  as- 
certaining who  it  was  that  had  spoken. 
"My  presence,"  he  added,  addressing  Mrs. 
Smugman,  "  doesn't  appear  to  be  very 
agreeable  to  some  of  jam  friend*!" 

11  Oh  nonsense!"  observed  Mrs.  Smug- 
man.    "It's  nothing   but  a   silly  remark,  j 
There's  no  meaning  in  it:  nonsense!" 

"  You  should  not  invite  persons  to  meet  j 
we,   Mrs.  Smugman,   who   are  capable  of 
making  silly  remarks  with  no  meaning  in 
them." 

The  widow  bit  her  lips,  but  said  nothing. 
Mr.  Crankey,  however,  was  by  no  means 
disposed  to  be  silent,  for  he  enlarged  rather 
eloquently  upon  the  fact  of  his  not  having 
come  there  that  evening  to  be  insulted. 

«*  Did  you  ever!"  cried  Valentine,  throw- 
ing his  voice  in  the  same  direction.  "The 
fellow's  a  bear!" 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  widow,  approach- 
ing the  table  as  a  burst  of  surprise  had  been 
induced,  by  the  fact  of  a  lady  having  turned 
up  the  ace  after  selling  the  king  for  five- 
pence-half-penny,  "I  really  must  beg  of 
you  not  to  indulge  in  unpleasant  observa- 
tions." 

The  whole  of  the  speculators  stared  at 
the  widow,  with  an  expression  of  amaze- 
ment. "  You  must  remember,"  continued 
that  lady,  "  that  Mr.  Crankey  is  my  friend, 
as  you  are  all  my  frieuds,  and  I  should  not 
like  to  hear  an  unpleasant  observation  ap- 
plied to  any  one  of  you." 

"  Mr.  Crankey,  I'm  sure,  must  be  mista- 
ken," observed  one  of  the  gentlemen  at  the 
table,  "  I  have  heard  no  such  observation 
made."  . 

"  But  I  have!"  growled  Crankey. 

"  Well,  all  I  can  say  is  that  /  have  heard 
nothing  of  the  sort,"  returned  the  gentle- 
man. 

"  Nor  have  I,"  cried  the  whole  of  the 
speculators  in  a  breath,  which  was  literally 
the  fact,  for  they  had  all  been  too  busy  turn- 
ing up  prematurely  and  estimating  the  value 
of  the  best  card  turned  in  proportion  to  the 
wealth  of  the  pool,  to  pay  attention  to  any- 
thing else. 

Mr.  Crankey  was  not  satisfied;  but  the 
speculators  were,  that  Mr.  Crankey  had 
been  mistaken,  and  the  merry  game  pro- 
ceeded. 

Valentine  had  by  this  time  understood 
the-  precise  terms  upon  which  Mr.  Cninkrv 
and  the  widow  were,  and  very  naturally  felt 
that  the  sooner  such  a  match  were  complete- 


ly broken  off,  the  better  it  would  be  for  the 
lady;  and  although  he  clearly  recognised 
the  right  of  that  lady  to  choose  and  to  judge 
for  herself,  he  resolved  that  she  should  be- 
come that  evening  acquainted  with  Mr. 
Crankey's  disposition,  of  which  she  really 
appeared  to  be  totally  ignorant. 

44  Come."  said  the  widow,  after  a  very 
awful  pause,  during  which  Crankey  looked 
as  black  as  a  thunder-cloud  just  on  the  point 
of  bursting;  "  what  say  you  to  a  rubber?" 

"  Any  thing  you  like,  ma'am,"  said 
Crankey,  "  I  am  ready  for  any  thing!"  and 
he  hurled  at  the  speculation  table  a  dark 
look  of  defiance. 

"  W'ell  come,  you'll  cut  in,  will  you 
not!"  observed  the  widow,  addressing  Va- 
lentine, whom  she  honored  with  one  of  her 
sweetest  smiles,  which  appeared  to  make 
Crankey's  blood  boil. 

Valentine  expressed  his  willingness  to 
join  them,  and  when  they  had  cut,  he  had 
Crankey  for  a  partner,  and  their  opponents 
were  Wrightman  and  Foxglove,  who  really 
were  very  quiet  gentlemanly  men. 

By  the  desperate  character  of  his  play,  it 
very  soon  became  manifest  that  Crankey's 
whole  soul  was  in  arms,  and  he  devoted  so 
much  attention  to  the  noise  which  proceeded 
from  the  speculation  table — ipply ing  almost 
every  observation  to  himself — that  in  play- 
ing the  very  first  hand  he  revoked.  The 
fact  was  duly  noticed  by  Mr.  Foxglove, 
who  at  once  enforced  the  penalty. 

"Then  you  mean  to  play  the  strict  game!" 
said  Crankey,  with  much  earnestness. 

"  Of  course,  my  dear  sir,  we  play  the 
game!" 

"  Very  well.  As  you  please.  It  makes 
no  odds  tome:  not  a  bit,"  said  Mr.  Crankey, 
shuffling  the  cards  with  unequivocal  despe- 
ration. "Now,  sir!— It's  my  deal." 

"  Oh,  he  can't  play!"  whispered  Valen- 
tine, throwing  his  voice  behind  Mr.  Cran- 
key as  he  dealt.  Mr.  Crankey  looked 
round,  and  albeit,  he  simply  said,  "  Can't 
he!"  the  consequence  was  a  misdeaj. 

"  Who  the  devil  can  deal  cards  or  play, 
or  do  any  thing  with  such  interruptions  as 
these!"  exclaimed  Crankey. 

"  What  interruptions!"  inquired  Mr. 
Foxglove. 

"  Why  these  ungentlemanly  observa- 
tions, these  whisperings  and  titterings 
while  a  man  is  dealing." 

"  I  heard  no  observations,"  said  Mr. 
Foxglove. 

••  lint  I  did,  sir!— I  am  not  deaf,  sir,  if 
other  people  arc!" 

"I  told  you  he  couldn't  play,"  cried 
Valentine,  throwing  his  voice  among  the 
speculating  people. 

Crankey  rose  and  gnashed  his  teeth  with 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


107 


considerable  violence,  and  grasped  the  back 
of  his  chair  with  great  energy  and  firmness, 
and  after  having  taken  a  comprehensive 
view  of  the  speculating  group,  cried,  "In- 
deed! If  he  can't  he'll  play  you  any  day  in 
the  week  for  what  you  like.  It  makes  no 
odds  to  me;  from  a  crown  to  ten  pound!" 
and  he  jingled  what  money  he  had  in  his 
pocket,  with  the  view  of  imparting  the  con- 
viction that  he  was  a  man  of  some  conside- 
rable pecuniary  substance. 

The  entire  party  looked  at  Mr.  Crankey 
with  an  expression  of  wonder,  but  as  no 
one  accepted  the  challenge,  he  hurled  a 
look  of  contempt  upon  the  speculators  in 
the  aggregate,  and  eventually  resumed  his 
seat. 

The  game  was  then  continued,  but  Mr. 
Crankey  was  so  excited  that  he  was  unable 
to  recollect  a  single  card  that  had  been 
played.  His  opponents  were  making  almost 
every  trick,  and  the  game  looked  particu- 
larly desperate,  when  as  Wrightman  was 
considering  which  card  he  should  next  lead, 
Valentine  made  it  appear  that  Mr.  Foxglove 
softly  whispered  "diamonds,"  which  hap- 
pened to  be  trumps,  and  accordingly  Wright- 
man conceiving  that  his  partner  had  a  hand 
which  would  carry  all  before  it — a  diamond 
was  led. 

"Oh!  that's  it,  is  it1!"  cried  Crankey 
sarcastically,  throwing  up  his  cards.  "  I 
knew  it  was  something  of  that,  /thought 
we  were  playing  the  game!" 

"  And  so  we  are,"  said  Mr.  Foxglove, 
"  are  we  not1?" 

"  Do  you  call  intimations,  sir,  playing 
the  game]" 

"  What  do  you  mean1?"  said  Mr.  Fox- 
glove. 

"  Why  this  is  what  I  mean,  sir — that  you 
had  no  right  to  tell  your  partner  to  lead 
trumps,  sir!  that's  what  I  mean!" 

"  /  tell  my  partner  to  lead  trumps! — I 
deny  it,  sir,  flatly  deny  it,"  and  the  denial 
was  so  palpably  barefaced  in  the  eyes  of 
Mr.  Crankey,  that  he  was  at  the  moment 
too  utterly  astounded  to  reply. 

"  You  are  making  yourself  very  disagree- 
able," continued  Mr.  Foxglove.  "I  will 
not  descend  to  argue  the  point,  but  in  order 
to  prove  that  I  did  not  call  for  trumps,  there 
are  my  cards,  sir,  I  have  not  a  single  trump 
in  my  hand,"  and  the  cards  were  duly  placed 
upon  the  table. 

"/have  all  the  trumps,"  said  Valentine, 
exhibiting  no  less  than  seven,  which  would 
of  necessity  have  carried  the  game;  but  that 
game  was  of  course  claimed  by  Mr.  Fox- 
glove, in  consequence  of  Crankey  having 
thrown  up  his  hand. 

"You  are  satisfied,  I  hope,"  said  Mr. 
Foxglove.  "  I  presume  that  you  are  satis- 


fied. Come,  if  we  are  to  play  the  game, 
for  Heaven's  sake,  sir,  let  us  play  it  plea- 
santly. I  hate  to  have  any  dispute." 

"And  so  do  I,  sir;  but  if  I  didn't  hear 
it—" 

"  You  must  have  been  mistaken,"  inter- 
rupted the  widow,  who  began  to  be  really 
ashamed  of  his  conduct,  and  to  recognise 
the  justice  of  Mr.  Foxglove's  observations, 
very  much  to  the  satisfaction  of  that  gen- 
tleman. 

"  I  tell  you  I  heard  diamonds  called,  Mrs. 
Smugman!"  cried  Crankey,  with  a  look 
which  seemed  to  chill  the  widow's  blood. 
"  Isn't  a  man  to  believe  his  own  ears'?" 

"  Then  it  must  have  been  mentioned  at 
the  speculation  table." 

"I  don't  know  where  it  was  mentioned, 
ma'am,  nor  do  I  care;  I  only  know  it  was 
mentioned,  and  that's  enough  for  me." 

"  Well,"  said  Valentine,  "shall  we  have 
another  game!" 

"  Oh,  with  all  my  heart!"  said  Mr.  Fox- 
glove. 

"  We'll  see  them  once  more,  Mr.  Crarsk- 
ey1?"  said  Valentine,  and  as  that  gentleman 
doggedly  consented,  the  cards  were  again 
dealt. 

Mr.  Crankey  made  the  first  three  tricks, 
but  just  as  he  was  about  to  lead  off  for  the 
fourth,  Valentine  throwing  his  voice  imme- 
diately behind  him,  whispered  "hearts." 

"  I'm  obliged  to  you;  but  I  play  my  own 
game.  I  want  no  advice,  no  instruction," 
said  Crankey,  turning  round  with  a  most 
unamiable  scowl,  of  course  expecting  to 
find  some  gentleman  at  his  elbow,  but  as 
he  could  see  no  one  standing  on  the  right, 
he  twirled  round  to  the  left,  and  as  he 
couldn't  find  any  one  near  him  at  all,  he 
led  spades  in  the  spirit  of  opposition.  His 
hand  happened  to  be  a  good  one;  and  as  it 
enabled  him  to  score  seven  points,  he  took 
a  deep  sip  of  brandy  and  water,  with  a  huge 
pinch  of  snuff  as  an  obligato  accompani- 
ment, and  began  in  reality  to  feel  a  little 
better. 

"  I  wish  to  goodness  he  would  go,"  said 
Valentine,  assuming  the  voice  of  a  female. 

"  Do  you"?"  cried  Crankey,  inspiring  at 
that  moment  a  fresh  stock  of  indignation. 
"  If  you  do,  madam,  why  I  shall  stop  all 
the  longer!"  and  he  honored  the  speculators 
indiscriminately  with  a  purely  sardonic 
smile,  aud  waved  his  hand  very  gracefully, 
and  bowed  with  great  politeness,  and  then, 
with  a  look  of  supreme  contempt,  turned 
round  to  examine  his  cards. 

"What  a  comical  wretch!"  said  Valen- 
tine, assuming  a  totally  different  voice. 

"A  wretch,  sir!  a  comical  wretch!"  cried 
Crankey,  starting  upon  his  legs.  "  What 
do  you  mean  by  a  wretch1?" 


108 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"  For  goodness  sake  what  is  the  matter1?" 
cried  the  widow. 

"The  matter,  ma'am? — this  is  the  mat- 
ter! I  did  not  come  here  to  be  insulted, 
ma'am,  grossly  insulted!" 

"  Who  has  insulted  you — who — who  is 
it?" 

"  Who  is  it,  ma'am?  Why  it's  one  of 
your  friends,  that's  who  it  is!" 

"  But  which  of  them?" 

"What  do  I  care!"  cried  Crankey,  and 
he  turned  from  the  widow  and  dropped  upon 
his  chair,  with  a  force  which  most  power- 
fully tested  the  stability  of  its  bottom. 

Had  young  love  himself  been  lingering 
in  the  heart  of  the  widow,  in  order  to  ad- 
vocate Crankey's  cause  at  that  moment,  his 
retreat  would  have  been  perfectly  certain; 
but  as  it  was — as  the  widow  preferred  Mr. 
Crankey  to  Mr.  Foxglove  only  in  conse- 
quence of  his  being  a  little  more  wealthy, 
she  simply  acknowledged  his  politeness  by 
a  bow,  and  took  no  farther  notice  of  the 
matter. 

"  WThat's  trumps?"  cried  Crankey.  "  If 
people  think  that  Pm  to  be  insulted,  they're 
mistaken — I  can  tell  'em — as  mistaken  as 
ever  they  were  in  their  lives!" 

"  Oh  indeed!"  said  Valentine. 

"Yes!  indeed!"  cried  the  victim,  turn- 
ing again  to  the  speculation  table;  "  why  1 
could  buy  up  the  whole  kit,  if  that's  what 
you  mean!" 

"  There's  the  knave  to  beat,"  said  Valen- 
tine in  his  natural  voice. 

"I  see  there's  the  knave  to  beat,"  cried 
Crankey,  dashing  down  the  queen  with  ex- 
traordinary force. 

"WTell,  well,"  said  Valentine  calmly, 
"  don't  be  angry  with  me." 

"Who   the  devil,   sir,   can   help    being 


angry?  Curse  me,  if  it  ain't  enough  to 
turn  the  very  sweetest  disposition  into  ver- 
digris. But/ won't  stand  it!  They've  got 
the  wrono-  man — the  vvronor  man,  sir,  I  can 
tell  'em!" 

At  this  moment  a  burst  of  merriment 
proceeded  from  the  speculation  table,  and 
Mr.  Crankey  immediately  started  up  again, 
and  commenced  an  active  scrutiny,  but  as 
he  found  all,  save  one,  laughing  heartily  at 
the  fact  of  that  one  having  given  seven- 
pence-halfpenny  for  the  queen,  when  he  had 
both  the  ace  and  the  king  in  his  own  hand, 
Mr.  Crankey  again  resumed  his  seat,  mut- 
tering something  which  sounded  not  much 
like  a  blessing. 

"  Your  play,  sir,"  observed  Mr.  Fox- 
glove. 

"I  know  it,"  cried  Crankey,  who  could 
not  then  bear  to  be  spoken  to. 

"  Hearts,"  whispered  Valentine,  assum- 
ing the  voice  of  Mr.  Foxglove,  and  the  ace 
of  hearts  was  led  by  Mr.  Foxglove's  part- 
ner; which  Crankey  no  sooner  perceived, 
than  he  started  up  again,  dashed  the  cards 
very  violently  upon  the  table,  and,  having 
hurled  upon  those  around  him  a  withering 
look  of  scorn,  placed  his  arms  most  majes- 
tically beneath  his  coat  tails,  and  bounced 
out  of  the  room. 

His  departure  was  hailed  with  satisfac- 
tion by  all;  and  the  remainder  of  the  even- 
ing was  spent  most  agreeably.     The  specu- 
lators played  until  twelve,  then  had  supper, 
and  then  sang  some  very  sweet  songs;  and 
Mr.    Foxglove,    who  was   really   a    very  f 
decent  fellow,  had  that  night  the  high  sa-  I- 
tisfaction  of   hearing   the  amiable  widow  ' 
acknowledge  that  he  was  the  absolute  mas- 
ter of  her  heart. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

CONTAINS  A  BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW  OF  GOODMAN'S  UNENVIABLE  POSITION. 


ALTHOUGH  it  may  be  very  profoundly  con- 
tended, that  use  is  second  nature,  and  that 
afflictions,  however  poignant,  lose  their 
virtue  in  time; — although  theorists,  in  il- 
lustration, may  bring  forth  the  fact  of  a 
man  having  been  sentenced  to  sleep  upon 
spikes  so  long  that,  when  compulsion  h;ul 
ceased,  he  still  stuck  to  his  spikes  when  he 
•wanted  to  sleep,  as  a  matter  of  comfort; — 
it  seems  to  be  abundantly  clear  that  there 
are  certain  states  of  existence  which,  how- 
ever much  used  to  them  men  may  become, 
shut  out  all  prospect  of  reconciliation. 


Goodman  was  an  universal-happiness 
man.  Ho  delighted  in  contending  that 
happiness  was  equally  diffused;  biU  from 
the  moment  of  his  incarceration  in  Dr. 
Holdem's  den,  his  views  on  that  subject 
had  gradually  changed.  It  may  appear  at 
lir>t  siirht  extraordinary  that  a  man  <  i 
principles  like  Goodman  should  have  been 
so  inconsistent;  but  lost  his  inconsistency 
shouM  be  deemed  reprehensible,  it  \\ill  ho 
perfectly  proper  to  describe  ihe  exact  pro- 
cess by  which  the  change  in  his  opinion* 
on  this  matter  had  been  wrought. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


109 


It  was  about  eight  o'clock  on  the  morning 
after  the  seizure,  that  a  fellow  unlocking 
the  door  of  the  cell  in  which  Goodman  had 
spent  a  most  horrible  night,  shouted,  "  Now 
then!  up  with  you!  d'ye  hear]" 

Goodman,  at  the  moment,  involuntarily 
shrank  from  the  scowl  of  this  ruffian.  He 
however  soon  recovered  his  self  possession 
and  attempted  to  rise,  but  found  every 
limb  so  stiff  and  sore,  that  he  sank  back 
groaning  with  agony. 

"Now  then!  Come,  none  of  that  rub- 
bish! It  won't  do  here!" 

"  My  good  man,"  said  Goodman,  "  pray, 
pray  don't  be  harsh.  I  am  too  ill — I  really 
am  too  ill  to  rise." 

"  We'll  see  about  that,"  cried  the  ruffian, 
catching  hold  of  the  edge  of  the  mattrass, 
and  with  a  sudden  jerk  flinging  poor  Good- 
man upon  the  floor.  "  Come,  tumble  up 
with  you!  I'm  not  going  to  stay  here  all 
day!" 

Goodman  made  another  desperate  effort 
to  rise;  but  the  pain  which  accompanied 
that  effort,  at  once  caused  him  again  to  sink 
back. 

"  Oh!  I'm  not  going  to  stand  all  this 
here,  you  know!"  shouted  the  fellow,  as  he 
seized  him  by  the  throat  and  dragged  him 
up. 

"If  I  am  to  be  murdered,"  cried  Good- 
man, "be  merciful;  kill  me  at  once; — don't! 
pray  don't  torture  me  thus!" 

"  Do  what!"  cried  the  ruffian,  clenching 
his  fist,  and  grinding  his  huge  teeth  despe- 
rately; "Give  me  any  more  of  it — say 
another  word,  and  I'll  show  you  what's 
what  in  about  half  a  minute." 

Goodman,  finding  that  he  was  completely 
in  the  ruffian's  power,  was  silent;  and  hav- 
ing managed,  in  a  state  more  dead  than 
alive,  to  draw  on  his  clothes,  was  dragged 
into  a  room  in  which  a  number  of  persons 
were  sitting  at  breakfast. 

As  he  entered,  a  chorus  of  sighs  burst  at 
once  from  the  group,  and  they  gazed  upon 
his  countenance  with  an  expression  of 
sorrow.  A  person  of  gentlemanly  exterior 
rose,  placed  a  chair  for  him  at  the  table, 
and  then  sat  beside  him,  and  having 
pressed  him  with  much  delicacy  to  partake 
of  the  refreshment  provided,  which  con- 
sisted of  lumps  of  bread  and  butter  and 
weak  tea,  he  endeavored  to  cheer  him,  and 
did  at  length  succeed  in  making  him  feel 
that  he  should  have  at  least  one  consola- 
tion, namely,  that  of  his  society. 

"Now  then! — come  into  the  garden!" 
shouted  a  fellow,  when  the  lumps  of  bread 
and  butter  had  vanished;  and  the  patients 
— as  they  were  called,  but  the  prisoners  as 
they  were — rose,  and  walked  away  mourn- 
fully: Goodman  alone  lingered. 


"Now  then!  are  you  going1?"  cried  the 
ruffian. 

"I'm  really  too  ill,"  said  Goodman 
faintly,  "  to  walk." 

"Oh,  rubbish!— be  off !—  Now  then 
start!" 

"  I  wish  to  write  a  letter!" 

"  Be  off  into  the  garden,  I  tell  you!  Do 
you  hear  what  I  say?" 

"Yes,  yes! — but — can  I  see  the  proprie- 
tor!" 

"Don't bother  me! — Come,  start! — there, 
that's  all  about  it!" 

On  his  way  to  the  garden  he  met  Dr. 
Holdem,  whom  he  ventured  to  address. 

"I  know  nothing,"  said  he,  "of  your 
regulations;  but,  pray  do  not  suffer  your 
servants  to  treat  me  so  brutally!" 

"Brutally!"  cried  the  doctor;  "  My  ser- 
vants treat  you  brutally! — pooh,  pooh!  it's 
all  your  delusion!" 

"  No,  sir!"  said  Goodman  emphatically; 
"it  is  not  a  delusion.  I  am,  sir," — 

"  Hullo!  hullo!  none  of  your  insolence!" 
interrupted  Dr.  Holdem—"  Be  off !"— And 
one  of  his  myrmidons  seized  him  by  the 
collar  and  dragged  him  away. 

On  reaching  the  place  which  was  digni- 
fied with  the  appellation  of  a  garden,  in 
which  there  were  about  a  dozen  withering 
plants,  poor  Goodman*- was  joined  by  Mr. 
Whitely,  the  gentleman  who  at  breakfast 
had  so  kindly  addressed  him.  From  him 
he  learned  the  rules  of  this  dreadful  place; 
and  received  advice  with  reference  to  the 
mode  in  which  he  might  escape  much  ill- 
treatment.  He  advised  him  to  make  no 
complaint — to  bear  whatever  indignities 
might  be  heaped  upon  him  in  silence,  and 
to  hope  for  the  means  of  eventually  escap- 
ing." 

"  Escaping!"  cried  Goodman,  "  why,  can 
I  not  write  to  my  friends!" 

"  No,  that  is  not  allowed." 

"Not  allowed! — you  have  visiting  ma- 
gistrates!" 

"  The  commissioners  visit  us  occasional- 
ly. They  are  compelled  to  come  four  times 
a-year,  but  that  is  frequently  at  intervals  of 
five  or  six  months." 

"  Well,  when  they  do  come,  and  I  appeal 
to  them,  they  will,  of  course,  see  that  1  am 
not  mad!" 

"Ah!  that  was  my  impression.  There 
was  my  hope;  but  the  first  time  they  came, 
the  keeper  gave  me  a  certain  drug,  and  then 
goaded  me  into  a  state  of  excitement,  which, 
when  I  was  examined,  made  me  appear  to 
be  insane,  and  that  impression  has  never 
been  removed." 

"  God  bless  me!"  said  Goodman;  "  but 
there  are  some  insane  persons  in  this 
wretched  place!" 


110 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"There  are  some;  but  very,  very  few," 
replied  Mr.  Whitely. 

"That  is  one,  I  presume?"  said  Good- 
man, pointing  to  a  melancholy  creature, 
who  was  hand-cuffed  and  chained  to  a  log. 

"  He  is  no  more  insane,  sir,  than  I  am," 
said  Whitely;  "but  having,  about  twelve 
months  ago,  made  an  effort  to  escape,  he 
has  been  handcuffed  and  chained  day  and 
night  ever  since." 

At  this  moment  one  of  the  keepers  ap- 
proached, and  with  a  single  blow,  knocked 
down  a  man  for  throwing  a  stone  over  the 
wall.  The  poor  fellow  took  no  notice  of 
this  outrage,  but  rose  to  avoid  being  kicked, 
and  walked  away. 

"What  a  monstrous  proceeding!"  cried 
Goodman  indignantly. 

"Nothing,"  said  Whitely,  "is  too  mon- 
strous to  be  perpetrated  here.  But  silence! 
— he's  coming  this  way." 

"  So  you'll  go  and  tell  the  doctor  you're 
ill-used,  will  you!"  cried  the  ruffian — with 
whom  the  doctor  had  expostulated,  fearing 
that  as  Goodman  was  exceedingly  weak, 
too  much  cruelty  would  deprive  him  of  life, 
and  thereby  deprive  the  establishment  of  a 
certain  sum  per  annum. — "You'll  tell  him 
I  hurt  you  again — eh! — will  you?"  he  con- 
tinued, grasping  Goodman  by  the  throat, 
and  shaking  him  with  violence — "I  treat 
you  brutally,  do  II — Brutally! — brutally! — 
brutally!" 

At  each  repetition  of  the  word  "brutally" 
he  kicked  him  with  all  the  force  at  his 
command,  and  then  left  him  to  fall  upon 
the  ground  in  a  state  of  exhaustion. 

While  this  atrocious  outrage  was  being 
committed,  many  of  the  inmates  came  to 


the  spot.  Whttely's  blood  boiled,  but  he 
dared  not  interfere;  and  several  of  the  other 
sane  victims  felt  equally  indignant  but 
equally  powerless.  A  religious  enthusiast 
looked  up  to  Heaven  as  he  pointed  to  the 
ruffian's  brutal  exercise  of  his  power,  while 
two  poor  idiots  dangled  their  hands,  and 
appeared  to  be  utterly  lost  in  amazement. 

The  moment  the  fellow  had  left  the  spot, 

shouting,    "There!    now   tell   the    doctor 

again!"  Mr.  Whitely  lifted  Goodman  from 

I  the  ground,  and  endeavored  to  console  him. 

|  He  begged  of  him  not  to  mention  the  occur- 

|  rence  to  Dr.  Holdem,  as  the  ruffian  would 

be  certain  to  have  his  revenge,  and  labored 

to  impress  upon  his  mind  the  iuutility'as 

well  as  the  danger  of  complaining.     Good- 

j  man  sobbed  bitterly,  and  big  scalding  tears 

chased  each  other  down  his  cheeks  as  he 

acknowledged  the  kindness  of  his  friend. 

At  one  o'clock  they  were  all  ordered  in 
to  partake  of  a  miserable  dinner,  and  im- 
mediately afterwards  turned  again  into  the 
.  yard.     At  five,  being  tea-time,   the  same 
i  degrading  ceremonies  were  performed;  and 
I  at  eight  they  were  all  locked  up  for  the  night. 
|  There  was  the  same  round  of  wretchedness, 
i  day  after  day,  without  the  slightest  em- 
ployment or  amusement  of  any  description. 
Not  a  letter  could  be  written:  not  a  book 
could  be   procured:    nothing  calculated  to 
mitigate  their  misery  for  a  single  moment 
was  permitted,  from  the  time  they  rose  in 
i  the  morning  till  they  were  driven,  like  cat- 
i  tie,  into  their  cells,  there  to  linger  for  twelve 
!  weary  hours   in   darkness,  torturing   iheir 
minds  by  reflecting  on  the  monstrous  inhu- 
manity of  those  to  whom  nature  had  prompt- 
ed them  to  look  for  affection. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  EQUALRIGHTITES'  MIGHTY  DEMONSTRATION. 


WHY  are  not  all  men  socially  equal!  Are 
they  not  born  with  equal  rights!  Have 
they  not  sprung  from  one  common  parent, 
and  have  they  not,  therefore,  a  right  to 
share  equally  every  comfort  the  world  can 
afford!  If  nature  herself  be  perfection, 
does  it  not  follow  that  that  which  is  not  in 
accordance  with  nature  must  be  in  propor- 
tion imperfect!  Why,  of  course!  And 
hence,  as  a  state  of  civilisation  is  diame- 
trically opposed  to  a  state  of  nature,  civili- 
sation is  palpably  the  mostimperfectscheme 
tli.it  ever  afflicted  the  world.  Nature  pre- 
scribes no  social  inequality!— yet  some  men 


]  are  wealthy,  while  others  are  poor;  and 
those  who  toil  zealously,  day  by  day,  are  ab- 
solutely, in  a  social  point  of  view,  worse  off 
than  those  who  are  not  forced  to  labor  at  all! 

With  a  view  to  the  correction  of  this 
monstrous  state  of  things,  an  appropriately 
organized  body  of  patriots  had  a  mighty  de- 
monstration on  Clerkenwell-green,  the  very 
day  on  which  Valentine  learnt  with  much 
pain  that,  by  some  young  gentleman — acting1 
upon  the  same  eternal  principle  of  equal 
right— the  steward's  striped  jacket  had  been 
•total. 

As  he  strolled  towards  the  place  which 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


Ill 


had  once  been  an  actual  Green,  doubtless, 
but  which  was  a  Green  only  nominally 
then,  he  was  not  in  the  happiest  spirits;  for 
although  he  had  previously  thought  little  of 
the  card,  or  of  the  lady  whose  name  that 
card  bore,  he  now  began  to  be  unspeakably 
anxious  about  the  one,  and  to  feel  himself 
desperately  in  love  with  the  other.  On 
perceiving,  however,  the  mighty  masses 
assembled,  he  forgot  for  the  moment  both, 
and  pushed  through  the  crowd  towards  a 
waggon  which  had  been  drawn  to  the  spot 
by  an  animal,  looking  about  the  ribs  really 
wretched,  but  still,  as  he  then  had  his  nose- 
bag on,  he  kept  nodding  his  perfect  ap- 
probation of  the  arrangements,  as  far  as 
they  went.  In  the  waggon — or  to  write 
with  more  propriety — upon  the  hustings, 
stood  a  dense*mass  of  partriots,  sweating 
with  indignation,  and  panting  to  inspire  the 
mighty  masses  with  a  perfect  appreciation  of 
the  blessings  which  would,  of  necessity, 
flow  from  a  system  of  social  equality;  nay, 
so  intense  was  the  anxiety  of  the  patriots 
present  to  advocate  boldly  their  dear  coun- 
try's cause,  that  when  the  waggon  was  full 
of  them,  literally  crammed,  many  very  pa- 
triotically hung  on  behind,  which  clearly 
proved  to  the  sovereign  people,  that  there 
was  absolutely  nothing  which  those  patriots 
would  not  endure,  to  carry  out  that  essen- 
tially glorious  down-with-every-thing-no- 
nothing  principle,  of  which  they  professed 
to  be  so  ardently  enamored, 

When  the  time  had  arrived  for  the  com- 
mencement of  the  highly  important  pro- 
ceedings of  the  day,  it  was  most  inconsis- 
tently felt  by  some  of  the  leaders,  that  they 
ought  to  have  a  chairman;  but  an  eminent 
patriot  no  sooner  stepped  forward  for  the 
purpose  of  nominating  a  highly  distinguish- 
ed Flamer,  than  certain  whole-hog-equal- 
rightites  contended  that  all  of  them  pos- 
sessed an  equal  right  to  be  in  the  chair;  and 
that  therefore  no  one  had  a  right  to  be 
placed  above  another.  This  was  clearly 
very  appropriate,  and  very  consistent  with 
the  eternal  equalrightite  principle;  but  as  it 
was  suggested  that  they  might,  without 
compromising  that  principle,  so  fai  yield 
to  the  grossly  corrupt  prescriptions  of  civi- 
lisation, the  mighty  masses  at  once  recog- 
nised the  Flamer  as  their  president,  and 
hailed  him,  as  he  pulled  off  his  hat  to  ad- 
dress them,  with  three  very  vehement 
cheers. 

"My  Fellow  Countrymen!"  said  he, 
conceiving  doubtless  that  to  address  them 
as  "  Gentlemen"  would  be  rather  too  much 
of  a  joke  to  tell  well— "This  indeed  is  a 
glorious  sight!  When  1  behold  the  sove- 
reign people  pouring  down  like  a  mighty 
torrent  which  sweeps  all  before  it,  and 


which  nothing  can  stem — when  I  behold 
the  glorious  masses  with  agony  groaning 
beneath  the  iron  hoof  of  oligarchical  tyran- 
ny and  crushed  to  the  very  earth  by  a  mon- 
strous accumulation  of  bitter  wrongs — when 
I  behold  you,  my  countrymen,  rushing  here 
to  burst  your  degrading  chains  asunder,  and 
to  shout  with  one  universal  voice—4  WE 
WILL  BE  FREE!' — my  heart  throbs  with  de- 
light, my  eyes  sparkle  with  gladness,  my 
soul  seerns  inspired,  and  my  bosom  swells 
with  joy  [immense  cheering!}  What  are  you, 
my  countrymen — what  are  you? — Slaves! 
base,  abject,  spiritless  SLAVES! — Slaves,  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world,  of  the  vilest  descrip- 
tion: Slaves,  with  the  power  to  be  free! 
Arise!— Shake  off  that  apathy  which  acts 
upon  your  energies  like  an  incubus.  Down 
with  the  tyrants  by  whom  you  are  op- 
pressed. Arm ! — arm  to  the  very  teeth 
[vehement  applause!']  Follow  the  glorious 
example  of  your  brave  fellow  countrymen 
in  the  North  !  Join  them  in  the  Holy 
Month.  Strike!— and  run  for  gold  !  Con- 
vert all  your  notes  into  specie! — let  that  be 
the  first  grand  step  towards  the  universal 
paralysation  !  Be  resolute!  Be  firm!  Act 
like  men  who  know  their  rights  and  will 
maintain  them!  The  hour  is  at  hand!  Hurl 
the  base  tyrants  into  universal  chaos!" — 

"  We  will!  We  willf '  cried  the  mighty 
masses  holding  up  and  brandishing  a  forest 
of  knives  which  glittered  picturesquely  in 
the  sun. 

Valentine  no  sooner  saw  this  display  than 
he  drew  out  his  knife — the  blade  of  which 
was  full  an  inch  and  a  half  long- — with  a 
view  to  his  own  safety,  by  making  it  appear 
to  those  around  that  he  was  ready  to  go  the 
whole  hog,  and  feeling  that  he  was  bound 
as  a  loyal  subject  to  put  an  end  to  these 
proceedings  if  possible  at  once,  shouted 
"  Soldiers!  soldiers!"  throwing  his  voice 
just  behind  the  chairman— and  the  mighty 
masses  buried  their  knives  in  their  breeches' 
pockets,  and  looked  round  eagerly  for  the 
appearance  of  the  troops. 

"  The  soldiers!"  cried  the  chairman,  hav- 
ing satisfied  himself  that  none  were  near. 
"The  soldiers  are  our  friends!  And  if  even 
they  were  not,  why — why  need  we  care  for 
the  soldiers'?  But  1  know  that  they  are 
ready  to  join  us  to  a  man!  Let  but  the 
Holy  Month—" 

"  The  Holy  what?"  cried  Valentine. 

The  chairman  contemptuously  turned  to 
the  quarter  from  which  the  voice  appeared 
to  proceed,  but  scorning  the  ignorant  cha- 
racter of  the  question,  disdained  to  make 
any  reply.  "  I  say  let  but  the  Holy  Month," 
he  continued,  "be  commenced,  and  you  will 
see  the  soldiers" — 


112 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"  Mowing  you  down  like  grass!"  cried 
Valentine. 

"•  No,  no!  Let  them  try  it  on!"  shouted 
the  mighty  masses,  again  brandishing  their 
clasp  knives  and  yelling  like  furies. 

"  We  have,  my  fellow-countrymen,  trai- 
tors in  the  camp!"  cried  the  chairman.  "  We 
are  surrounded  by  spies  from  the  Treasury; 
but  let  the  degraded  hirelings  go  back  to 
the  tyrants  whom  they  serve,  and  tell  them 
from  us,  that  we  not  only  bid  them  defiance, 
but  hold  them  in  sovereign  contempt!" 

This  burst  of  courageous  indignation  was 
followed  by  three  dreadful  groans  for  the 
spies;  and  when  the  Treasury  tyrants,  by 
whom  they  were  employed,  had  been  sim- 
ilarly honored,  the  chairman  introduced  a 
Mr.  Coweel  for  the  purpose  of  proposing 
the  first  resolution. 

"  Feller-kuntrymen!  I'm  a  hopperative!" 
shouted  Mr.  Coweel  who  was  a  powerful 
man,  but  very  dirty;  "I'm  for  down  with 
all  taxes,  all  pensions,  all  sinnycures,  and 
all  other  speeches  off  rotten  corruption. — 
I'm  hallso  for  down  with  the  church!  Why 
should  we  have  a  holly-garkle  harmy  of  fat 
bishops?  Why  should  we  pay  'em  a  mat- 
ter o'  nineteen  million  o'  money  a-year  to 
support  their  kids  and  konkybines — eh? 
What  is  the  good  on  'em1?  Why,  I'd  — " 

"  Down!  down!"  cried  Valentine,  assum- 
ing the  chairman's  voice. 

"  WThat  d'yar  mean  by  down1?"  said  Mr. 
Coweel  to  the  chairman. 

The  chairman  bowed  to  Mr.  Coweel,  and 
assured  him  that  he  had  not  spoken. 

"  Well,  I  thought,"  said  Mr.  Coweel, 
"  the  hobserwation  was  rayther  too  huncon- 
stitutional  for  you;  but  as  I  was  a  say  in  the 
holly-garkle  bishops  — " 

"  Get  down,  you  fool!"  cried  Valentine, 
throwing  his  voice  behind  the  speaker. 

"  What  d'yar  mean1?"  cried  Mr.  Coweel, 
"  I'll  down  with  you  in  just  about  no  time, 
my  cove,  if  yer  any  ways  nasty.  What! 
d'yer  think  I  care  for  you1?  PYaps  you'd 
like  to  take  it  out  on  me,  'cos  if  yer  would, 
yer  know,  why  ony  say  so,  that's  hall!" 
and  Mr.  Coweel  looked  daggers  at  every 
patriot  whom  he  at  that  moment  caught  in 
the  act  of  smiling,  and  having  signified  his 
ability  to  "lick  seventy  dozen  on  'em,  jist 
like  a  sack,  one  down  and  tother  comoon," 
he  returned,  at  the  suggestion  of  the  pat- 
riotic chairman,  to  the  episcopal  business 
he  wished  to  explain.  "  Well!"  said  he, 
again  addressing  the  mighty  masses,  "  I'm 
for  down  with  all  hunconstitutional  — " 

"  Silence,  you  idiot!  I'll  kick  you  out  of 
the  waggon!"  shouted  Valentine  with  all 
the  power  of  which  he  was  capable. 

"  What!"  cried  Mr.  Coweel,  turning 
round  with  due  promptitude — "  what'll  yer 


do? — kick  me 
many   on  yer, 


out  o 
eh? 


'  the  waggon?     How 
I  should  werry  much 

like  to  give  you  a  quilting  any  how! — kick 
me  out! — try  it  on! — kick  me  out  o'  the 
waggon!" 

At  this  interesting  moment  a  patriot,  who 
was  panting  to  address  the  sovereign  peo- 
ple, and  who  was  standing  about  six  feet 
from  Mr.  Coweel,  had  the  temerity,  in  the 
plenitude  of  his  impatience,  to  cry,  "  either 
go  on,  or  cut  it!" 

"  Oh  ho!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Coweel,  "  I've 
found  you  out,  have  I,  my  tulip?  It's  you 
that'll  kick  me  out  o'  the  waggon  then,  is 
it?"  and  Mr.  Coweel  aimed  a  blow  at  the 
tulip,  but  missed  him  by  about  two  feet 
and  a  half.  This  miss  did  not,  by  any 
means,  impart  satisfaction  ^o  Mr.  Coweel. 
He  was  anxious  to  hit  conviction  into  the 
mind  of  the  tulip  that  he  was  not  the  sort 
of  man  to  be  kicked  out  of  a  waggon.  He, 
therefore,  struck  out  again  very  forcibly  and 
freely,  but  every  blow  aimed,  fell  more  or 
less  short.  This  seemed  to  enrage  him. 
He  looked  very  fierce.  His  elbows  were 
sharp,  and  he  used  them:  he  dug  them  with 
so  much  decision  and  point,  and,  moreover, 
to  such  an  extraordinary  depth  into  the 
backs  and  the  stomachs  of  those  who  stood 
near  him,  that  really  his  struggles  to  get  at 
the  tulip  became  so  particularly  unpleasant 
to  the  patriots  who  were  standing  in  his 
immediate  vicinity,  that,  feeling  it  to  be  a 
duty  incumbent  upon  them — a  duty  which 
they  owed,  not  only  to  themselves  as  indi- 
viduals, but  to  society  at  large — they  pin- 
ioned his  arms,  caught  hold  of  his  legs, 
and  pitched  him  among  the  mighty  masses 
below. 

A  loud  shout  burst  from  the  sovereign 
people! — a  shout  which  was  echoed  by 
Hick's  Hall,  and  reverberated  clean  through 
the  house  of  correction.  The  masses,  albeit 
they  clearly  perceived  that  the  principle 
upon  which  Coweel  had  been  pitched  from 
the  waggon  was  that  of  purely  physical 
force,  could  not  at  the  moment  precisely 
comprehend  the  great  fundamental  principle 
upon  which  that  physical  force  had  been 
developed.  They  fancied  at  first  that  he 
was  one  of  the  spies;  but  when  he  mounted 
the  nave  of  the  near  hind-wheel,  and — after 
having  dealt  out  his  blows  with  really  des- 
perate energy,  and  that  with  the  most  abso- 
lute indiscrimination — addressed  the  mighty 
masses  as  Britons  and  as  men,  denouncing 
this  unconstitutional  act  of  tyranny,  and 
calling  upon  them,  as  they  valued"  tlirir 
liberties,  to  aid  him  in  turning  the  waggon 
upside  down — they  held  him  to  be  a  man 
who  simply  sought  the  redress  of  wrongs, 
and  hence  felt  themselves  bound,  by  every 
just  and  eternal  principle  by  which  their 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


113 


their  souls  were  guided,  to  assist  him  in 
pitching  the  vehicle  over. 

Just,  however,  as  those  who  were  nearest 
to  the  hustings  were  proceeding  with  due 
promptitude  to  carry  this  design  into  actual 
execution,  a  loud  and  warlike  shout  of  "  THE 
PEELERS!  THE  PEELERS!"  burst  upon  their 
patriotic  ears,  and  induced  them  to  defer 
their  labor  of  love;  while  mighty  sections  of 
the  sovereign  people  rushed  with  due  mag- 
nanimity from  the  scene,  rolling  over  those 
masses  which  had  fallen  before  them,  and 
forming  themselves,  in  turn,  stumbling 
blocks  to  those  of  whom  they  had  courage- 
ously taken  the  precedence. 

"The  Peelers!"  thought  Valentine— 
"the  Peelers! — what  manner  of  men  are 
the  Peelers,  that  their  presence  should  gene- 
rate so  much  alarm  in  the  minds  of  the 
Sovereign  People1?" 

His  conjectures,  however,  having  refer- 
ence to  the  probability  of  their  being  either 
hideous  monsters,  or  gigantic  fiends,  were 
very  speedily  put  an  end  to  by  the  approach 
of  six  policemen,  who  marched  with  due 
solemnity  of  step  towards  the  hustings;  and 
as  they  approached,  those  sections  of  the 
mighty  masses  who  still  kept  their  ground, 
were  as  quiet  as  lambs. 

It  at  once  became  abundantly  manifest, 
that  those  six  Peelers  had  arrived  with  some 
object  in  view;  and  before  the  Sovereign 
People  had  time  even  to  guess  what  that 
object  might  be,  one  of  the  Peelers  very 
coolly  deprived  the  horse  of  his  nose-bag; 
another  just  as  coolly  returned  the  bit  to  his 
mouth;  and  a  third,  with  equal  coolness,  got 
hold  of  the  reins,  when  a  fourth,  who  was 
certainly  not  quite  so  cool,  did,  by  virtue  of 
the  application  of  a  short  round  truncheon, 
persuade  the  passive  animal  to  move  on. 

At  starting,  the  horse  had  so  tremendous 
a  load,  that,  in  order  to  draw  it  all,  he  was 
compelled  to  put  out  all  the  physical  force 
he  had  in  him,  but  the  patriots  displayed  so 
much  alacrity  in  leaping  out  among  the 
Sovereign  People,  who  were  roaring  with 
laughter,  that  before,  long  before  it  had 
reached  Mutton-hill,  the  mighty  masses 
beheld  the  vehicle  perfectly  empty. 

Valentine  was  lost  in  admiration  of  the 
tact,  and  tranquillity  of  spirit  displayed  by 
the  Peelers.  It  is  true  they  met  with  no 
opposition; — it  is  true  that  they  had  only  to 
lead  the  horse  off  to  compel  the  patriots 
either  to  leap  out  of  the  wagon,  or  to  have 
a  ride  gratis  to  the  Green-yard;  but  the  cool, 
the  dispassionate,  the  business-like  manner 
in  which  they  conducted  the  whole  thing, 
struck  Valentine  as  being  admirable  in  the 
extreme. 

The   vehicle,   on   reaching   Mutton-hill, 

was  lost  to  view;  and  as  Valentine  turned 

11 


to  ascertain  what  the  mighty  masses  con- 
templated next,  he  met  the  full  gaze  of  a 
person  who  looked  like  a  decent  master 
blacksmith,  and  who,  addressing  him,  said, 
"  Are  you  an  Equalrightite'?" 

"  I  certainly  profess  to  have  at  least  an 
equal  right,"  replied  Valentine,  "  to  ask 
you  that  question." 

"  You  have  a  knife  about  your  person, 
have  you  not?" 

"I  have,"  said  Valentine,  "What  then1?" 

"  You  had  it  open  in  the  crowd  near  the 
hustings." 

"  Well!  and  what  is  that  to  you?" 

The  individual,  who  was  a  Peeler  incog., 
at  once  beckoned  to  his  undisguised  com- 
rades, who  came  to  the  spot,  collared  Val- 
entine firmly,  and  proceeded  to  drag  him 
away. 

The  mighty  masses  had  their  eyes  upon 
those  Peelers,  whom  they  viewed  as  their 
natural  enemies.  They  had  previously  sus- 
pected that  they  were  anxious  to  capture 
some  one,  and  as  there  were  but  two  of  them 
then,  they  felt,  of  course,  bound  by  every 
principle  they  professed,  to  oppose  with 
firmness  whatever  tyrannical  movement 
they  might  make.  When,  therefore,  they 
saw  in  the  seizure  of  Valentine  the  liberty 
of  the  subject  contemned,  they  raised  a 
shout  of  indignation  and  rushed  boldly  to 
the  rescue.  The  Peelers  saw  in  a  moment 
— and  it  really  is  astonishing  how  quickly 
those  fellows  do  see — that  the  sovereign 
people  meant  something.  They,  therefore, 
pulled  out  their  truncheons  and  grasped  the 
collar  of  Valentine  with  more  firmness  still; 
but  in  spite  of  these  palpable  signs  of  de- 
termination, the  mighty  masses  rushed  like 
a  torrent  upon  them  and  tried  to  persuade 
them,  by  knocking  them  down,  to  relin- 
quish their  tyrannous  hold.  The  Peelers 
were  firm.  Although  down,  they  held  on. 
They  were  resolute  men,  and  would  not  be 
defeated.  They  applied  their  short  trun- 
cheons, with  consummate  force,  to  the 
ankles  and  shins  of  the  sovereign  people, 
and  that  too,  with  so  much  effect,  that  they 
again  rose  up  like  giants  refreshed,  with 
Valentine  still  in  their  grasp.  The  mighty 
masses  once  more  rushed  upon  them,  and 
the  Peelers  once  more  shook  them  off  by 
the  prompt  application  of  their  tyrannous 
truncheons  to  the  sacred  hats  of  the  sove- 
reign people,  and  to  the  sacred  heads  of 
those  whose  hats  were  at  their  Uncle's. 
It  was  in  vain  that  Valentine  begged  of 
them  to  desist.  They  wouldn't  hear  of  it! 
No! — they  returned  to  the  charge,  caught 
hold  of  his  legs,  and  felt  victory  sure! 

"Let  go!" — shouted  Valentine  indig- 
nantly. "  You  asses,  let  go!" — which,  how- 
ever ungrateful,  was  perfectly  natural  under 


114 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


the  circumstances,  seeing  that  between  the 
sovereign  people  and  the  Peelers,  he  was 
really  being  torn  limb  from  limb. 

The  mighty  masses  were,  however,  too 
near  the  consummation  of  their  hopes  to  j 
attend  to  this  burst  of  ingratitude.     They 
wanted  him  away,  and  would  have  him! — j 
if  it  were  only  to  defeat  their  natural  ene- 
mies.     They  therefore  gave  another  loud 
"Hurrah!" — and    in    a    moment — in    the  \ 
twinkling    of    an    eye! — when    Valentine 
thought  that  his  arms  and  legs  were  all  off 


together— they   got    him    away   from    the 
Peelers! 

A  loud  shout  of  triumph  rent  the  air  as  they 
held  up  their  trophy  aloft;  and  having  given 
three  cheers  for  the  sovereign  people,  and 
three  gorgonian  groans  for  the  Peelers,  they 
converted  their  high  and  mighty  shoulders 
into  a  species  of  triumphal  car,  upon  which 
they  paraded  him  round  the  scene  of  action 
until  they  were  ready  to  drop;  when  he 
broke  away  from  them,  jumped  into  a  coach, 
and  happily  made  his  escape. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


IN  WHICH    HORACE  SETS  TO    WITH  THE  GHOST  OF    GOODMAN,  AND  WALTER  BURNS  THE 

SPECTRE  OUT. 


'*  COME,  come!  I  say,  governor!  come!" 
exclaimed  Horace,  about  the  middle  of  the 
third  night  of  his  sitting  up  with  his  vene- 
rable father,  whose  delirium  continued  to 
be  active  and  strong;  "  this  won't  do,  you 
know — flesh  and  blood  can't  stand  it." 

"  Hush!"  cried  Walter,  raising  his  hand 
as  he  fixed  his  glazed  eyes  on  vacancy; 
"there!"  he  continued  in  a  thrilling  whis- 
per— "  there! — there  again!  Turn  him  out! 
turn  him  out!" 

There  are  times  at  which  even  the  most 
thoughtless,  the  most  reckless  are  struck 
•with  a  feeling  of  awe;  when  the  blood 
seems  to  chill,  and  the  heart  seems  to  faint, 
and  all  physical  power  appears  to  be  gone 
— when  the  soul  is  startled  and  the  cheeks 
are  blanched,  and  each  function  appears  to 
be  under  the  influence  of  some  indescriba- 
ble paralysis.  Oh!  it  is,  questionless,  one 
of  the  most 'strikingly  beautiful  feelings  of 
which  human  nature  is  susceptible,  and 
this  feeling  crawled  over  Horace,  as  he 
exclaimed,  "  Pooh!  it  won't  fit,  you  know! 
it's  all  out-and-out  stuff." 

Unconscious  of  having  inspired  this  ami- 
able sentiment,  unconscious  of  the  charac- 
ter of  his  affectionate  son's  reply,  Walter 
grasped  his  arm  firmly,  and  pointing  to  the 
spectre,  cried  "  Now!  get  behind  him!  there! 
seize  him  by  the  throat!" 

"  I  say,  1  say,  governor!"  exclaimed  Ho- 
race, shaking  his  parent  with  more  force 
than  feeling,  "can't  I  any  how  drive  into 
your  stupid  head,  that  there's  nobody  here 
but  ourselves!  Just  listen  to  reason;  do 
you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you'll  make  me 
believe  that  you  think  that  if  he  were  really 
here  1  couldn't  sea  him?  Is  it  likely?  Is 
it  like  anything  likely?  Pooh!  rubbish,  I 
tell  you!  Shut  your  eyes,  there's  a  trump, 
and  go  to  Bleep." 


"  I  will  have   him   out!"  cried   Walter 
fiercely,  "out!  out!" 

"  Well,  well,  then  I'll  turn  him  out;  come 

if  that's   all."      And    Horace    opened   the 

door,  and  addressing  the  apparition,  said, 

"  Now,  old  boy!  just  toddle  off,  will  you? 

you're  not  wanted  here;  come,  cut  it!"  and 

j  he  walked    round  the  room,  and  lavished 

I  upon   the    apparition   a    series   of   kicks, 

;  which,  in  a  spectral  sense  were  extremely 

j  severe,   and  after  grasping  him   firmly   in 

imagination  by  the  incorporeal  collar,  he 

[  gave  him  a  spiritual  impetus  behind,  and 

closed  the   door  with   an   air  of  the  most 

absolute  triumph. 

His  venerable  father  was  not  to  be  de- 
'  ceived,   however,    thus;  the  pantomine   of 
Horace  was  really  very  excellent — he  ma- 
'  naged  the  thing  with  consummate  ability, 
nay,  with  "  artistical"  skill;  but  the  phan- 
tom was  still  in  the  mind's  eye  of  Walter; 
to  him  it  appeared  to  have  been  untouched! 
and  therefore,  when  Horace  returned  to  the 
I  bedside  to  receive  that  applause  which  the 
'  development  of  genius  ought  ever  to  en- 
j  sure  he  was  utterly  astonished  to  find,  not 
j  only  that  his  exertions  had  not  been  appre- 
;  ciated,  but  that  Walter  still  glared  at  the 
1  spectre  as  before. 

"  Come,  1  say,  he's  off  now!"  exclaimed 
Horace;  "  I've  given  him  a  little  dose  at  all 
events,  if  I  haven't  broken  his  jolly  old 
neck.  He  wont  come  back  here  in  a  hurry. 
I  say!  didn't  you  see  how  he  bolted!  I 
should  think  he's  had  enough  of  it  for  one 
night  any  how,  eh?  shouldn't  you?" 

Walter  took  no  notice  of  these  appro- 
priate observations.  He  made  no  reply. 
Hi  appeared  not  to  know  that  a  word  had 
IxM'ii  uttered.  His  spiritual  enemy  was  there! 
and  his  eyes  were  still  wildly  fixed  upon 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


115 


him.  "  I  will  have  him  out!"  he  exclaim- 
ed, after  a  pause,  "  he  shall  not  be  here." 

"  He  is  not  here,"  cried  Horace,  seizing 
the  arms  of  his  father;  "I  wish  I  could 
drive  a  little  sense  into  your  head.  I  say, 
governor!  why,  don't  you  know  me?" 

Walter  turned  his  eyes  for  an  instant,  and 
then  again  glared  at  the  spectre;  I'll  not 
have  him  here!."  he  cried,  "out  he  shall 
go!  If  you  will  not  do  it,  I  will,"  and  he 
made  another  effort  to  rise,  but  Horace  held 
him  down;  he  struggled,  and  Horace  strug- 
gled with  him,  until  he  was  struck  with 
an  idea  that  the  self-same  power  which 
caused  him  to  imagine  some  one  there, 
might  cause  him  also  to  imagine  that  he 
had  driven  him  away,  when,  in  order  to  give 
him  every  possible  chance,  he  very  quietly 
relinquished  his  hold. 

Walter  was  no  sooner  free  than  he  darted 
towards  the  space  to  which  he  had  pointed, 
and  made  a  really  desperate  effort  to  clutch 
the  phantom,  which,  however,  appeared  to 
retreat,  for  he  chased  it  round  and  round 
with  great  swiftness  and  zeal,  until  he  be- 
came so  exhausted  that  Horace  lifted  him 
again  into  bed,  exclaiming,  "  Come,  come, 
it's  no  sort  of  use;  you  can't  grab  him!" 

"  But  I  will!"  cried  Walter,  again  strug- 
ling  to  rise. 

"No,  no!  I'll  tackle  him!  stay  where 
you  are.  I  must,"  he  continued  in  an  under 
tone,  "  swindle  the  old  boy  somehow,"  and 
he  pulled  off  his  coat,  and  threw  himself  at 
once  into  a  gladiatorial  attitude,  and  after 
having  very  scientifically  squared  at  the 
apparition  for  some  considerable  time,  he 
struck  out  with  great  force  and  precision, 
and  continued  to  strike  right  and  left  until 
he  found  that  he  had  struck  his  arms 
pretty  well  out  of  their  sockets,  when,  pre- 
cisely as  if  the  enemy  had  been  regularly 
vanquished,  he  put  it  to  him  whether  he 
had  had  quite  enough,  and  then,  without 
farther  ceremony,  threw  up  the  sash,  and 
"  made  him  believe"  to  pitch  him  out  of 
the  window. 

All  this  was,  however,  good  energy 
thrown  away;  for  while  he  was  laboring  to 
inspire  the  belief  that  he  was  breaking  the 
neck  of  the  spectre,  that  spectre,  in  Wal- 
ter's imagination,  was  still  in  the  self-same 
position  as  before.  Horace  was  amazed, 
when,  on  closing  the  window,  he  found  his 
father  staring  as  wildly  as  ever.  "  It's  of 
no  use,"  said  he  to  himself,  in  despair,  as 
he  mixed  another  glass  of  warm  brandy- 
and-water,  and  pulled  out  another  cheroot; 
"  I  may  just  as  well  drop  it — he's  not  to  be 
done.  Come,  I  say,"  he  continued,  ad- 
dressing his  father,  "  it's  all  stuff,  you 
krvew!  shut  your  eyes,  and  then  he'll  start; 
he  won't  move  a  peg  till  you  do." 


Walter  now  lay  perfectly  motionless. — 
His  last  effort  seemed  to  have  exhausted 
him  completely;  and  as  he  continued  to  lie, 
without  uttering  a  word,  Horace  fondly  con- 
ceived that  he  should  have  an  hour's  peace, 
and  therefore  threw  himself  back  in  the 
easy  chair,  and  very  soon  became  extremely 
interested  in  the  report  of  a  fight  between 
Simon  the  Tough  un  and  Konky  Brown. 

Now,  those  who  have  had  the  intense 
satisfaction  of  sitting  up  with  a  delirious 
person  all  night  will  recollect,  that  between 
three  aud  four  in  the  morning,  the  mind  re- 
verts with  peculiar  pleasure  to  a  cup  of 
strong  coffee  and  a  muffin.  If  the  patient 
then  under  your  special  protection  be  at 
that  hour  silent,  the  silence  which  reigns 
over  the  chamber  is  awful,  and  nothing  in 
nature,  save  coffee  with  a  muffin,  seems 
calculated  either  to  occupy  the  mind  or  to 
arouse  the  dormant  energies  of  the  body. — 
This  hour — this  dreary,  solemn  hour  had 
arrived,  when  Horace  perceiving  that  his 
father's  eyes  were  closed,  stole  softly  from 
the  chamber,  and  proceeded  to  the  kitchen, 
where  the  coffee  was  on  the  hob,  and  the 
muffins  were  on  the  table,  with  everything 
essential  to  a  comfortable  breakfast. 

The  very  moment,  however,  Horace  left 
the  room,  his  father,  who  had  cunningly, 
watched  every  movement,  an^l  had  only 
pretended  to  be  asleep,  leaped  at  once  from 
the  bed  with  the  full  determination  to  turn 
out  the  phantom  by  which  he  had  been 
haunted.  He  first  tried  to  clutch  it — then 
lost  it  for  a  time — then  stared  about  wildly 
—then  saw  it  again,  and  then  chased  it 
round  the  room,  until  he  fancied  that  he 
had  driven  it  beneath  the  bed,  when  he 
caught  up  the  candle,  set  fire  to  the  clothes, 
and  in  an  instant  the  bed  was  in  a  blaze. 

"Now!"  he  cried,  "Now  will  you  go? 
Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!  I  can't  get  you  out!  Ha! 
ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!" 

Horace  heard  the  loud  hysterical  laugh, 
and  darted  up  stairs  in  a  moment.  Dense 
volumes  of  smoke  issued  forth  as  he  burst 
in  the  door.  He  could  not  advance! — the 
whole  room  was  in  flames! 

"Father!"  he  cried,  "Father!  fly  to  the 
door!  save  yourself!  save  yourself!  Father!" 

The  laughter  was  heard  still;  but  the 
next  moment  it  died  away  and  Walter  'fell. 

"Fire!  fire!  fire!"  cried  Horace,  and  his 
cries  were  immediately  answered  by  screams 
from  above.  He  rushed  into  the  street,  and 
there  raised  the  alarm,  and  the  neighbor- 
hood resounded  with  cries  of  "  fire!  fire!" 

The  police  were  immediately  on  the  spot; 
and  several  laborers  who  were  going  to 
work  came  at  once  to  their  assistance. 

"  My  father!  My  father's  in  the  room!" 
shouted  Horace.  "For  God's  sake  save 


116 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


him—save  my  father!"  and  he  darted  up 
stairs  with  the  view  of  rescuing  his  mother 
and  his  wife.  His  wife  had  fainted,  and 
his  mother  was  too  terror-stricken  even  to 
move.  "  Help!  help!"  he  shouted,  "  Here!" 
and  a  laborer  rushed  in  a  moment  to  his  aid 
and  seized  the  mother,  as  Horace  caught 
his  fainting  wife  in  his  arms,  when  both 
were  in  safety  borne  into  the  street. 

The  fire  was  now  raging  fiercely.  The 
Dames  were  bursting  forth  in  all  directions. 
The  rafters  had  caught,  and  the  crackling 
was  awful. 

"  Who's  in  the  house  now!"  shouted  one 
of  the  laborers. 

"  My  father!  my  father!"  cried  Horace, 
returning. 

"  Where's  the  girl? — where's  the  ser- 
vant1?" demanded  a  policeman. 

"Up  stairs!"  replied  Horace,  by  whom 
she  had  been  forgotten,  and  away  went  the 
policeman;  but  the  girl  could  not  be  found. 

"Father!  father!"  he  again  shouted,  and 
at  that  moment  a  deep  thrilling  groan  reached 
his  ear.  "  To  the  door! — to  the  door!" 

Crash  went  the  windows,  and  a  stream 
of  water  poured  into  the  room  in  which 
Walter  was  writhing  in  agony.  No  one 
could  enter.  That  room  was  one  sheet  of 
vivid  fire,  and  the  flames,  as  the  water 
rushed  in  at  the  window,  were  driven  with 
violence  hissing  towards  the  door. 

Another  groan  was  heard.  It  appeared 
to  proceed  from  a  spot  near  the  wainscot. 
Horace  instantly  tore  down  the  bannister, 
with  part  of  which  he  dashed  in  thepannel. 
An  angry  stream  of  fire  burst  like  lightning 
through  the  orifice,  but  there  lay  Walter! 

"  He  is  here!"  cried  Horace,  seizing  him 
eagerly  and  dragging  him  into  the  passage. 
"  He  is  not  dead!  Help!" 

Assistance  was  at  hand;  and  Walter  was 
borne  at  once  into  the  street;  but  presented 
so  frightful  a  spectacle,  that  a  shutter  was 
procured,  upon  which  he  was  placed  and 
carried  to  the  house  of  the  nearest  surgeon. 

The  engines  now  arrived  from  all  quar- 
ters, and  began  to  play  gallantly  upon  the 
flames,  which  were  bursting  through  the 
bricks,  and  streaming  in  liquid  curls  fiom 
every  window.  Horace,  notwithstanding, 
rushed  again  into  the  house.  His  object 
was  to  secure  his  father's  papers.  He 
reached  the  room  which  contained  them, 
and  burst  in  the  door!— another  step  woi.hl 
have  precipitated  him  at  once  into  a  gulf  of 
hissing  fire.  The  floor  of  the  room  had 
f  illi  ii  in,  and  the  flames  were  ascending  in 
forked  streams  from  below.  The  specta- 
cle struck  him  with  horror.  He  stood  for 
a  moment  paralysed.  A  crash  was  heard 
behind  him!  The  stairs— the  stairs  up 
which  he  came  had  given  way.  AH  retreat 


was  cut  off.  The  flames  were  gathering 
round  and  like  hideous  monsters  ready  to 
devour  him.  What  was  to  be  done!  One 
hope — one  poor  forlorn  hope — urged  him 
forward!  he  dashed  through  the  crackling 
blazing  passage,  reached  the  stairs,  and 
darted  up,  with  the  fire  following  fiercely  at 
his  heels.  By  a  miracle  he  gained  the 
attic.  The  window  was  open.  He  leaped 
upon  the  parapet,  and  there,  turning  his 
eyes  to  the  opening  heavens  which  reflected 
the  flames,  he  clasped  his  hands  and  with 
fervor  thanked  God! 

A  falling  beam  beneath  him  warned  him 
from  the  spot;  and  he  crept  on  his  hands 
and  knees,  along  the  roof  until  his  blood 
chilled  on  touching  a  human  face!  It  was 
that  of  the  servant,  who,  having  escaped 
through  the  window,  had  fainted.  He 
shrank  back  for  the  moment,  appalled;  but 
on  recovering  himself  he  placed  the  poor 
girl  upon  his  back,  and  proceeded  over  the 
roofs  of  the  adjoining  houses  until  he  reached 
a  stack  of  chimneys  which  impeded  his 
further  progress. 

Here  he  put  his  burden  down,  and  turned 
to  the  ruins  from  which  he  had  escaped, 
and  for  the  first  time  felt  the  dreadful  effects 
of  the  fiery  ordeal  through  which  he  had 
passed.  He  was  frightfully  scorched.  His 
hair  had  been  singed  completely  off  his 
head,  and  the  clothes  that  remained  on  him 
were  reduced  to  mere  tinder.  He  cried 
aloud  for  help,  but  he  could  not  be  heard: 
he  could  see  the  mob  below — but  he  could 
not  be  seen.  The  engines  were  playing, 
and  the  shouts  of  those  who  worked  them 
would  have  drowned  the  most  dreadful  clap 
of  thunder. 

"  LOOK  OUT!"  shouted  fifty  of  the  firemen 
in  a  breath;  and  a  rush  was  made  to  the  op- 
posite side.  The  next  moment  a  tremen- 
dous crash  was  heard.  The  roof  had  fallen 
in;  and  the  clouds  of  smoke  and  dust  which 
ascended  with  a  roar  were  succeeded  by  a 
shower  of  blazing  laths  and  sparks  which 
threatened  destruction  to  all  around.  The  ef- 
fect was  terrific.  The  sky  itself  seemed  to  be 
one  sheet  of  fire  descending  to  mantle  the 
earth. 

Another  shout  burst  forth:  Horace  was 
perceived! — every  object  being  now  dis- 
tinctly visible.  An  escape-ladder  was  rais- 
ed, and  a  fireman  ascended,  "/fere/"  he 
cried  addressing  the  startled  Horace,  who 
had  just  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  head,  "  Get 
into  this  canvass!  Now  don't  be  afraid." 

Horace  carried  the  poor  fainting  girl  to 
the  parapet,  and  wished  her  to  IT  taken 
down  first. 

ive  mo  the  girl,"  continued  the  fire- 
man. "There!  Now  you  got  in,  but  mind 
don't  go  fast."  And  Horace  got  into  the 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


117 


canvass  tube,  and  gradually  slipped  to  the 
bottom. 

On  coming  out  of  this  tube  he  was  liter- 
ally naked,  for  during  the  descent,  his 
clothes,  which  were  but  tinder,  had  been 
rubbed  completely  off.  A  blanket,  however, 
was  immediately  thrown  around  him,  and 
he  was  carried  at  once  with  the  girl  to  the 
surgeon's. 


By  this  time  the  house  was  completely 
gutted,  and  the  engines  were  playing  only 
on  the  hot  party  walls  that  the  fire  might 
not  reach  the  houses  adjoining.-  This  effect 
was  produced:  those  houses  were  saved; 
and  in  a  short  time  although  the  engines 
still  kept  playing,  nothing  but  smoke  could 
be  seen. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

VALENTINE     ATTENDS    A    PHRENOLOGICAL     LECTURE,    AND    INSPIRES     A    MURDERER'S     SKULL 

WITH    INDIGNATION. 


WHAT  a  beautiful  science  is  that  of  Phre- 
nology! In  the  whole  range  of  sciences 
where  is  there  one  which  is  either  so  useful 
9r"so  ornamental?  Fortune-telling  is  a  fool 
to  it.  It  stands  with  consummate  boldness 
upon  the  very  pinnacle  of  fatality.  To  the 
predestinarian  it  is  a  source  of  great  com- 
fort: to  all  who  desire  to  take  themselves 
entirely  out  of  their  own  hands — to  get  rid 
of  that  sort  of  responsibility  which  is  some- 
times extremely  inconvenient — it  is  really 
a  positive  blessing.  When  this  delightful 
science  shall  have  made  its  way  home  to 
the  hearts  of  mankind  universally,  as  it 
must,  what  a  lovely  scheme  of  life  will  be 
opened  before  us! — what  a  charming  state 
of  society  will  be  based  upon  the  ruins  of 
our  present  dreadful  system  of  civilisation! 
Then,  and  not  till  then,  will  mankind  be 
quite  happy!  Then  will  perfect  liberty  ob- 
tain. Then  will  men  see  the  sand-blind- 
ness of  their  ancestors,  and  sweep  away 
like  chaff  the  dreadful  injustice  which  forms 
the  very  essence  of  punishment.  Then 
will  it  be  seen  that  law  and  liberty  are  in- 
imical— a  thing  which  has  but  to  be  seen 
for  our  statute  books  to  be  converted  into 
one  monstrous  cinder  and  placed  upon  a 
pedestal  as  an  everlasting  relic  of  excruciat- 
ing tyranny.  It  will  then  be  acknowledged 
that  men  are  but  men— that  they  are  by  no 
means  accountable  for  their  actions — that 
they  do  thus  or  thus  simply  because  they 
have  been  predestined  to  do  thus  or  thus — 
and  that  therefore  they  cannot  be  censured 
or  punished  with  justice.  It  will  then  seem 
amazing  that  punishments  should  have  been 
countenanced — amazing  that  men  should 
have  been  made  by  their  fellow-men  to 
suffer  for  actions  over  which  they  clearly 
had  no  control — nay,  actions  which  they 
were,  in  fact,  bound  to^ perform! — for,  why, 
it  will  be  argued,  do  men  commit  murders'? 
Why  do  they  perpetrate  rapes  and  pick 


pockets'?  Why — clearly  because  they  can't 
help  it!  And  what  line  of  argument  can 
be  shorter]  And  as  for  its  soundness! — 
why  that  will  of  course  be  perceived  at  a 
glance. 

It  is  lamentable — absolutely  lamentable 
— to  think  that  this  extremely  blessed  state 
of  society  stands  no  sort  of  chance  of  being 
established  before  the  next  generation;  and 
we,  who  endure  the  atrocities  of  the  present 
cramped-up  scheme,  may  with  infinite  fea- 
son  envy  the  sweet  feelings,  the  delightful 
sensations,  the  charming  state  of  mind, 
which  the  establishment  of  a  phrenolo- 
gically  social  system  must  of  necessity  in- 
duce. There  are  of  course  some  unhappy 
individuals  in  existence  sufficiently  ill-con- 
ditioned to  contend  that  phrenology  never 
can  bring  about  this  unspeakably  glorious 
state  of  things;  and  really  none  can  w7>mler 
at  it! — none  can  wonder  that  the  cool  contem- 
plation of  such  a  delightful  state  of  society 
should  confirm  the  incredulity  of  the  natur- 
ally incredulous — but  that  it  will,  when 
carried  out  to  its  legitimate  length,  be  pro- 
ductive of  all  those  extraordinary  bless- 
ings, reflection— disinterested  reflection — 
will  render  abundantly  clear.  It  is  all  very 
well  and  very  natural  for  lawyers,  physi- 
cians, and  such  kinds  of  people  to  uphold 
the  present  system,  inasmuch  as  it  is  by  that 
system  they  thrive.  They  perfectly  well 
know  that  if  a  system  were  established 
upon  these  two  bold  and  eternal  principles 
— first,  that  "  Whatever  is,  is  right,"  and 
secondly,  that  "  They  who  are  born  to  be 
hanged  can  never  be  drowned;"  their  res- 
pective occupations  would  be  gone!  seeing 
that  nature  would  then  be  allowed  to  take 
the  entire  thing  into  her  own  ample  hands. 

But  there  are  also  **  phrenologists  suffi- 
ciently weak  to  maintain  that  there  own 
immortal  science  is  by  no  means  Designed 
to  accomplish  the  great  objects  to  which 

11* 


118 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


reference  has  been  had.  These,  however, 
are  not  pure  phrenologists.  They  take  an 
extremely  rotten  view  of  the  thing,  and  are 
much  to  be  pitied.  The  professors  of  a 
science  ought  never  tounder-ratethe  advan- 
tages of  the  science  of  which  they  are  pro- 
fessors. It  isn't  right;  such  a  course  has  a 
direct  and  natural  tendency  to  bring  the 
thing  eventually  into  contempt.  If  nature 
has  implanted  in  our  skulls  certain  organs 
containing  the  germs  of  certain  passions, 
whose  internal  working  not  only  produce 
an  external  development,  but  force  us  to  act 
as  they  direct  or  in  obedience  to  their  will, 
we  have  clearly  no  right  to  the  reputation 
of  being  responsible  creatures,  and  we  have 
but  to  believe  that  we  possess  no  such  right, 
to  recognise  the  injustice  involved  in  all 
punishments,  and  thus  to  lay  the  foundation 
of  that  sweet  social  system  which  cannot 
be  thought  of  without  pure  delight. 

Now  with  the  view  of  inspiring  a  due 
appreciation  of  the  blessings  with  which 
this  delightful  science  teems,  a  distinguish- 
ed professor  was  about  to  deliver  a  highly 
interesting  lecture  as  Valentine  passed  an 
institution  to  which  his  attention  had  been 
directed  by  a  crowd  pouring  in. 

Valentine  happened  to  be  dull  that  even- 
ing; for  while  he  could  obtain  no  tidings  of 
Goodman,  he  saw  no  probability  of  finding 
out'the  residence  of  her  of  whom  he  felt  more 
than  ever  enamored.  He  therefore,  with  an 
hour's  amusement  for  his  object,  applied 
for  a  ticket,  and  having  obtained  one,  en- 
tered a  well  constructed  room,  in  which 
there  were  seats  raised  one  above  the  other, 
and  capable  of  accommodating  about  four 
hundred  persons;  while  on  the  rostrum  stood 
a  table,  upon  which  were  placed  several 
peculiarly  formed  skulls,  the  nominal  relics 
of  some  of  the  greatest  scoundrels,  fools, 
philanthropists,  and  statesmen,  that  ever 
had  existence.  The  place  was  crowded, 
and  when  the  appointed  time  had  passed 
without  the  appearance  of  the  professor,  the 
audience  began  to  manifest  that  respectable 
sort  of  impatience  which  develops  itself 
in  a  gentle  timid  tapping  of  sticks  and 
umbrellas.  The  amount  of  intelligence  dis- 
played by  the  audience  was  truly  striking; 
and  as  Valentine  was  able  at  a  glance  to 
perceive  who  were  really  phrenologists,  and 
who  really  were  not,  by  the  mode  in  which 
their  hair  was  arranged — for  the  phrenolo- 
gists wore  theirs  entirely  off  their  foreheads, 
in  order  that  every  bump  which  could  be 
seen  might  be  seen,  while  the  anti-indi- 
viduals suffered  theirs  to  hang  roughly,  or, 
if  it  would  curl,  to  curl  accordingly  upon 
their  latent  brows— he  became  extremely 
interested  in  speculating  upon  the  extent  to 
which  the  advocates  of  the  science  would 


be,  at  once,  prepared  to  go.  He  had  not, 
however,  speculated  long  when  a  move- 
ment was  made  upon  the  rostrum — a  move- 
ment which  was  palpably  indicative  of 
something.  Every  eye  was  of  course  di- 
rected most  anxiously  towards  the  door; 
and  when  the  professor,  who  formed  part  of 
a  solemn  procession  entered,  the  applause 
was  exceedingly  liberal  and  loud.  The 
members  of  the  committee  then  seated 
themselves  at  a  most  respectful  distance  on 
either  side,  and  when  the  professor  had 
recovered  his  self-possession,  he  coughed 
slightly,  gave  several  peculiar  ahems!  and 
then  in  sweet  silvery  tones  said: — "  Ladies 
and  Gentlemen:  In  speaking  of  the  science 
of  phrenology  the  first  consideration  which 
suggests  itself  is,  whether  the  external  de- 
velopment of  man's  propensities  and  pas- 
sions be  the  cause  or  the  effect  of  those  pro- 
pensities and  passions.  Now,  in  order  that 
I  may  illustrate  clearly  that  such  develop- 
ment is  the  effect,  not  the  cause,  1  propose 
to  direct  your  attention  to  the  peculiar 
organization  of  the  heads  of  certain  well 
known  characters,  whose  skulls  I  have 
here.  Now,"  continued  the  learned  pro- 
fessor, taking  up  a  very  singularly  formed 
skull  in  both  hands  and  looking  at  it  very 
intently—"  this  is  the  head  of  Tim  Thorn- 
hill,  the  murderer." 

"  The  what!"  cried  Valentine,  dexte- 
rously pitching  his  voice  into  the  skull. 

The  startled  professor  dropped  it  on  the 
instant;  and  as  it  rolled  with  peculiar  in- 
dignation upon  the  rostrum,  the  audience 
simultaneously  burst  into  a  convulsive  roar 
of  laughter. 

The  professor  at  first  did  not  laugh.  By 
no  means;  he  looked  amazed,  turned  pale, 
very  pale,  and  slightly  trembled,  as  he 
stared  at  the  rolling  skull.  But  when  he 
had  sufficiently  recovered  himself,  to  know 
that  all  were  laughing  around  him,  he  cer- 
tainly made  a  lamentable  effort  to  join  them. 
And  this  gave  him  courage,  for  he  proceeded 
to  pick  up  the  object  of  his  amazement;  but 
no  sooner  had  he  got  his  hand  upon  ita«jain, 
than  Valentine,  cried,  "  A  murderer!"  in  a 
tone  of  great  solemnity. 

The  professor  again  started  back;  but  the 
laughter  of  the  audience  was  neither  so  loud 
nor  so  general  as  before,  seeing  that  many 
had  been  struck  with  the  idea  that  there 
was  something  supernatural  about  it. 

41  This  is  strange,  very  strange- — extraor- 
dinary!" said  the  professor,  with  great  in- 
tensity of  feeling — "very,  very  extraordi- 
nary!" 

41  A  murderer!"  repeated  Valentine,  in  a 
deeply  reproachful  tone,  \\hieh  of  course 

seemed  to  proceed  from  the  relic  of  Tim 
Thornhill. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


119 


The  audience  laughed  no  more.  They 
did  not  even  smile.  They  looked  at  each 
other  with  an  expression  of  wonder,  and 
felt  that  the  skull  was  under  some  ghostly 
influence,  while  the  learned  professor,  alheit 
by  no  means  prone  to  superstition,  was 
utterly  lost  in  amazement. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  thought  he,  "  that  this 
skull  can  be  inhabited  by  the  spirit  of  Tim 
Thornhill1?  Is  it  possible  that  that  spirit 
can  have  spoken1?"  He  was  not  prepared 
to  say  that  it  was  impossible,  and  the  as- 
sumption of  its  not  being  impossible  gene- 
rated the  consideration  of  its  probability, 
which,  added  to  the  evidence  of  his  own 
ears,  at  length  reduced  the  thing  to  a  cer- 
tainty, or  something  very  like  it.  And  this 
seemed  to  be  the  conclusion  at  which  the 
members  of  the  committee  had  arrived,  for 
they  looked  extremely  grave  and  altogether 
at  a  loss  to  give  expression  to  their  feelings 
on  the  subject. 

"  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,"  said  the  pro- 
fessor, after  a  vjery  awful  pause,  during 
which  it  happened  to  strike  him  that  he 
ought  to  say  something.  "  I  scarcely  know 
how  to  address  you.  This  occurrence  is  of 
so  extraordinary  a  character,  that  I  really 
don't  know  what  to  think.  With  a  view 
to  the  promotion  of  science — " — • 

«*  Ha!— ha! — ha!"  cried  Valentine,  in  a 
O  smithian  tone,  and  at  melo-dramatic  in- 
tervals, throwing  his  voice  behind  the  pro- 
fessor, who  started,  but  dared  not  look 
round — "  Ha — ha! — ha!"  he  repeated,  ma- 
king the  voice  appear  to  proceed  from  a 
much  greater  distance;  and  while  the  chair- 
man, the  professor,  and  the  gentlemen  of 
the  committee  had  scarcely  the  power  to 
breathe,  the  skulls  on  the  table  seemed  to 
enjoy  the  thing  exceedingly;  for  they  really, 
in  the  imagination  of  all  present,  appeared 
to  be  grinning  more  decidedly  than  ever. 

There  is  nothing  in  nature  which  startles 
men  more  than  a  noise  for  which  they  can- 
not account.  However  strongly  strung 
may  be  their  nerves:  however  slight  may 
be  the  sound  which  they  hear,  if  they  can- 
not account  for  that  sound,  it  at  once  chills 
their  blood,  and  in  spite  of  them  sets  their 
imagination  on  the  rack.  If  the  voice  which 
apparently  proceeded  from  that  skull  had 
reached  the  ear  of  a  man  when  alone,  the  ef- 
fect would  have  been  infinitely  more  striking; 
inasmuch  as,  if  pious,  he  would  have  looked 
for  that  protection  for  which  we  all  think  of 
looking  when  no  other  aid  is  near;  while,  if 
impious,  he,  with  the  greatest  possible 
promptitude,  would  have  exclaimed,  "why, 
the  devil's  in  the  skull,"  and  run  away. 
As  in  this  case,  however,  there  were  nearly 
four  hundred  intellectual  persons  present, 
they  stuck  to  each  other  for  protection,  and 


during  the  awful  silence  which  for  some 
time  prevailed,  the  more  reflecting  began  to 
to  reason  themselves  over  the  shock  thus: — 
"  Why  what  have  we  to  fear1?  We  never  in- 
jured Tim  Thornhill.  He  might  have  been  a 
very'ill-used  man:  but  we  never  ill-used  him: 
he  might  have  been  innocent  of  the  crime 
for  which  he  suffered,  but  we  did  not  cause 
him  to  suffer.  His  spirit  therefore  cannot  be 
angry  with  us,  unless  indeed  it  be  a  very  un- 
reasonable spirit.  What  then  have  we  to 
fearl" 

By  virtue  of  this  profound  course  of 
reasoning  many  recovered  their  self-posses- 
sion, and  as  Valentine  remained  silent  to 
enjoy  the  effect  he  had  produced,  he  had 
time  to  reflect  upon  that  moral  weakness  of 
which  we  are  peculiarly  the  victims. 

"  It  is  probable,  thought  he,  "  that  there 
are  in  this  assembly  many  strong-uiinded 
men — men  whom  nothing  on  earth  tangible 
could  appal,  who  would  fight  like  lions  un- 
dismayed, and  who  have  courage  to  endure 
the  most  intense  physical  torture  without  a 
groan:  yet  see  how  the  slightest  sound 
alarms  them! — they  can  stand  unmoved 
while  the  mighty  thunder  roars;  yet  let  them 
hear  but  a  whisper  for  which  they  cannot  ac- 
count, and  their  blood  runs  cold  and  their 
hearts  sink  within  them." 

There  are,  however,  some  individuals  in 
the  world,  who,  as  soon  as  the  shock  has 
subsided,  begin  to  ridicule  that  which 
alarmed  them,  and  one  of  these  happened 
to  be  the  chairman  of  the  committee.  He 
had  been  startled  by  the  sounds  perhaps 
more  than  any  other  man  present;  but  when 
he  could  hear  it  no  longer,  he  no  longer 
feared  it;  and  therefore  commenced  laugh- 
ing at  and  pinching  those  gentlemen  who 
sat  near  him,  and  tried  to  bring  the  whole 
affair  into  contempt.  This  course  of  pro- 
ceeding was  not,  however,  relished  by  those 
gentlemen  much;  for  although  they  very 
naturally  shrank  back  when  he  pinched 
them,  they  preserved  a  solemnity  of  aspect, 
which  was,  under  the  circumstances,  highly 
correct.  He  then  approacheed  the  professor, 
and  labored  to  convince  him  that  it  was 
"  after  all,  nothing,"  and  did  certainly  suc- 
ceed in  relaxing  the  rigidity  of  that  gentle- 
man's features. 

**  Pick  up  the  skull!"  cried  Valentine, 
who  was  anxious  to  see  what  he  would  do 
with  it;  and  the  chairman  adjusted  his  cra- 
vat, looked  magnanimous,  and  picked  up 
the  skull!  Valentine  was  silent,  the  pro- 
fessor was  silent,  and  the  audience  were 
silent,  while  the  chairman  held  the  skull  in 
his  hand,  and  examined  it  minutely.  He 
felt  that  his  courage  had  excited  admiration, 
and  was  by  this  feeling  prompted  to  show 
off  a  little  more.  He  therefore  turned  the 


120 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


skull  over  again  and  again,  and  after  placing 
its  grinning  jaws  to  his  ear  very  boldly,  he 
tossed  it  up  as  if  it  had  been  a  mere  ball, 
and  caught  it  again  with  considerable  skill. 

This  had  the  effect  of  restoring  the  au- 
dience to  something  bearing  the  semblance 
of  good  humor.  A  smile  seemed  to  be  anx- 
ious to  develope  itself  upon  their  features, 
and  although  it  was  more  than  half  sup- 
pressed, the  valiant  chairman  grew  bolder 
and  bolder,  and  being  determined  to  throw 
contempt  upon  their  fears,  he  rolled  the 
skull  from  one  point  to  another,  put  his  fin- 
gers between  its  huge  teeth,  and  really  treated 
it  altogether  with  unparalleled  indignity. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  eh?" 
said  he,  playfully  patting  the  skull;  "  what 
ails  you]  Are  you  not  well,  Mr.  Thornhill] 
Dear  me,  I'm  exceedingly  sorry  you've 
been  so  disturbed." 

The  audience  now  began  to  laugh  heartily 
again,  and  to  believe  what  they  had  wished 
all  along  to  believe,  that  they  had  been  very 
grossly  mistaken.  But  just  as  they  were 
about  to  feel  ashamed  of  themselves  for 
having  suffered  the  sounds  which  they  had 
heard  to  alarm  them,  the  chairman  rattled 
the  skull  of  Tim  Thornhill  against  that  of 
an  eminent  philanthropist  so  violently,  that 
Valentine,  in  a  deep  hollow  tone,  which  ap- 
peared to  proceed  from  behind  the  commit- 
tee, who  were  joking  with  great  freedom 
and  spirit,  cried  "  forbear!" 

The  effect  was  electric.  The  members 
of  the  committee  were  on  their  legs  in  an 
instant;  the  chairman  dropped  the  skull,  and 
stood  trembling  with  due  energy;  the  pro- 
fessor turned  pale,  opened  his  mouth,  and 
held  his  breath,  while  the  audience  were,  if 
possible,  more  amazed  than  before.  "  Bless 
me!"  cried  one,  "  what  on  earth  can  it 
mean!"  "  Good  heavens!"  cried  another, 
"it  must  be  a  spirit."  "The  place  is 
haunted,"  cried  a  third.  "Let's  go!"  said 
a  fourth;  and  "  let's  go,"  had  at  once  about 
fifty  female  echoes. 

There  was  a  rush  towards  the  door.  The 
whole  of  the  ladies  departed,  and  none  re- 
mained behind  but  really  strong-minded 
men,  who  had  been  induced  to  do  so  in 
consequence  of  Valentine  having  shouted 
*'  surely  two  hundred  of  us  are  a  match  for 
one  ghost!" 

This  however  was  an  excessively  wicked 
observation.  It  was  felt  to  be  so  generally, 
although  it  had  the  effect  of  inducing  them 
to  stop;  for  however  impious  might  be  the 
notion,  that  a  ghost,  if  it  felt  disposed  to 
tackle  them,  could  not  beat  them  all  into 
fits,  they  felt  that  it  was  probable  that  one 
might  appear,  and  that  in  the  society  of  two 
hundred  men,  they  should  rather  like  to  see 
it.  They  therefore  looked  for  itt  appear- 


ance with  considerable  anxiety,  while  the 
members  of  the  committee  were  expressing 
their  amazement  in  decidedly  cabalistic 
terms. 

"  What's  to  be  done,  gentlemen?"  at 
length  said  the  professor;  "  what  is  to  be 
done?" 

Those  gentlemen  raised  their  eyes  to  the 
ceiling,  and  shook  their  heads  solemnly. 
The  chairman  looked  very  mysterious.  He 
shuffled  and  fidgetted  and  pursed  his  thick 
lips,  and  scratched  his  head  violently — in 
fact  his  appearunce  altogether  was  nothing 
at  all  like  what  it  was  when  he  playfully 
patted  the  skull  of  Tim  Thornhill. 

At  length  one  of  his  colleagues — a  scraggy 
individual,  whose  nose  was  quite  blue  and 
as  round  as  a  ball — rose  to  observe  that  he 
had  always  maintained  through  thick  and 
thin,  right  and  left,  that  every  effect  must 
have  a  regular  legitimate  cause;  that  although 
it  would  sometimes  occur  that  when  the 
cause  was  absent  the  effect  would  be 
present,  it  might  not  be  so  in  that  particu- 
lar instance — and  that  he  would  therefore 
suggest  that  if  the  sounds  which  they  had 
heard  did  proceed  from  that  skull,  it  was 
perfectly  probable  that  if  the  skull  were  re- 
moved, the  sounds  would  go  quietly  with  it. 

This  was  hailed  as  an  excellent  sugges- 
tion. They  all  marvelled  how  they  could 
have  been  so  stupid  as  not  to  have  thought 
of  it  before.  They  felt  that  of  course  it  was 
likely — that  nothing  in  fact  could  be  in 
reality  more  likely  than  that  the  removal  of 
the  skull  would  have  precisely  that  result: 
they  were  certain  that  it  would;  they  were 
never  so  certain  of  any  thing  in  their  lives 
— but  the  question  was,  who  would  remove 
it]  The  professor  did  not  appear  anxious 
to  do  so:  the  chairman  did  not  seem  to  like 
the  job  at  all:  the  gentleman  by  whom  the 
suggestion  had  been  made  thought  naturally 
enough  that  he  had  done  his  share  towards 
it,  and  his  colleagues  as  naturally  imagined 
that  by  urging  the  expediency  of  acting 
upon  that  suggestion,  they  had  done  quite 
as  much  as  they  could  under  the  circum- 
stances be  reasonably  expected  to  do. 

At  length  the  chairman  was  struck  very 
forcibly  with  a  bright  and  novel  thought. 
The  porter  was  in  the  hall?  He  might  have 
heard  something  about  the  extraordinary 
occurrence  from  those  who  had  departed, 
hut  it  was  held  to  be  very  unlikely,  seeing 
that  he  was  not  only  an  Irishman,  but  a 
very  sound  sleeper.  The  porter  was  there- 
fore sent  for  at  once,  and  he  came.  He 
seemed  rather  confused  as  he  bowed  most 
respectfully,  first  to  the  professor,  and 
secondly  to  the  chairman,  thirdly  to  the 
gentlemen  of  the  committee,  :md  fourthly 
to  the  audience,  for  as  it  was  clearly  his 


>- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


121 


first  appearance  on  any  stage,  he  felt  very 
awkward,  and  looked  very  droll. 

"  Murphy,"  said  the  chairman,  "pickup 
that  skull,  and  take  it  into  the  hall." 

"It's  the  skull  yer  mane,  sorr]  Yes, 
sorr]"  said  Murphy;  and  he  opened  his 
shoulders  precisely  as  if  he  had  been  about 
to  remove  some  remarkably  heavy  weight, 
but  he  had  no  sooner  got  it  fairly  up,  than 
Valentine,  sending  his  voice  very  cleverly 
into  it,  cried,  "  Beware!" 

"  Murther!"  cried  Murphy,  dropped  the 
skull,  and  raising  his  hands  with  his  fingers 
stretched  as  widely  as  possible  apart.  He 
appeared  not  to  have  sufficient  breath  to 
give  utterance  to  another  word,  but  standing 
in  that  attitude  with  his  mouth  wide  open, 
he  stared  at  the  skull  with  an  expression  of 
horror. 

"  Well,  sir1?  well1?"  said  the  chairman 
after  a  pause.  "  What's  the  matter]  Take 
it  up,  sir,  this  moment." 

Murphy  stared  at  the  chairman,  then  at 
the  professor,  then  at  the  audience,  and  then 
at  the  skull.  He  had  no  wish  to  be  dis- 
obedient, although  he  feared  to  obey.  He 
therefore  kicked  the  skull  a  little;  then 
shrank  from  it  a  little;  then  examined  it  a 
little;  and  then  kicked  it  again. 

"Do  you  hear,  sir]"  shouted  the  chair- 
man. 

"  Ye-es,  sorr!"  cried  Murphy,  who  trem- 
bled with  great  freedom.  "  It's  alive,  sorr! 
—taint  didd!" 

"Nonsense!"  cried  the  chairman,  "away 
with  it  at  once!" 

"  What  the  divil  will  I  do,"  said  Mur- 
phy, whining  in  a  most  melancholy  tone. 

"  Do  you  hear  me,  sir]  Take  it  below 
instantly." 


Murphy  again  approached  it;  then  rubbed 
himself  all  over;  then  tucked  up  his  sleeves 
to  gain  time,  and  then  touched  it  again  with 
his  foot,  while  he  shook  his  head  doubtfully, 
and  eyed  it  with  great  fierceness. 

"Now  then!"  cried  the  chairman,  and 
Murphy  again  stooped,  and  then  put  out  his 
hand  within  a  yard  of  the  skull,  and  drew 
near  to  it  gradually  inch  by  inch;  but  the 
moment  he  was  about  to  place  his  hand 
again  upon  it,  Valentine  again  cried,  "  Be- 
ware!" 

"  OcA'"  cried  Murphy,  striking  an  atti- 
tude of  terror,  in  which,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
firmly  upon  the  skull,  he  shrank  to  the  very 
back  of  the  rostrum. 

The  chairman  and  the  professor  here  held 
a  consultation,  of  which  the  result  was  an 
announcement  that  the  lecture  must  be  of 
necessity  postponed.  "What  we  have 
this  night  heard,"  said  the  professor,  "  is  so 
mysterious — so  strange,  that  I  really  can- 
not trust  myself  to  speak  on  the  subject. 
It  is,  however,  a  mystery  which  I  trust  we 
shall  be  able  to  solve  by — " 

"  Bury  me,"  interrupted  Valentine,  "  Let 
me  rest  in  peace,  and  seek  to  know  no  more." 

The  professor  did  not  finish  the  speech 
he  had  commenced;  but  bowing  to  the  audi- 
ence, he  left  the  stage,  followed  by  the 
chairman  and  the  gentlemen  of  the  com- 
mittee. Murphy  could  not  of  course  take 
the  precedence  of  any  one  of  them:  he  there- 
fore, with  his  eyes  still  fixed  upon  the  skull, 
backed  out  as  closely  to  the  last  man  as 
possible,  but  before  he  had  made  his  exit 
an  idea  seemed  to  strike  him — and  that  too 
with  horror — that  when  all  had  departed, 
he  was  the  man  who  would  have  to  extin- 
guish the  lights! 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


BRINGS  THE  READER  BACK  TO   GOODMAN,  WHO    BOLDLY  CONCEIVES    A  PARTICULAR  PLAN,  THE 
EXECUTION  OF  WHICH  IS  UNAVOIDABLY  POSTPONED. 


ALTHOUGH  Goodman  strongly  felt  that  the 
parties  to  the  conspiracy  of  which  he  was 
the  victim  would  not  escape  eventual  pun- 
ishment, little  did  he  think  that  retribution 
had  already  descended  upon  the  head  of  his 
unnatural  brother.  Walter,  he  thought, 
might  be  living  in  luxury;  having  obtained 
possession  of  all,  he  might  be  squandering 
it  away,  or  existing  apparently  at  ease,  but 
he  envied  him  not;  he,  on  the  contrary, 
pitied  him  sincerely:  he  felt  that  his  out- 
raged conscience  would  afflict  him  with 
mental  torture,  but  he  of  course  had  no  con- 


ception that  he  was  at  that  time  writhing 
in  the  most  intense  physical  agony. 

There  is  a  spirit — let  us  disguise  its  ef- 
fects, or  labor  to  repudiate  its  power  as  we 
may — which  prompts  us  to  cherish  a  feeling 
of  gratification  when  they  who  have  deeply 
injured  us  suffer  those  pangs  which  sooner 
or  later  bad  actions  induce.  The  entertain- 
ment of  this  feeling  may  indeed  be  attribu- 
ted to  want  of  charity;  but  as  it  forms  one 
of  the  chief  characteristics  of  the  human 
heart,  it  must  be  at  the  same  time  deemed 
perfectly  natural,  and  as  we  are  not  divine, 


122 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


it  may  with  safety  be  asserted  that  no  mere 
man  ever  existed  on  earth,  to  whom  retri- 
butive justice  upon  those  who  had  deeply 
injured  him  failed  to  impart  secret  pleasure. 

Goodman  was  never  vindictive;  few  in- 
deed could  boast  of  being  actuated  so 
slightly  by  the  spirit  of  revenge:  belabored 
to  forgive  his  enemies;  he  would  have  for- 
given Walter— freely,  heartily  would  he 
have  forgiven  him;  still  when  he  reflected 
upon  the  misery  which  springs  from  the 
wounded  conscience,  when  he  reflected  that 
his  brother  must  absolutely  hate  himself 
for  doing  that  which  he  had  done,  the  re- 
flection imparted  that  amount  of  gratification 
which  made  him  feel  that,  after  all,  he  was 
the  happier  man. 

This  feeling  enabled  him  to  bear  up 
with  firmness  against  all  those  indignities 
and  brutalities  to  which  he  was  then  sub- 
jected: in  fact  he  became  in  a  short  time 
comparatively  reconciled,  and  he  and  his 
friend  Whitely,  who  was  his  constant  asso- 
ciate, resolved  to  make  the  best  of  their  po- 
sition, by  amusing  themselves  as  much  as 
the  bitter  circumstances  would  allow. 

Goodman  very  often  thought  of  Valentine, 
whom  he  had  introduced  by  name  to  his 
friend  Whitely,  and  they  frequently  occu- 
pied their  minds  all  day  in  conceiving  the  j 
various  scenes  he  had  the  power  to  produce. 
This  was  indeed  to  them  a  source  of  great 
enjoyment.  They  bound  each  other  down 
to  imagine  and  to  describe  scenes  alter- 
nately, and  for  hours  and  hours  they  forgot 
their  cares,  and  laughed  as  heartily  as  if 
they  had  been  free. 

Their  laughter,  however,  struck  them 
very  often  as  sounding  strangely,  mingling 
as  it  did  with  the  screams  of  a  female  who 
was  shut  up  alone  within  four  brick  walls  at 
the  bottom  of  the  garden.  Goodman  had 
frequently  expressed  a  desire  to  see  this 
poor  lost  creature;  and  Whitely,  who  was 
in  favor  with  one  of  the  keepers,  succeeded, 
after  much  solicitation,  in  persuading  the 
fellow  to  take  him  and  Goodman  into  one 
of  the  upper  rooms,  which  directly  over- 
looked the  den  in  which  she  was  confined. 

From  the  harsh  screams  and  bitter  im- 
precations which  proceeded  from  this  den, 
Goodman  was  led  to  imagine  that  its  inmate 
was  an  old  withered,  wretched  looking 
creature,  whose  intemperance  had  reduced 
her  to  a  raving  maniac,  and  whose  former 
life  had  been  spent  among  the  vilest  and 
most  degraded.  Conceive  then,  his  aston- 
ishment, when,  instead  of  a  miserable, 
Wasted,  haggard  being,  he  beheld  a  fair 
girl,  whose  skin  was  as  pure  as  alabaster, 
and  whose  hair  hung  luxuriantly  down  her 
back  in  flaxen  rn.<j].  ts,  running  round, 
shouting,  screaming,  and  uttering  the  most 


dreadful  imprecations  that  ever  proceeded 
from  the  lips  of  the  most  vicious  of  her  sex. 

"God!"  exclaimed  Goodman,  "what  a 
sight  is  this!" 

"  Horrible!"  said  his  friend,  "most  hor- 
rible!" 

"  Poor  dear  girl!  my  heart  bleeds  for 
her.  Has  she  no  friends!" 

"  Relatives  she  has,"  replied  Whitely, 
or  she  would  not  be  here." 

"  But  she  is  insane1?" 

"  Doubtless;  but  is  that  the  way  to  cure 
insanity?  Is  it  fit  that  a  young  creature 
like  that — not  yet  arrived  at  womanhood, 
scarcely  eighteen,  should  be  buried  within 
four  walls,  and  not  suffered  to  see  a  single 
soul  save  the  wretch  who  casts  her  food 
into  her  den  during  the  day,  and  chains  her 
down  to  her  pallet  at  night?  Is  that  the 
way,  I  ask,  to  effect  a  cure?  Is  it  not,  on 
the  contrary,  directly  calculated  to  increase 
the  disease?  But  she  has  not  been  sent 
here  to  be  cured;  poor  girl!  Eternal  shame 
on  her  unnatural  relatives! — their  only  ob- 
ject is  to  keep  her  confined." 

"  But  suppose,"  suggested  Goodman, 
"  that  having  done  all  in  their  power,  they 
found  her  incurable?" 

"  Her  age,"  replied  Whitely,  "  forbids 
the  supposition.  The  malady  with  which 
she  is  afflicted  could  not  have  developed  it- 
self until  she  had  arrived  at  the  age  of  fif- 
teen or  sixteen,  and  she  is  not  eighteen  yet. 
The  idea  of  their  having  done  all  in  their 
power  to  cure  her  is,  therefore,  absurd.  If 
they  had  wished  to  have  her  cured,  they 
would  not  have  sent  her  here.  It  is  mon- 
strous that  the  lovely  young  creature,  in  the 
bloom  of  youth  and  beauty,  should  be  sub- 
jected, under  any  conceivable  circumstan- 
ces, to  such  horrble  treatment  as  this." 

"  Hear  how  wildly  she  calls  upon  the 
skies,"  said  Goodman,  "  as  if  she  expected 
aid  from  there." 

"  From  there,  and  from  there  only,  poor 
girl!  will  aid  ever  come  to  her." 

"  Well,  you  two!  have  you  seen  enough 
on  her?"  cried  the  keeper,  on  re-entering 
the  room  in  which  he  had  left  them  for  a 
moment,  as  a  special  mark  of  favor. 

"Thank  you,  Johnson,"  said  Whitely, 
who  knew  how  to  manage  the  ruffian. — 
"  How  long  has  this  poor  girl  been  with 
you?" 

"  Oh,  a  matter  of  two  year.  That  there 
place  was  built  for  her.  Nice  place  fora 
small  party,  ain't  it? — capital  patient, 
though— pays  more  than  any  on  'em— mo- 
pusses  comes  in  reg'lar  as  clock-work." 

"  And  has  she  IMTII  always  as  violent  as 
she  is  now?" 

"  No,  she  wasn't  at  first;  but  she  soon 
found  her  voice.— 1  say,  ain't  she  got  a 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


123 


throat"? — Can't  she  come  it  when  she  likes? 
— and  that's  in  course  always,  for  she 
never  sleeps,  she  don't. — That's  the  rum- 
mest  go.  I  don't  suppose  she's  had  above 
a  dozen  winks  the  last  twelvemonth.  She's 
night  and  day,  night  and  day,  eternally 
howling." 

"That  is  her  bed-room,  I  suppose,"  said 
Whitely,  pointing  to  the  upper  part  of  the 
den,  for  the  place  was  constructed  like  a 
pig-sty,  one  part  being  roofed,  and  the  other 
quite  open. 

"Yes,  that's  where  she — sleeps,  I  was 
going  to  say — but  it's  where  she  don't 
sleep — ony  where  she's  chained  down." 

"  The  character  of  her  disease,"  observed 
Whitely,  "  I  suppose,  is  very  dreadful?" 

"  No,  there  ain't  much  the  matter  with 
her.  She  only  wants  a  husband;  but  as 
she  ain't  much  chance  of  meeting  one  here, 
why  she  ain't  much  chance  of  leaving  us 
yet  awhile." 

At  this  moment  the  poor  girl  saw  them 
at  the  window,  and  her  shrieks  were  truly 
awful.  She  raved,  and  spat  at  them,  and 
flew  round  the  den,  and  endeavored  to  clutch 
them,  and  folded  her  arms  as  if  she  had  one 
of  them  in  her  embrace,  and  then  shrieked 
again  horribly. 

"  Come,"  cried  the  keeper,  "  come,  come 
along  down;  you've  seen  quite  enough  on 
her  now;"  and  he  led  the  way  back  into  the 
garden. 

During  the  whole  of  that  day  the  two 
friends  spoke  of  nothing  but  the  appalling 
spectacle  they  had  witnessed,  and  when  the 
time  for  being  driven  into  their  cells  had 
arrived,  they  retired  with  hearts  full  of 
sorrow. 

In  the  morning,  however,  Goodman  was 
a  different  man.  His  spirits  were  buoyant, 
if  not,  indeed,  gay;  and  as  he  shook  the 
hand  of  his  friend  with  more  than  usual 
ardor,  he  smiled  with  intense  satisfaction. 
Whitely  was  delighted  with  his  altered  ap- 
pearance. He  felt  that  he  must  have  heard 
some  good  news,  and  being  well  assured 
that  his  liberation  would  be  the  prelude  to 
his  own,  he  manifested  the  utmost  anxiety 
during  the  whole  of  the  time  they  were  at 
breakfast. 

On  reaching  the  garden,  Goodman  again 
smiled;  when  Whitely  grasped  his  hand, 
and  looking  intently  at  him,  said,  "  My 
dear  friend!  you  have  heard—something?" 

"  No,"  said  Goodman,  still  however 
smiling—"  No." 

"  Heard  nothing?"  cried  Whitely  whose 
hopes  at  once  vanished.  "  Then  why  do 
you  smile?" 

"  Because  I  have  thought  of  something," 
replied  Goodman,  "which  may  perhaps 
answer  our  purpose  as  well." 


"  Indeed!"  cried  Whitely,  whose  hopes 
again  revived.  "  What  is  it?" 

"  I  can  of  course  confide  in  you,  and  will 
therefore  explain.  I  have  arranged  it  all  in 
my  own  mind.  I  have  been  nearly  the 
whole  of  the  night  bringing  the  plan  to 
bear.  We  cannot  fail.  We  are  perfectly 
certain  to  be  successful." 

"Well,  what  is  it?  what  is  it?"  cried 
Whitely  with  great  impatience. 

"  I  conceived  a  scheme  last  night,"  said 
Goodman,  "which  has  but  to  be  carried 
into  execution,  for  our  freedom  to  be  at  once 
secured." 

"I  see — I  see,"  said  Whitely  shaking 
his  head,  "  an  escape.  Ah,  my  friend,  don't 
believe  it  to  be  possible." 

"  But  I  do,"  said  Goodman,  "  I  cannot 
but  believe  it  to  be  possible.  In  the  first 
place,  how  many  of  these  fellows — these 
keepers  are  there  here?" 

"  Six,"  replied  Whitely,  "  with  the  man 
at  the  gate." 

"  Six;  very  well.  How  many  patients 
or  prisoners  are  there  who  are  perfectly 
sane?" 

"  Thirty,  perhaps;  but  say  twenty-five." 

"  Well,  say  that  there  are  but  twenty.  I 
am  an  old  man,  still  I  have  some  strength; 
you  are  much  younger,  and  have  more 
strength  than  I,  and  many  whom  I  could 
point  out  have  much  more  than  you.  Now 
is  it  not  disgraceful  that  twenty  or  five-and- 
twenty  strong  hearty  fellows  should  suffer 
themselves  to  be  kept  in  so  dreadful  a  place 
as  this  by  half  a  dozen  tyrannous  scoundrels, 
whom,  if  it  were  necessary,  they  could 
strangle  in  five  minutes!  Is  it  not,  I  ask, 
monstrous,  that  we,  who  have  health  and 
strength  and  justice  on  our  side,  should  per- 
mit half  a  dozen  degraded  myrmidons,  hired 
to  sustain  one  of  the  most  frightful  systems 
with  which  men  were  ever  yet  cursed,  to 
tyrannize  over  and  trample  upon  us,  to  chain 
us  down  like  felons,  and  to  kick  us  like 
brutes,  when  by  simply  displaying  the 
strength  which  we  possess,  we  might  at 
once  obtain  our  liberty?" 

Mr.  Whitley  shook  his  head,  and  slightly 
smiled,  and  then  sighed;  but  he  made  no 

"  I  admit,"  continued  Goodman,  "  that, 
man  to  man,  they  would  be  more  than  a 
match  for  us — that  we  could  not  compete 
with  them  at  all;  but  twenty-five  to  six — 
that  is,  more  than  four  to  one! — Upon  my 
life,  I  do  think  that  the  fact  of  our  being 
here  reflects  disgrace  upon  us  as  men. 
There  would  not  be  the  smallest  necessity 
for  hurting  those  persons.  God  forbid  that 
I  should  injure  any  man  however  cruelly  he 
may  have  injured  me;  but  what,  my  friend 
— what  if  we  were  to  go  in  a  body  to  the 


124 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


gates,  and  to  tell  them  firmly  and  reso- 
lutely to  refuse  us  egress  at  their  peril! 
Is  it  to  be  supposed  that  they  would  make 
more  than  the  mere  show  of  resistance,  or 
that  if  they  even  were  to  resist  us,  we  could 
not  at  once  overcome  them1?  Does  it  not, 
I  ask,  strike  you  as  being  dreadful,  that 
five-and -twenty  men,  who  have  been  stolen 
from  society  as  we  have  been  stolen,  should 
continue  to  suffer  these  brutal  indignities, 
should  be  kept  here  like  convicts  by  a 
handful  of  wretches  whom  we  have  the 
power  to  crush?" 

"It  does,"  said  Whitely,  "it  does  seem 
dreadful." 

"  Then  why  do  we  continue  to  endure  if?" 

"  Because — simply  because  we  cannot 
help  ourselves,  my  friend." 

"  But  why  can  we  not!  What  is  there 
to  prevent  our  escape  in  a  body,  and  that 
too  at  once!" 

"  Do  you  think,"  observed  Whitely,  with 
great  calmness,  "  that  you  and  I  now  could 
thrash  the  six  keepers,  were  we  to  set  to 
work  manfully,  and  put  out  our  strength!" 

"  Alone!  certainly  not.  I  have  already 
said  that  man  to  man  they  would  be  more 
tharf  a  match  for  us;  but  twenty-five  to  six! 
consider  that." 

"  I  have,  my  friend,  considered  it,  calmly 
considered  it,  and  have  arrived  at  this  con- 
clusion, that  if  we  cannot  thrash  the  six 
keepers  ourselves,  your  scheme  is,  under 
the  circumstances,  utterly  impracticable!" 

"  But  why  is  it  impracticable!" 

"  Because,"  replied  Whitely, "  we  should 
have  to  depend  solely  upon  ourselves;  we 
could  not  calculate  upon  having  the  slight- 
est assistance.  Our  poor  fellow-prisoners 
have  been  here  so  long,  that  their  minds 
have  become  enervated;  they  have  not  the 
strength — the  moral  courage  to  join  us.  I 
readily  grant,  that  if  all,  or  even  a  third  of 
them  were  staunch,  we  might,  by  taking 
these  myrmidons  by  surprise,  effect  our  ob- 
ject; but  their  spirits  are  broken;  they  have 
lost  all  energy;  they  could  not  be  depended 
upon  for  a  moment;  they  have  no  heart,  no 


resolution.  Were  we  to  propose  the  thing 
to  them,  no  matter  with  what  eloquence 
and  force  they  would  shrink  from  the  at- 
tempt; they  would  not  dare  to  join  us;  they 
would  at  once  agree  with  you,  that  our  im- 
prisonment under  the  circumstance,  reflects 
disgrace  upon  us  as  men,  and  that,  if  an 
attempt  were  made,  success  would  be  al- 
most certain;  but  they  would  look  at  the 
consequences  of  (ifailure,  and  that  would 
be  sufficient  to  deter  them  from  acting;  for 
they  know  by  sad  experience,  that  albeit 
they  are  assumed  to  be  unconscious  of  their 
actions,  they  are  punished  for  those  actions 
in  spite  of  that  assumption,  and  that  the 
punishment  which  would  inevitably  follow 
the  failure  of  an  attempt  like  that  which 
you  have  suggested  would  be  dreadful.  I 
myself  thought  of  the  same  plan  the  day 
I  came  here,  and  felt  as  certain  as  you  now 
feel,  that  it  might  with  ease  be  carried  into 
immediate  execution;  but  when  I  had 
sounded  several  of  those  whom  I  had  fan- 
cied were  likely  to  join  me,  I  found  their 
minds  so  enfeebled,  their  spirits  so  low, 
that  if  even  I  had  succeeded  in  goading 
them  on  to  an  attempt,  they  would  in  all  pro- 
bability have  deserted  me  at  the  very  mo- 
ment when  energy  and  resolution  were 
most  essential  to  success.  They  have  not 
the  courage,  my  friend — depend  upon  it 
they  have  not  the  courage.  Every  man, 
sir,  in  an  enterprise  of  that  kind,  would  act 
like  a  child." 

Goodman  was  silent,  but  by  no  means 
convinced    of   the   impracticability  of  this 
scheme.     He  still  felt  sure  that  it  might  be 
carried  into   effect,    for   "  what,"  thought 
j  he,   "  if  the  minds   of    these   persons   are 
enervated,  is  it  impossible  for  their  ener- 
'  gies  to  be  aroused!"  As,  however,  precipi- 
tation was  in  a  matter  of  this  kind  to   be 
condemned,   the  subject  was  for  that  time 
dropped;  but  he    still    resolved    to    make 
every    effort  in   his  power  to   inspire   his 
1  companions   with   spirit  sufficient  to  join 
|  him  and  Whitely  in  effecting  their  escape. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


VALENTINE  VISITS  THE  VICTUALLER^  FANCY  FAIR. 


IK  the  Coffee  Room  of  the  tavern  at  which 
Valentine  occasionally  dined  he  saw,  a  few 
days  after  his  display  among  the  phrenolo- 
gists, a  placard,  which  was  headed,  "'I'm 
LICENSED  VICTUALLERS'  ASYLUM,"  and 
which  announced  that  a  FANCY  FAIR  and  a 


FETE  CHAMPETRE  were  about  to  take  place 
under  most  distinguished  patronage. 

"The  Licensed  Victuallers'  Asylum!" 
thought  Valentine,  who  had  been  taught  to 
associate  Licensed  Victuallers  with  all  that 
is  selfish,  grasping,  and  gross;  is  it  possi- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


125 


ble  that  they  can  have  erected  an  asylum — 
that  they  can  have  been  prevailed  upon 
to  sustain  the  unfortunate,  the  aged,  and 
the  infirm!  And  yet  why  should  they  not!" 

He  stuck  at  this  question.  He  couldn't 
answer  it.  He.  couldn't  tell  why  they 
should  not  be  benevolent;  and  being  anx- 
ious to  study  the  character  of  every  class 
of  men  with  whom  he  came  in  contact,  he 
invited  a  remarkably  corpulent,  good-na- 
tured looking  old  fellow,  who  he  felt  could 
be  nothing  but  the  landlord,  to  have  a  glass 
of  wine. 

"What  is  the  nature  of  this  asylum1?" 
said  Valentine,  when  the  old  boy  had  squat- 
ted himself  down,  which  he  did  without  a 
second  invitation,  and  began  to  pant  fierce- 
ly, blowing  out  his  cheeks  at  every  pant, 
as  if,  conscious  of  the  remarkably  precious 
nature  of  breath,  he  wished  to  retain  it  in 
his  mouth  as  long  as  possible. 

"Why,  sir,"  said  the  landlord  whose 
name  was  Broadsides,  "  that,  sir,'s  the 
Witlers'  'Sylum,  'stablished  by  Witlers, 
and  a  capital  'sylum  it  is,  sir,  too." 

"No  doubt,"  observed  Valentine,  "but 
what  are  its  objects'?" 

"  Why  of  course,  sir,  to  perwide  a  good 
home  for  old  broken  down  Witlers,  and  a 
werry  good  home  it  perwides.  We  take 
care  of  their  children,  too,  poor  things! 
We've  a  school  for  'em  fit  for  any  noble- 
man in  the  land.  You  should  see  'em,  God 
bless  'em,  how  happy  they  are.  It's  a  bless- 
ing to  look  at  'em,  that  it  is,  a  blessing." 

"  You  are  going  to  have  a  Fancy  Fair,  I 
perceive1?" 

"  Of  course,  sir!  We  always  do,  annally, 
and  an  out-and-out  thing  it  is  too.  You'd 
be  pleased,  if  you  never  was  there.  If 
you've  nothing  better  to  do,  I'd  adwise  you 
to  go.  It's  a  treat  sir.  I  love  it,  the  ob- 
ject is  so  good." 

Valentine  was  delighted  with  the  feeling 
tones  in  which  the  old  gentleman  spoke, 
more  especially  when  he  alluded  to  the 
children;  for  tears  stood  in  his  eyes,  as  he 
said,  "  Poor  things!  God  bless  'em!" 
which,  without  the  slightest  effort  to  con- 
ceal them,  he  mopped  up  mechanically  with 
his  thick  Belcher  handkerchief,  and  seemed 
to  blow  away  with  considerably  more  free- 
dom. 

"  There  is  much  of  the  pure  spirit  of  be- 
nevolence in  this  man's  composition," 
thought  Valentine,  "  rough  as  he  is;  and  if 
he  be  in  reality  a  fair  sample  of  the  lot, 
they  are  indeed  a  very  good  set  of  fellows." 

"  Say  you'll  go?"  cried  Broadsides,  slap- 
ping the  thigh  of  Valentine,  as  if  he  had 
known  him  for  years. 

"  Well,  1  will!"  cried  Valentine,  rubbing 
his  thigh,  and  smiling. 
12 


"  Then  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is.  I  rayther 
like  you;  I  think  you're  a  good  sort,  and  I'm 
not  often  out  of  my  reckoning;  if  you'll  go 
I'll  drive  you  down,  and  give  you  as  good 
a  glass  of  wine  as  can  be  got  when  we  get 
there." 

"  You  must  leave  the  wine  to  me  in  that 
case,"  said  Valentine;  "  but  I  hope  that  I 
shall  not  be  depriving  any  part  of  your  fa- 
mily of  a  seat?" 

"  By  no  means  in  life!  My  Missus  and 
the  girls  goes  the  second  day,  'cause  you 
know,  business  must  be  attended  to;  so,  of 
course,  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  your  com- 
pany down." 

It  was  settled.  The  morning  came,  and 
Valentine  went  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Broad- 
sides, who  shook  him  by  the  hand  with  the 
warmth  of  a  friend;  introduced  him  to  his 
wife  and  two  daughters,  and  after  having 
what  he  termed  a  "  leetle  snack"  in  the 
bar,  the  gig  was  brought  to  the  door,  and 
they  started. 

The  very  moment  they  were  off,  the  old 
boy  began  to  talk.  He,  in  the  first  place, 
gave  the  pedigree  of  his  horse,  explained 
how  many  miles  an  hour  he  had  done,  how 
many  miles  an  hour  he  was  able  to  do  then, 
and  how  about  twenty  years  ago,  when  he 
was  younger,  he  trotted  from  London  to 
Brighton  within  the  six  hours,  and  that, 
without  sweating  a  hair.  He  then  spoke 
of  the  peculiarly  good  qualities  of  Mrs. 
Broadsides,  as  a  woman  of  business;  he 
explained  that  she  was  "an  extrornary 
good  wife,  and  an  excellent  mother,"  but 
that  she  had  a  "particular  nasty  temper," 
and  that  that  was  all  he  had  to  complain  of. 
He  then  touched  upon  the  virtues  of  his 
daughters,  whom  he  described  as  "  the  best 
girls  any  where — none  could  be  better,  let 
them  come  from  where  they  might;"  he 
showed  very  clearly  what  treasures  they 
would  be  to  those  who  might  have  the  good 
fortune  to  marry  them;  and  after  having 
dwelt  upon  their  peculiar  characteristics  for 
some  considerable  time  with  great  eloquence 
and  pride,  they  reached  a  road-side  inn,  at 
which  he  put  up  his  horse,  and  then  wad- 
dled by  the  side  of  Valentine  down  a  lane, 
which  led  at  once  to  the  Asylum. 

A  scene  of  gaiety  presented  itself  the 
moment  they  reached  the  gate;  and  after 
passing  the  marquee,  in  which  toys  of  every 
description  were  set  out  for  sale,  they  en- 
tered the  building,  which  was  really  very 
extensive,  and  reflected  great  credit  upon 
the  "Victuallers  as  a  body. 

Broadsides  was  recognised  at  once  by  a 
number  of  jolly-looking  persons,  who  wore 
their  hats  on  one  side,  and  their  hands  in 
their  pockets,  and  never  took  them  out,  ex- 
cept indeed  for  the  purpose  of  greeting  their 


126 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


friends.  After  an  infinite  deal  of  nodding, 
and  slapping,  and  squeezing  through  the 
passage,  Valentine  and  Broadsides  pro- 
ceeded up  stairs  to  the  board-room,  round 
which  the  names  of  the  donors  and  the 
amounts  of  the  donations  were  emblazoned 
in  letters  of  gold. 

"That,"  said  Broadsides,  pointing  to  a 
well-executed  portrait  which  hung  at  one 
end  of  the  room,  "  that,  of  course  is  the 
founder  of  the  institution." 

Valentine  could  not  resist  the  temptation; 
he  therefore  threw  his  voice  into  the  picture, 
and  said,  "  How  are  you?  how  do?" 

Broadsides  started;  and  the  expression 
of  his  countenance  was  singularly  droll. 
"Didn't  you  hear?"  he  cried,  seizing  the 
arm  of  Valentine,  who  replied  that  he  heard 
something. 

"  Something!"  he  continued.  "  It's  the 
picture!"  and  he  began  to  blow  away  with 
great  energy. 

"Don't  be  alarmed!  don't  be  alarmed!" 
said  Valentine,  again  throwing  his  voice 
towards  the  portrait,  and  the  founder  seemed 
to  smile  as  Broadsides  nodded,  but  in  a 
way  that  seemed  to  indicate  that  he  didn't 
understand  it  all. 

"I  say,  Bowles!  Bowles!"  cried  Mr. 
Broadsides,  seizing  the  arm  of  a  friend  who 
had  just  entered.  "  I  say,  here;  look  at 
that  pictur! — I  just  heered  it  speak!1' 

"  Heered  it  what1?"  cried  Mr.  Bowles, 
with  a  smile  of  incredulity. 

"  Speak!"  returned  Broadsides,  and  Mr. 
Bowles  laughed  very  heartily. 

"As  true  as  I'm  here,  it's  a  fact;  I  heered 
him,  as  plain  as  I  ever  did  when  he  was 
alive!" 

"  Why  what  are  you  talking  about,  you 
jolly  old  fool?"  said  Mr.  Bowles.  "  Have 
you  been  having  a  drain  already  this  morn- 
ing? What  have  you.  got  into  your  stupid 
old  head?" 

"  I  don't  care  a  farden  about  what  you 
say.  I  tell  you  I  heered  the  pictur  speak 
as  plain  as  flesh  and  blood!" 

"  But  how  could  it?" 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  could;  I  only  know 
that  it  did,  and  that's  enough  for  me." 

Bowles  slapped  Mr.  Broadsides  on  the 
back,  and  told  him  in  friendly  terms,  that 
he  was  an  out-and-out  old  ass;  and  more- 
over observed,  that  he  should  see  him  again, 
he  supposed,  by  and  bye. 

"  Well,  this  is  sartny  about  the  rummest 
ffo,"  said  Mr.  Broadsides,  when  Bowles 
had  left  the  room,  "  that  mortal  man  ever 
heerd  tell  on." 

"  By  no  means,"  said  Valentine,  through 
the  medium  of  the  founder;  "did  you  never 
hear  of  a  spirited  portrait?" 

The  idea  of  a  spirited  portrait  appeared 


to  strike  a  light  into  the  soul  of  Mr.  Broad- 
sides. He  had  heard  of  a  spirited  portrait, 
and  felt  that  he  never  knew,  till  then,  to 
what  species  the  term  legitimately  applied. 
He  fancied,  however,  that  he  saw  it  then 
clearly;  and,  although  he  did  not  exactly 
tremble,  he  felt  very  queer. 

"  Did  you  know  him?"  inquired  Valen- 
tine, who  feigned  great  amazement. 

"  Know  him!"  replied  Broadsides.  "  Him 
and  me  were  buzzum  friends!  Many's  the 
bottle  of  wine  we've  had  together!1' 

"  Well,  then,  you've  no  reason  to  fear 
him." 

"Fear  him!"  cried  Broadsides,  he 
wouldn't  hurt  a  hair  of  my  head.  It  isn't 
that — it's  only  the  rumness  of  the  thing, 
you  see,  that  gets  over  me."  And  Mr. 
Broadsides  sat  down,  and  gazed  upon  the 
portrait,  until  he  fancied  that  he  could  see 
the  benevolent  founder's  lips  curl  and  his 
eyes  sparkle,  as  they  were  wont,  when 
the  original  received  an  unusually  large 
order. 

"Well,  shall  we  see  what  they  are 
doing  below?"  said  Valentine. 

"  Yes — yes!"  replied  Mr.  Broadsides, 
whose  eyes  were  still  fixed  on  the  portrait. 
"  Yes:  the  only  thing,  you  see,  that  puzzles 
me  is,  that  it  isn't  his  voice;"  .a  fact  which 
was  certainly  by  no  means  extraordinary, 
seeing  that  Valentine  had  never,  of  course, 
heard  the  founder  speak.  "  But  I  suppose," 
continued  Broadsides,  "  that  spirits  don't 
speak  in  the  same  tones  as  regular  flesh 
and  blood." 

"Good  day,"  observed  Valentine,  throw- 
ing his  voice  again  towards  the  portrait. 

"  God  bless  you!  Good  day,"  said  Mr. 
Broadsides,  who  after  taking  another  long 
gaze,  caught  hold  of  the  arm  of  Valentine 
and  waddled  from  the  room. 

Now  when  Broadsides  had  got  about  half 
way  down  stairs,  it  struck  him  again  as  being 
very  extraordinary.  He  therefore  stopped 
short;  and  after  blowing  out  his  cheeks  to 
the  fullest  extent,  and  looking  with  consi- 
derable earnestness  at  Valentine,  said, 
"  Well,  this  is  out  of  all  doubt  the  most 
singularest  thing  I  ever  met  with  in  all  my 
born  days,"  and  having  delivered  himself  of 
this  remarkable  sentiment,  he  and  Valen- 
tine slowly  descended. 

On  reaching  the  end  of  the  passage 
which  led  through  the  building,  Valentine 
found  that,  although  the  Fancy  Fair  was 
confined  to  the  front  of  the  Asylum,  the 
chief  attraction  was  behind;  for  a  spacious 
lawn  opened  before  them,  which  was  lite- 
rally crowded  with  gaily  dressed  persons, 
promenading  with  groat  propriety,  and  look- 
ing very  happy;  while  at  the  bottom  of  the 
lawn  there  were  several  well  constructed 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


127 


marquees,  which  were  uniformly  pitched, 
and  had  a  striking  effect. 

"  Well,  now,  this  exceeds  my  expecta- 
tions," said  Valentine,  waving  his  hand 
towards  the  scene  which  so  brilliantly 
opened  before  him. 

"Yes,"  observed  Broadsides,  "yes,  yes; 
very  pretty,  very  pretty;  but  that  pictur — I 
can't  get  that  out  of  my  head;  that  gets 
over  me  above  a  bit." 

"  Oh  never  mind  the  picture,"  said  Val- 
entine. "  What  are  they  doing  here!"  and 
he  dragged  Mr.  Broadsides,  who  looked 
very  solemn,  towards  one  of  the  marquees, 
before  which  a  crowd  of  persons  were 
standing.  In  this  place  there  was  a  very 
great  variety  of  toys,  but  the  attraction  was 
an  affair  which  was  termed  "  the  wheel  of 
fortune,"  out  of  which,  by  paying  the  small 
charge  of  one  shilling,  any  lady  or  gentle- 
man was  entitled  to  draw  a  slip  of  paper,  the 
number  emblazoned  upon  which  referred  to 
some  valuable  little  article  in  stock.  An 
interesting  child  about  seven  years  old 
turned  the  wheel,  and  when  a  bluff  indivi- 
dual—who kept  continually  recommending 
the  ladies  and  gentlemen  present  to  "  try 
their  luck,  for  as  they  was  all  prizes  and 
no  blanks  at  all.  they  couldn't  do  nothing 
but  win" — had  looked  at  the  papers  drawn, 
he  called  the  numbers,  and  another  indivi- 
dual with  a  list  in  his  hand  named  the  arti- 
cles to  which  the  numbers  respectively 
applied,  which  articles  were  delivered  to 
the  individuals  who  had  had  the  extraordi- 
nary good  fortune  to  gain  them. 

When  Valentine  had  ascertained  how 
this  business  was  managed,  he  could  not 
be  silent;  he  felt  himself  bound  to  play 
some  of  his  highly  reprehensible  tricks.  He 
therefore  imitated  the  voice  of  the  bluff  in- 
dividual to  such  perfection,  and  called  so 
continually  certain  numbers  which  had 
never  been  drawn,  that  at  length  that  indi- 
vidual became  extremely  angry  with  the 
other  individual,  who  kept  as  continually 
naming  little  articles  which  had  not  been 
won. 

"Now  then,"  said  the  former,  "  twenty- 
two." 

"  No,  twenty-seven,"  cried  Valentine, 
assuming  his  voice. 

"  Twenty-seven,"  said  the  person  who 
held  the  paper.  "Twenty-seven — ." 

"Twenty-two!"  cried  the  bluff  indivi- 
dual. "  Mind  what  you're  about." 

"But  you  said  twenty-seven,"  said  his 
assistant,  who  didn't  at  all  like  to  be  spoken 
to  thus  before  company. 

"I  say  that  I  said  twenty-two,  sir," 
shouted  the  bluff  individual,  looking  par- 
ticularly black. 

"  Twenty-two,"  said  his  assistant,  "  is  a 


shaving  brush,"  which  article  was  at  once 
handed  over  to  the  lady  by  whom  it  had 
been  so  appropriately  won. 

Valentine  perceived  that  if  he  went  on  in 
this  way  he  should  probably  destroy  that 
good  understanding  which  had  previously 
existed  between  these  two  persons,  and  as 
he  had  no  desire  to  do  that,  especially  as 
one  of  them  clearly  felt  compelled  to  put 
up  with  the  blustering  insolence  of  the 
other,  he  took  the  arm  of  Mr.  Broadsides, 
who  still  kept  harping  upon  the  "pictur" 
and  walked  to  the  principal  marquee. 

"  Oh,  ho!"  cried  Valentine  on  entering, 
"  all  who  drink  here  will  not  go  home  sober 
to-night!"  which,  although  it  was  unheeded 
by  Mr.  Broadsides,  was  certainly  a  very 
natural  exclamation,  inasmuch  as  the  mar- 
quee in  question  was  lined  with  flaming 
pink-and-white  festooned  glazed  cambric, 
which  had  so  exceedingly  dazzling  an 
effect,  that  a  single  pint  of  wine  drank 
there  would  have  excited  a  man  as  much  as 
a  couple  of  bottles  would,  drank  in  a  quiet- 
colored  room. 

"Come,"  said  Mr.  Broadsides,  "now 
let's  have  a  little  bit  of  summut  to  eat  here. 
Here,  waiter!  Now,  what  have  you  got!" 
and  an  ugly  little  rascal,  who  was  the 
counterpart  of  Fieschi,  and  who  personated 
the  character  of  a  waiter  for  that  particular 
occasion,  replied,  ";Fowls,  sir,  ham,  sir, 
fowls  and  ham,  roast  beef,  ham  and  beef, 
sir,  tongue  and  roast  duck." 

Fowl  and  ham  were  ordered  for  two,  and 
part  of  a  leg  with  part  of  awing  were  even- 
tually placed  upon  the  table. 

"  What  d'ye  mean  by  bringing  us  these 
two  mites!"  cried  Mr.  Broadsides,  indig- 
nantly digging  his  fork  into  one  of  them, 
with  the  view  of  inspecting  its  dimensions 
more  closely. 

"  Fowl  and  ham  for  two,  sir,  you  order- 
ed," said  the  waiter. 

•*  D'ye  call  this  fowl  and  ham  for  two? 
Bring  us  a  whole  un,  and  plenty  of  ham, 
not  two  tiny  dabs  like  them!" 

Fieschi  looked  if  possible  more  ugly  than 
before,  as  he  took  away  the  dish,  the  con- 
tents of  which  looked,  after  having  been 
disturbed,  by  no  means  calculated  to  impart 
satisfaction  to  any  man's  stomach.  He 
soon  however  returned  with  what  was  by 
courtesy  termed  a  whole  fowl,  particularly 
small  and  very  skinny.  But  such  as  it 
was,  Broadsides  pushed  it  towards  Valen- 
tine for  the  purpose  of  dissection,  andJVal- 
entine  not  being  a  family  man,  thought  the 
shortest  way  of  carving  up  the  animal 
would  be  to  cut  at  once  right  across  the 
breast  bone,  and  thus  to  divide  the  thing 
equally;  but  he  had  no  sooner  made  the 
first  cut,  which  effectually  severed  the  body 


128 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


in  twain,  than  Broadsides  cried,  "  Send  I 
may  live!  What  are  you  at?  Here,  give  us 
hold" — and  called  upon  Fieschi  to  bring 
him  a  skewer.  Fieschi  accordingly  pro- 
duced a  skewer  which  he  said  he  had 
*'  d rawed  from  a  buttick  o'  beef,"  with 
which  Mr.  Broadsides  stuck  the  fowl  again 
together,  and  then  proceeded  to  cut  it  up 
very  scientifically  into  a  number  of  pieces 
— which  Valentine  fancied  unnecessarily 
small,  as  it  would  be  all  the  same  in  the 
Jong  run  which  was  about  to  take  place  in 
the  course  of  five  minutes — Mr.  Broadsides 
observing,  as  he  dexterously  took  out  the 
small  bones  which  young  ladies  in  farm 
houses  pull  to  ascertain  whose  fate  it  is  first 
to  be  married,  that  he  had  been  "  head  cook 
in  the  principalist  tavern  in  London,  and 
never  in  all  his  experience  seed  a  chicken 
attempted  to  be  carved  in  sich  a  fashion  as 
that.''  He  contended  that  half  the  beauty 
of  it  was  in  the  carving,  while  Valentine 
thought  it  all  consisted  in  the  eating;  but 
as  the  experience  of  Broadsides  enabled 
him  to  get  the  better  of  the  argument,  he 
felt  satisfied,  and  called  for  a  bottle  of  wine. 

"  Have  you  got  a  bottle  now,"  said  he, 
"at  all  fit  to  drink?" 

"  Capital  wine,  sir1?"  replied  Fieschi. 

44  Well,  bring  us  some  of  the  decentest 
you  have,  d'ye  hear?" — and  a  bottle  of 
sherry  was  accordingly  brought,  which 
Broadsides  no  sooner  tasted,  than  he  began 
at  once  to  spit,  and  to  blow,  and  to  make 
up  such  a  very  extraordinary  face,  that 
Fieschi  imagined  that  he  had  by  mistake 
brought  forward  a  bottle  of  vinegar. 

"  Do  you  call  this  wine?"  cried  Broad- 
sides, spitting  and  blowing  still  with  re- 
markable energy. 

"Beg  pardon,"  replied  Fieschi,  putting 
the  cork  to  his  nose,  "it  smells  like  wine, 
sir." 

"  Smells  like  wine,"  echoed  Broadsides, 
contemptuously.  "  It  has  nay ther  the  smell 
nor  the  taste  of  wine.  It's  enough  to  give 
an  elephant  the  deliberate  tremens.  Give 
my  compliments  to  your  master,  and  tell 
him  that  may  name's  Broadsides,  and  if  he 
can't  send  me  a  little  better  bottle  of  wine 
than  that,  he'd  better  set  to  work  at  once 
and  drink  it  himself.  Here,  leave  this  now 
a8  it's  opened,  and  go  fetch  something  a  little 
matter  fit  to  go  into  a  Christian's  stomach. 
— Did  yon  ever  taste  such  wine?"  he  con- 
tinued, addressing  Valentine,  who  thought 
it  very  fair  wine,  and  said  so;  hut  Broad- 
sides declared  that  "if  he  ever  brought  up 
such  a  bottle  of  wine  as  that  to  any  cus- 
tomer of  his,  he'd  go  and  cut  his  throat." 

Tim  name  of  Broadsides  appeared  to  hav«- 

t  « tli  ct  upon  the  master  of  Fieschi, 

for  ho  not  only  sent  a  bottle  of  wine  of 


which  Broadsides  approved,  but  ordered 
Fieschi  to  bring  the  other  bottle  away! 
This  act  of  liberality  had  in  return  a  great 
effect  upon  Broadsides,  who  praised  the 
last  bottle  before  he  had  lasted  it,  and  told 
Fieschi  to  let  the  other  remain.  Fieschi, 
however,  respectfully  insisted  upon  obeying 
his  master's  order,  and  Broadsides  in  return 
insisted  upon  Fieschi's  master  coming  to 
take  a  glass  with  him  as  soon  as  he  had  a 
moment  to  spare. 

"  Now,  this  is  very  decent,  considering," 
said  he.  "but  lor!  it  ain't  no  more  like 
what's  in  my  cellar — but  then,  lor,  how  can 
you  expect  it!" 

By  this  time  Valentine  had  demolished 
his  share  of  the  chicken,  and  had  even  com- 
menced the  process  of  flaying  the  back  bone, 
when  another  was  produced,  which  Mr. 
Broadsides  instructed  him  how  to  carve 
properly;  and  he  eventually  did  it  to  the 
entire  satisfaction  of  that  gentleman,  who 
declared  that,  after  that,  he  "  would  be  fit 
to  cut  up  anything  in  the  world,  at  any  table 
in  life." 

Now,  when  Valentine  and  Broadsides 
had  finished  their  meal,  Mr.  Bowles  came 
into  the  marquee  with  three  remarkably  red- 
faced  friends,  to  whom  Broadsides,  although 
he  knew  them  well — was  introduced  as 
"  the  man  wot  heard  the  picture  speak." 

"I  just  did,"  said  Broadsides,  "and  no 
mistake!"  Upon  which  Mr.  Bowles  and 
his  red-faced  friends  began  to  laugh  very 
heartily  and  very  loudly.  "  1  don't  care  a 
dump,"  he  continued,  "about  what  you 
think,  or  what  you  say.  If  I  didn't  hear 
it  speak,  why  I  never  heered  nothing." 

"  You  always  was  a  rum  'un,"  observed 
Mr.  Bowles. 

"I  don't  care  for  that,"  returned  Broad- 
sides. "  Come,  I'll  tell  you  what  I  do  now, 
I'll  bet  you  a  rump  and  dozen  I  heard  it 
now,  come!" 

This  favorite  and  highly  approved  method 
of  settling  an  argument,  seemed  for  a  mo- 
ment to  stagger  Mr.  Bowles,  for  he  felt  that 
he  could  not  prove  that  Mr.  Broadsides 
didn't  hear  it,  and  that  if  the  onus  of  proof 
even  rested  with  Broadsides,  he  had  the 
evidence  of  his  own  ears  at  least,  to  bring 
forward,  while  he  himself  could  produce 
no  evidence  at  all;  thinking,  however,  sub- 
sequently that  the  affirmative  could  not  be 
l>rov< •(!,  he  said,  "Done,"  and  Valentine 
throwing  his  voice  behind  Mr.  Bowles  cried, 
"  You've  lost." 

"  How  lost?"  shouted  Mr.  Bowles,  turn- 
in«r  slmrply  round.  "Who  says  I  have 
lost?"  His  red -faced  friends  stared  at  e;u-!i 
other,  but  neither  of  them  spoke.  "  Who 

I     liavu    lost?"     hu    UP  a  iu    i 
"  \N  hu's  toprovo  it?" 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


129 


"I, "cried  Valentine,  sending  his  voice 
above.  "I! — the  spirit  of  Hodgson!" 

"  Now,  will  you  believe  me?"  cried 
Broadsides,  triumphantly,  "Now  am  I  a 
stupid  old  ass!" 

Mr.  Bowles  looked  amazed,  and  so  did 
the  red-faced  friends  of  Mr.  Bowles.  They 
stared,  first  at  each  other,  and  then  round 
the  marquee,  and  after  Mr.  Bowles  had  ex- 
pressed his  decided  conviction  that  the  thing 
was  "  onaccountably  rum,"  he  and  his 
friends  at  once  sat  down,  and  having  thrust 
their  hands  to  the  very  bottom  of  their 
breeches  pockets,  began  to  look  particularly 
solemn. 

"Isn't  it  queer?"  said  Mr.  Broadsides, 
who  was  the  first  to  break  silence. 

"  Queer!"  replied  Bowles—"  Here,  give 
us  some  wine,  and  don't  say  a  word  more 
about  it."  And  Mr.  Bowles  helped  himself, 
and  then  pushed  the  bottle  round,  and  when 
his  friends  had  filled  their  glasses,  they 
said  with  due  solemnity,  "  Here's  luck," 
and  the  wine  was  out  of  sight  in  an  instant. 

Another  bottle  was  ordered;  and  when 
Fieschi  had  produced  it,  Mr.  Broadsides 
begged  leave  to  propose  as  a  toast,  "  The 
immortal  memory  of  the  Founder,"  which, 
of  course,  was  duly  honored  in  silence. 

A  pause  ensued.  They  were  all  deep 
in  thought;  they  were  turning  the  circum- 
stance over  in  their  minds,  and  were,  appa- 
rently, just  about  coming  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  sounds  were  imaginary  after  all, 
when  Valentine,  throwing  his  voice  into  the 
folds  of  the  pink-aud-white  cambric,  said 
in  tones  of  appropriate  solemnity,  "  Gentle- 
men, I  rise  to  thank  you  for  the  honor  you 
have  conferred  upon  me,  and  beg,  in  return, 
to  drink  all  your  good  healths." 

Mr.  Broadsides,  Mr.  Bowles,  and  his 
red-faced  friends,  held  their  breath.  They 
stared  at  the  cambric  with  an  expression  of 
astonishment,  but  for  some  moments  neither 
of  them  uttered  a  word.  At  length,  Mr. 
Bowles  broke  silence.  "  Well,  said  he, 
"  this  beats  all  my  acquaintance.  I'm  not 
going  to  stop  here,  and  that's  all  about  it." 

The  friends  of  Mr.  Bowles  seemed  to 
like  this  idea;  and  as  Broadsides  did  not 
appear  to  be  by  any  means  opposed  to  such 
a  proceeding,  the  bottle  was  emptied,  and 
when  the  amount  of  what  was  termed  the 
"  damage,"  had  been  paid,  the  whole  party 
left  the  marquee. 

On  reaching  the  lawn  again,  where  they 
began  to  breathe  with  infinitely  more  free- 
dom, the  firing  of  cannon  was  heard,  and 
several  persons  in  the  crowd  exclaimed, 
"the  children!  the  children!"  Again  and 
again  the  cannon  were  fired,  and  the  visit- 
ors rushed  to  the  sides  of  the  lawn,  round 
which  the  poor  children  were  to  pass.  The 


band  by  which  they  were  preceded  drew 
nearer  and  nearer,  and  all  hearts  seemed 
gay,  although  the  eyes  of  the  old  people 
glistened  with  tears. 

At  length  a  policeman  marched  out  of  the 
passage  which  led  through  the  asylum.  He 
was  followed  by  the  band;  then  came  a 
double  row  of  octogenarian  pensioners, 
whose  appearance  was  calculated  at  once 
to  upset  all  the  tea-total  doctrines  in  the 
world,  at  least,  as  far  as  those  doctrines 
have  reference  to  longevity:  then  came  the 
gentlemen  of  the  board,  with  their  blue 
rosettes  and  smiling  faces:  then  came  the 
children,  and  then  the  schoolmaster!  whose 
head,  albeit  remarkably  large,  and  attached 
to  a  body  weighing,  at  least  sixteen  stone, 
seemed  inclined  to  repudiate  the  idea  of  its 
being  impossible  to  find  out  perpetual  mo- 
tion. Thus  formed,  the  procession  marched 
round  the  ample  lawn,  and  the  children  ap- 
peared to  impart  great  delight  to  the  bosoms 
of  their  benevolent  patrons. 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  is,"  said  Mr. 
Broadsides,  when  they  had  passed,  "  but 
them  children  there  always  makes  me  feel, 
I  don't  know  how;"  and  a  couple  of  big 
tears,  as  he  spoke,  dropt  into  his  white 
waistcoat-pockets. 

"  I  say,  Broadsides,"  said  Bowles,  who 
at  the  moment  approached  with  his  red- 
faced  friends,  "  what  fools  we  all  are!" 

"  What  about?"  said  Mr.  Broadsides. 

"  Why  about  that  there  voice,  there," 
replied  Mr.  Bowles.  "I  see  it  all  now. 
Why  mightn't  it  have  come  from  some 
vagabone  at  the  top?"  and  Mr.  Bowles  gave 
Mr.  Broadsides  a  dig  in  the  ribs,  and  laugh- 
ed again  loudly,  and  his  red-faced  friends 
joined  in  full  chorus. 

Mr.  Broadsides  dropped  his  head  on  his 
left  shoulder,  thoughtfully;  but  after  a  time 
an  idea  seemed  to  strike  him,  and  he  ex- 
claimed, "  so  it  might!  some  wagabone 
might  have  been  a  top  o'  the  tent;  but  how 
could  he  get  in  the  pictur?" 

This,  in  return,  seemed  to  puzzle  Mr. 
Bowles:  but  after  scratching  his  head  for 
some  considerable  time,  he  cried,  "well!  I 
don't  care; — I  won't  believe  in  any  of  your 
supernatteral  nonsense.  I  say  there  must 
have  been  some  blaggard  outside.  Will 
you  make  me  believe  that  a  ghost  could  re- 
turn thanks  in  that  there  way?  Ain't  it  out 
of  all  reason?  Come,  let's  go  and  see 
where  the  vagabone  could  have  stood." 
And  he  dragged  Mr.  Broadsides  to  the  back 
of  the  marquee,  when  Valentine,  fancying 
that  if  he  remained  with  them  the  wine 
would  go  round  perhaps  a  little  too  fast, 
left  the  spot,  and  proceeded  to  another  mar- 
quee, in  which  the  whole  of  the  provisions 
were  dispensed. 

12* 


130 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


The  person  who  presided  over  this  large 
establishment  was  a  man  whom  nothing 
seemed  to  please.  He  cut  about  among  the 
bottles  in  such  a  dreadful  state  of  mind, 
freely  sweating,  and  loudly  swearing  that 
every  body  robbed  him,  and  laboring  appa- 
rently under  the  horrible  apprehension  that 
he  was  working  very  hard  to  make  himself 
a  ruined  mau.  The  good  which  he  did  him- 
self was,  indeed,  very  trifling;  but  he  jump- 
ed from  one  end  of  the  tent  to  the  other 
with  the  velocity  of  a  grasshopper,  pushing 
aside  all  who  happened  to  come  in  his  way 
— scolding  some  for  putting  too  much  spirit 
in  the  grog,  and  others,  for  not  putting  in 
enough — declared  that  one  hadn't  paid  him 
for  a  bottle  of  stout,  and  that  another  wished 
to  swindle  him  out  of  a  plate  of  boiled  beef 
— in  short,  he  seemed  to  be,  on  the  whole, 
a  most  unhappy  individual,  although  a  de- 
cidedly good-looking  man. 

"  Well,  old  boy,"  said  Valentine,  throw- 
ing his  voice  behind  this  remarkable  per- 
son; "  and  how  do  you  get  on?" 

*'  On!"  cried  that  person,  "  good  luck  to 
you,  don't  say  a  word  to  me  now,  whoever 
you  are.  I  shall  go  raving  mad; — every 
body's  robbing  me;  every  body's  at  it;  I 
don't  believe  I've  got  a  single  honest  man 
about  me." 

44  Do  you  see,"  cried  Valentine,  "  how 
your  wine's  going  under  the  tent  there?" 

"Under  the  tent!"  cried  the  busy  person, 
"  where?  Here,  Tomkins!  Smith!  Lucas! 
run  behind,  and  knock  down  those  vaga- 
bond s,dy'ehear!  Behind  there!  behind!"  and 
away  went  three  waiters.  "  I  thought,"  he 
continued,  "  that  the  wine  went  somewhere. 
I've  lost  a  couple  of  dozen,  at  least;  and 
nobody  Ml  look  out,  nobody  '11  assist  me, 
although  I  am  surrounded  by  plundering 
thieves;  nobody  Ml  move  hand  or  foot;  1 
must  do  all  myself." 

44  There's  nobody  behind!"  cried  Lucas, 
returning;  and  Tomkins,  and  Smith  bore 
testimony  to  the  fact. 

44 1  tell  you  they've  been  forking  out  the 
wine!  but  you're  all  in  a  gang.  I  expect  to 
see  you  all,  by  and  by,  as  drunk  as  devils. 
If  I've  lost  one  bottle,  I've  lost  five  dozen. 
But  let  'em  come  again — only  let  them  try 
it  on!  /'//  keep  my  eye  upon  'em — I'll  sarve 
them  out,  the  warmint!"  and  he  placed  an 
empty  bottle  near  a  hole  in  the  canvass,  and 
a  carving-knife  upon  a  hamper  beside  it, 
with  the  view  of  having  a  cut  at  the  very 
next  hand  that  happened  to  be  clandestinely 
introduced. 

Valentine  feeling  that  it  would  be  cruel 
to  tease  this  unhappy  man   under  the  cir- 
cumstances any  longer,  left  the  spot,  ;nn 
proceeded  across  the  lawn  with  the  view  o' 
inspecting  the  female  visitors,  of  whom  al 


vere  well  dressed,  and  some  very  beautiful, 
nt  none  in  his  judgment  one-half  so 
eautiful  as  the  fair  unknown  whom  he  had 
saved  to  lose,  he  feared,  for  ever.  There 
was  in  the  crowd  one  who,  with  soft  sleepy 
eyes,  which  when  opened  were  brilliant 
and  full,  bore  some  slight  resemblance  to 
idol;  but  even  she  was  not  comparable 
;o  her  of  whom  he  felt  so  much  enamored, 
'or  while  her  features  were  irregular,  and 
ler  figure  inelegant,  her  voice,  which  he 
leard  as  he  passed,  contrasted  harshly  with 
those  sweet  silvery  tones  which  he  so  well 
remembered. 

His  ear,  was,  however,  at  this  moment 
assailed  with  a  different  species  of  music, 
or  the  band  commenced  the  overture  to  Der 
Friesckutz,  with  the  wild  unearthly  phrases 
of  which  he  had  before  felt  enchanted.  He 
bad  scarcely,  however,  reached  the  lawn  in 
front  of  the  Asylum,  on  which  the  band  was 
stationed,  when  he  was  startled  by  a  remark- 
ably heavy  slap  on  the  shoulder,  which  on 
turning  round  he  found  to  proceed  from  Mr. 
Broadsides,  who  had  evidently  been  taking 
more  wine,  and  who  exclaimed,  4'  Well,  old 
fellow,  why,  where  have  you  been  poking 
to!  We've  been  running  all  over  the  place 
to  find  you.  Come,  let's  see  what's  agoing 
forrard  here;"  and  taking  the  arm  of  Valen- 
tine, he  at  once  led  the  way  into  the  booth 
termed  the  4'  Ladies'  Bazaar,"  in  which  all 
sorts  of  toys  were  exposed  for  sale,  and  the 
avenue  was  crowded,  but  they  nevertheless; 
stopped  to  inspect  every  stall. 

"  Will  you  buy  me  a  work-box,  please, 
Mr.  Broadsides,"  said  Valentine,  assuming 
a  female  voice,  which  appeared  to  proceed 
from  a  very  gaily  dressed  little  lady  who 
stood  just  beside  him. 

Mr.  Broadsides  chucked  the  little  lady 
under  the  chin,  and  said,  4'  Certainly,  my 
little  dear,  which  would  you  like?" 

44  Sir!"  cried  the  little  lady,  tossing  her 
head  proudly,  and  turning  away  with  a  look 
of  indignation. 

Broadsides  blew  out  his  cheeks  with  an 
energy  which  threatened  to  crack  them,  and 
after  giving  a  puff  which  nearly  amounted 
to  a  whistle,  he  tossed  his  head  in  humble 
imitation  of  the  little  lady,  and  turned  round 
to  Bowles. 

44  Hullo!"  said  that  gentleman,  44  Can't 
let  the  girls  alone,  eh?  still  up  to  your  old 
tricks?  1  shall  tell  M-s.  Broadsides." 

Now,  although  Mr.  Bowles  had  no  inten- 
tion whatever  of  carrying  this  threat  into 
actual  execution,  the  bare  mention  of  that 
lady's  name  caused  Broadsides  to  blow  with 
more  energy  than  before.  "  \\liy,"  said 
he,  "  didn't  you  hear  the  cretur  ask  me  to 
buy  her  a  work-box?" 


VALENTINE  vox. 


131 


•   "  It's  all  very   fine,"   replied    Bowles, 
"  but  it  won't  do,  old  boy,  it  won't  do." 

"  Well,  if  she  didn't,  I'm  blessed!"  re- 
joined Broadsides,  "and  that's  all  about  it." 
Mr.  Bowles,  however,  still  very  stoutly 
maintained  that  if  she  had,  she  would  never 
have  bounced  off  in  that  way,  and  as  that 
was  an  argument  over  which  Mr.  Broad- 
sides could  not  very  comfortably  get,  he 
seized  Valentine's  arm  and  pressed  back 
through  the  crowd. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  on  returning  to  the 
lawn,  "  how  do  you  find  yourself  now?" 

"  Why,"  replied  Valentine,  "  particularly 
thirsty,  can't  we  have  some  tea1?" 

"Tea  is  a  thing  I  never  do  drink,"  said 
Broadsides;  "  but  if  you'd  like  to  have  some 
I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do;  we'll  give  one 
of  the  old  women  a  turn,  you  know,  instead 
of  going  down  to  that  there  tent." 

Valentine,  of  course,  was  quite  willing 
to  do  so;  arid  as  the  charitable  suggestion 
was  applauded  by  Mr.  Bowles  and  the  only 
red-faced  friend  he  had  with  him,  they  went 
into  one  of  the  little  rooms  in  the  Asylum, 
and  after  Broadsides  had  warmly  kissed  its 
occupant,  who  was  remarkably  old,  but 
remarkably  clean,  he  at  once  ordered  tea  for 
half  a  dozen. 

"  There  are  but  four  of  us,"  observed 
Mr.  Bowles,  as  the  delighted  old  lady  left 
the  room  to  make  the  necessary  prepara- 
tions. 

Oh!  never  mind," said  Broadsides,  "it'll 
be  all  the  better,  you  know,  for  the  old 
woman.  She  don't  have  a  turn  every  day. 
You  wouldn't  believe  it,"  he  continued, 
"  but  that  old  cretur,  there,  when  1  first 
knew  her,  kept  one  of  the  best  houses  of 
business  in  London!" 

"  Is  she  a  widderl"  inquired  Mr.  Bowles. 
*'  Now  she  is,  but  she  wasn't  then;  old 
Sam  was  alive  at  that  time." 

"  And  when  he  died  I  suppose  things 
went  to  rack  and  ruin'?" 

"  Oh,  that  occurred  before  he  went  home. 
He  was  the  steadiest  man  any  where,  the 
first  seven  years  he  was  in  business,  and 
made  a  mint  o'money;  but  when  he  lost  his 
daughter,  a  beautiful  girl,  just  for  all  the 
world  like  my  Betsy,  he  all  at  once  turned 
out  a  regular  Lushington,  and  everything 
of  course  went  sixes  and  sevens.  He  al- 
ways made  it  a  pint  of  getting  drunk  before 
breakfast,  and  ruination  in  one  way  of  course, 
brought  on  ruination  in  another,  until  he 
was  obliged  for  to  go  all  to  smash.  Poor 
Sam  died  very  soon  after  that  time  you  see, 
because  he  couldn't  eat.  It  don't  matter 
what  a  man  drinks,  so  long  as  he  can  eat, 
but  when  he  can't  eat,  he  ought  to  leave  off 
drinking  till  he  can.  That's  rny  senti 
ments." 


"There's  a  good  deal  in  that,"  said  Mr. 
Bowles,  "  a  good  deal." 

;<  Well,  dame,"  said  Broadsides,  as  the 
widow  re-entered  the  room;  "  why  you  are 
ooking  younger  and  younger  every  day. 
It's  many  years  now  since  you  and  me  first 
met." 

"Ah!"  said  the  poor  old  lady,  with  a 
sigh,  "  I've  gone  through  a  world  of  trouble 
sin'  then;  but,  God  be  praised  for  all  his 
goodness,  I'm  as  happy  now  as  the  days 
are  long." 

"  That's  right,  my  old  girl,"  said  Mr. 
Broadsides,  "that's  right!  I  say  now, 
an't  you  get  us  a  bottle  of  decent  port  any- 
where about  here?" 

"I  dares  to  say  I  can,"  replied  the  old 
lady,  and  she  put  on  her  bonnet,  and  having 
received  a  sovereign,  trotted  out. 

Mr.  Bowles  now  began  to  roast  Mr. 
Broadsides  about  the  little  indignant  lady 
and  the  work-box;  but  that  gentleman  turned 
the  tables  on  Mr.  Bowles  by  reminding  him, 
that  when  he  lived  at  Brixton,  and  was  at 
a  party  at  Kennington,  he  insisted  upon 
seeing  a  young  lady  home,  not  knowing 
where  she  lived;  and  when  the  favor  was 
ranted,  he  had  to  walk  with  her,  at  twelve 
o'clock  at  night,  into  Red  Cow  Lane,  near 
Stepney  Green. 

"  Is  that  a  fact!"  inquired  the  red-faced 
friend  of  Mr.  Bowles. 

"  Oh  that's  true  enough,"  replied  Bowles, 
"  and  all  I  could  do,  1  couldn't  get  her  to 
ride." 

Hereupon  Mr.  Broadsides  and  Valentine, 
and  the  red-faced  gentleman  indulged  in 
loud  laughter,  and  Mr.  Bowles  very  hearti- 
ly joined  them,  and  when  the  old  lady  en- 
tered with  the  wine,  she  laughed  too;  but 
the  sight  of  the  bottle  subdued  Mr.  Broad- 
sides, who  in  an  instant  began  to  uncork  it. 
"Keep  the  change,  old  girl,  till  I  call  for 
it,"  said  he,  and  the  old  lady  said  that  he 
was  a  very  good  man,  and  hoped  that  God 
would  bless  him,  and  that  his  family  might 
prosper. 

Valentine  had  to  make  tea;  and  Mr. 
Broadsides  sat  at  another  little  table  over 
his  wine,  which  he  drank  very  fast  and 
very  mechanically,  for  his  thoughts  were 
on  the  mysterious  occurrences  of  the  day. 
Valentine,  however,  would  not  let  him  rest, 
for  taking  advantage  of  an  unusually  silent 
moment,  he  introduced  under  the  table  at 
which  he  was  sitting,  an  exact  imitation  of 
the  squeaking  of  a  rat. 

"Hallo!"  cried  Broadsides,  starting  up 
in  a  moment,  and  seizing  the  poker,  and  in 
doing  so,  knocking  down  the  shovel  and 
tongs;  "  only  let  me  come  across  you." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  now?11  ex» 
claimed  Mr.  Bowles. 


132 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"  Shet  the  door,  shet  the  door!"  cried 
Broadsides  to  the  widow,  who  had  entered 
on  hearing  the  rattling  of  the  irons.  "  Here's 
a  rat — a  rat!"  and  the  old  lady  dropped  upon 
a  chair  and  wound  her  clothes  in  an  instant 
round  her  legs  as  tightly  as  possible,  while 
Broadsides  was  anxiously  removing  every 
article  of  furniture  in  the  room,  and  search- 
ing in  every  comer  with  the  poker  in  his 
hand. 

"  Lor'  bless  us!"  cried  the  widow,  "  I 
didn't  know  there  was  a  rat  in  the  place,' 
and  another  squeak  was  heard,  upon  which 
Mr.  Broadsides  jumped  upon  a  chair  with 
all  the  alacrity  at  his  command,  which  was 
not  very  considerable,  and  looked  very 
fierce. 

The  laughter  of  Mr.  Bowles  and  his  red- 
faced  friend  at  that  moment  was  particular- 
ly hearty,  for  they  were  not  afraid  of  rats! 
but  Mr.  Broadsides  was,  and  so  was  the 
old  lady,  who  continued  to  sit  in  an  inter- 
esting heap. 

"  Only  let  me  ccme  across  him!"  cried 
Broadsides  again,  and  doubtless  had  a  rat 
at  that  moment  appeared,  it  would  have 
stood  a  very  fair  chance  of  giving  up  the 
ghost,  for  Mr.  Broadsides  shook  the  poker 
with  great  desperation,  and  looked  altogether 
extremely  ferocious. 

"  Come  down  from  that  chair,  do,  you 
jolly  old  fool,"  cried  Mr.  Bowles;  "  as  true 
as  life,  I  shall  bust!"  and  another  roar  of 
laughter  proceeded  from  him  and  his  friend, 
in  which  Valentine  could  not  help  joining. 
Indeed  he  laughed  so  heartly,  that  all  alarm 
subsided,  for  as  he  couldn't  squeak  for  laugh- 
ing, Broadsides  eventually  descended  from 
the  chair. 

"They're  nasty  things  are  rats,"  said 
he,  "  particular  nasty  things.  I  can't  abear 
'em,"  and  he  began  to  give  an  account  of 
the  ferocious  characteristics  of  those  little 
animals,  describing  the  different  species  and 
the  different  parts  at  which  each  of  those 
different  species  took  it  into  their  heads  to 
fly;  and  while  he  was  drawing  the  line  be- 
tween the  grey  rat  and  the  black  rat,  the  old 
lady  still  holding  her  clothes  down  very 
tightly,  managed  to  rush,  with  great  pre- 
sence of  mind,  from  the  room. 

Mr.  Bowles  and  his  friend,  however,  con- 
tinued to  laugh,  and  as  the  squeaking  had 
ceased,  Mr.  Broadsides  laughed  too,  while 
Valentine,  who  then  had  a  stitch  in  his 
side,  slipped  away  in  a  dreadful  state  of 
muscular  excitement. 

The  very  moment  he  got  out  of  the  place, 
he  met  one  of  the  red-faced  friends  of  Mr. 
Bowles,  walking  between  two  gaudily 
dressed  ladies,  one  of  whom  was  remarka- 
bly short  and  fat,  while  the  other  was  re- 
markable only  for  her  decided  skeletonian 


characteristics.  To  these  ladies  Valentine 
was  formally  introduced;  the  short  fat  lady, 
as  the  wife  of  the  red-faced  gentleman,  and 
the  tall  thin  lady,  as  Miss  Amelia  Spinks. 

"  We  are  going  to  have  a  dance,"  said 
the  red-faced  gentleman,  "will  you  join  us!" 

"  With  pleasure,"  replied  Valentine, 
looking  into  the  little  laughing  eyes  of  the 
short  fat  lady,  who  mechanically  drew  her 
arm  from  that  of  her  husband,  and  Valen- 
tine as  mechanically  offered  her  his. 

Thus  paired,  though  by  no  means  matched, 
they  proceeded  across  the  lawn,  and  having 
reached  the  dancing  booth,  they  paid  the 
admission  fee,  and  entered. 

The  place  was  dreadfully  hot,  as  were 
indeed  all  who  were  in  it,  for  they  not  only 
danced  with  all  their  souls,  and  with  all 
their  strength,  but,  in  consequence  of  the 
place  being  so  crowded,  they  bumped  up 
against  each  other's  bustles  at  every  turn, 
while  the  professional  gentlemen  in  a  sort 
of  box  were  scraping  and  blowing  away, 
like  North  Britons. 

Valentine  solicited  the  hand  of  the  short 
far  lady  for  the  next  set. 

"Oh  dear,"  said  that  lady,  "I'm  so 
werry  horkard;  but  is  it  to  be  a  country 
dance1?" 

Valentine  hoped  not,  from  his  soul,  under 
the  circumstances,  and  was  gratified  to  learn 
that  country  dances  were  there  repudiated, 
as  vulgar.  He,  however,  ascertained  that 
they  were  going  to  have  a  Spanish  dance, 
which  certainly  was  the  next  best  thing; 
and,  having  communicated  that  interesting 
fact  to  the  lady  in  question,  he  prevailed 
upon  her  eventually  to  stand  up. 

The  gentlemen  now  clapped  their  hands 
with  due  energy,  with  the  view  of  intimat- 
ing to  the  musicians,  who  were  sweating 
like  bullocks,  that  they  were  perfectly  pre- 
pared to  start  off,  and  after  a  time  those 
professional  individuals  did  consent  to  sound 
the  note  of  preparation. 

Now  in  order  that  all  might  be  in  motion 
together,  every  third  couple  were  expected 
to  lead  off,  and  as  Valentine  and  his  partner 
happened  to  form  a  third  couple,  they  of 
course  changed  sides,  and  the  dance  com- 
menced. 

i4 1  do  hope,"  said  she,  when  they  had 
got  to  the  bottom,  "  that  we  shall  have  to 
jo  all  the  way  down  agfain,  it  is  beautiful." 
Hut  unfortunately  for  her  the  music  ceased 
the  next  moment,  and  the  dance  was  at  an 
end.  And  then,  oh!  how  she  did  run  on! 
Nothing  was  ever  half  so  lovely,  out*  quar- 
ter so  nice,  or  one  hundred  and  fiftiiuli  part 
so  delightful  as  that  Spanish  dance.  Sh<« 
was  sure  there  never  was  such  an  elegant 
dancer  in  this  world  as  Valentine,  and  she 
did  sincerely  hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


133 


seeing  him  often  at  "the  Mountain  and 
Mutton  Chops." 

And  Valentine  was  very  happy;  and  the 
red-faced  gentleman  was  very  happy;  and 
they  were  all  very  happy,  and  laughed 
very  merrily,  and  perspired  very  freely. 

"  Come,"  said  the  red-faced  gentleman, 
holding  forth  a  glass  of  hot  brandy-and- 
water.  "  Drink,  sir:  I'm  happy  to  know 
you  as  the  friend  of  Mr.  Broadsides,  and 
you're  worthy  of  being  the  friend,  sir,  of 
any  man — drink!" 

Valentine  sipped.  He  fancied  that  hot 
brandy-and-water  would  not  be  exactly  the 
thing  after  the  work  he  had  had  to  perform, 
and  therefore  went  for  some  ices  and  sun- 
dry bottles  of  lemonade  for  himself  and  the 
ladies,  who,  during  his  absence,  were  lost 
in  admiration  of  his  pleasing  companionable 
qualities,  which  certainly  were  very  con- 
spicuous. 

The  next  dance  was  called— the  Caledo- 
nians! "  Now,"  thought  Valentine,  "  I  am 
in  for  it  beautifully." 

"  I  shall  have  you  again  for  a  partner," 
said  he,  "  of  course1?1' 

"  Oh,  dear  rne,  yes,  I  shall  be  so  happy," 
cried  the  little  fat  lady,  starting  up,  "  but 
you  must  teach  me,  you  know;  and  then  I 
don't  mind."  Nor  did  she.  Had  it  been 
a  minuet  or  even  a  hornpipe,  it  would  have 
not  been  of  the  slightest  possible  importance 
to  her  then,  so  loug  indeed  as  Valentine 
consented  to  instruct  her. 

The  music  commenced.  "  Hands  across, 
back  again  to  places,"  cried  a  person  who 
officiated  as  master  of  the  ceremonies  in  a 
a  voice  so  peculiar  that  Valentine  fancied 
that  he  might  as  well  imitate  it  as  not.  The 
first  figure  was  accomplished;  and  the  little 
fat  lady  who  would  not  stir  an  inch  without 
being  led  by  Valentine,  went  through  it 
very  well;  but  just  as  they  were  commenc- 
ing the  second,  Valentine  assuming  the 
voice  of  the  M.  C.  cried,  "Uete!"  and 
those  who  happened  to  hear  him,  began  to 
do  ISete  in  defiance  of  the  master  of  the 
ceremonies,  who  shouted,  "  no,  no!  Cale- 
donians!— not  the  first  set!" 

The  error,  after  some  slight  confusion, 
was  rectified,  and  they  went  on  advancing, 
and  retiring  very  properly;  but  when  they 
arrived  at  the  "  promenade"  Valentine  cried, 
"  chassez  croisez!"  and  those  who  obeyed, 
met  those  who  were  promenading  with 
great  euergy  of  mind,  well  knowing  that 
they  were  right,  and  so  violent  was  the 
contact,  that  in  a  moment  at  least  fifty 
couples  were  on  the  ground!  The  promen- 
aders  had  the  worst  of  it  decidedly,  for  they 
galloped  round  at  such  a  rapid  rate,  that 
when  one  couple  fell  in  a  set,  the  others 
rolled  over  them,  as  a  purely  natural  matter 


of  course.  The  confusion  for  a  time  was 
unparalleled,  and  the  laughter  which  suc- 
ceeded amounted  to  a  roar,  but  Valentine 
gallantly  saved  his  little  partner;  for,  sus- 
pecting what  was  about  to  occur,  he  seized 
her  by  the  waist,  and  he  drew  her  at  once 
into  the  centre,  where  he  stood  viewing  the 
tumult  he  had  thas  reprehensibly  induced 
with  feelings  of  intense  satisfaction. 

Of  course  the  fallen  parties  were  not  long 
before  they  scrambled  up  again,  and  when 
they  had  risen,  the  brushing  on  the  part  of 
the  gentlemen,  and  the  blushing  on  the  part 
of  the  ladies,  were  altogether  unexampled, 
while  the  musicians,  whose  eyes  were  firm- 
ly fixed  upon  the  notes,  worked  away  as  if 
nothinor  had  happened,  until  they  had  com- 
pleted l;he  tune. 

"  Why  did  you  call  chassez  croisez?" 
shouted  several  of  the  gentlemen,  in  tones 
of  reproach.  "  We  were  all  right  enough 
until  you  interfered." 

The  master  of  the  ceremonies  assured 
those  gentlemen,  individually  and  collect- 
ively, that  he  did  not  call  out  "  chassez- 
croisez"  at  all,  and  that  somebody  else  did. 

Valentine  now  thought  that  it  would  be 
a  pity  to  disturb  the  clear  current  of  their 
enjoyment  again.  He,  therefore,  permitted 
them,  without  interruption,  to  go  through 
the  various  figures  prescribed,  and  made  the 
fat  little  lady  perform  so  much  to  her  own 
satisfaction,  and  that  of  her  husband — who 
appeared  to  be  exceedingly  fond  of  his  little 
wife— that  at  the  conclusion,  their  pleasure 
knew  no  bounds. 

Every  dance  after  that,  she  stood  up  for, 
and  she  and  her  husband  appeared  to  be  so 
grateful  to  Valentine,  and  made  him  feel  so 
conscious  that  the  highest  possible  pleasure 
is  involved  in  the  act  of  imparting  pleasure 
to  others,  that  he  really  felt  happy  in  giving 
her  instructions,  although  she  did  work  him 
most  cruelly.  Indeed,  so  much  did  he  en- 
joy himself,  that  he  continued  in  the  booth 
until  the  band  struck  up  the  national  an- 
them, whem  finding  that  it  was  past  ten 
o'clock,  he  took  his  leave,  and  went  to  look 
after  Broadsides. 

That  gentleman,  he  ascertained,  after 
having  searched  for  him  in  all  directions 
but  the  right  one,  had  started  ten  minutes 
before  with  Mr.  Bowles.  He  therefore 
immediately  left  the  gay  scene,  and  having 
found  that  every  vehicle  about  the  place 
had  been  previously  engaged,  he  set  off  on 
foot  towards  town.  He  had  not  proceeded 
far,  however,  before  he  arrived  at  a  spot,  on 
one  side  of  which  was  an  open  field,  and  on 
the  other  a  row  of  houses,  which  stood 
back  some  distance  from  the  road.  All  was 
silent,  and  dark:  it  appeared  so  especially 
to  him,  having  just  left  the  glitter  and  noise 


134 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


of  the  fair.  He,  however,  walked  on  pretty 
briskly;  but  just  as  he  had  reached  the  ter- 
mination of  this  field,  two  fellows  stood 
immediately  before  him.  He  could  see 
them  but  indistinctly,  but  he  heard  them 
with  remarkable  distinctness  cry,  "  stand! 
your  money,  or  your  life!" 

"  Oh,  oh!"  muttered  Valentine,  "  that's 
the  game,  is  it!"  and  he  drew  himself  back 
with  the  view  of  striking  out  with  freedom, 
but  the  fellows,  as  if  conscious  of  his  ob- 
ject, seized  him  in  an  instant,  and  one  of 
them  holding  to  his  head  something,  he 
couldn't  tell  whether  it  was  the  muzzle  of 
a  pistol,  or  the  end  of  a  bludgeon,  nor  did 
he  much  care,  cried  "  out  with  it!  quick! — 
and  your  watch!" 


Valentine  did  not  like  to  part  with  his 
watch;  nor  was  he  very  anxious  to  part  with 
his  money:  he,  therefore,  finding  the  rascals 
particularly  impatient,  and  by  no  means 
disposed  to  wait  until  he  had  consulted  a 
friend — shouted,  throwing  his  voice  behind 
him  "here  they  are! — here  are  the  scoun- 
drels!— secure  them!" 

The  fellows,  on  the  instant,  relinquished 
their  hold,  and  turned  round  with  unspeak- 
able velocity;  and  just  as  the  last  man  was 
darting  away,  Valentine  presented  him 
with  a  souvenir,  in  perfect  similitude  of  a 
kick,  and  proceeded  towards  home  without 
further  molestation. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


IN  WHICH   VALENTINE    VISITS   THE    LONDON    DOCKS,    AND    MOST    REPREHENSIBLY    INDUCES  A 

WICKED  WASTE  OF  WINE. 


As  a  matter  of  Christian  courtesy,  Valen- 
tine called  upon  Broadsides  the  following 
morning,  and  found  that  gentleman  under- 
going the  connubial  operation  of  having  his 
ears  pierced  painfully  by  the  amiable  Mrs. 
Broadsides,  in  consequence  of  his  having 
returned  from  the  Fancy  Fair,  in  her  judg- 
ment, a  little  too  affectionate  and  merry. 
The  very  moment,  however.  Valentine  pass- 
ed the  bar-window.  Broadsides  felt  some- 
what relieved,  seeing  that,  strange  as  it 
may  appear,  he  had  been  waiting  all  the 
morning  for  the  entrance  of  some  friend, 
whose  presence  might  cause  his  lady's 
tongue  to  sound  sowewhat  less  harshly. 
He,  therefore,  on  the  instant  started  up,  and 
having  grasped  the  hand  of  Valentine,  ob- 
served that  he  really  was  a  very  pretty  fel- 
low, for  running  away  the  previous  evening; 
and,  having  made  this  truly  remarkable  ob- 
servation, he  caused  him  at  once  to  sit  down 
in  the  bar,  and  slapped  his  thigh  with  all 
the  force  of  which  he  was  capable,  and 
wished,  very  particularly,  to  know  how  he 
felt  himself  then. 

"  Why,  he's  not  like  somebody  I  know," 
observed  the  highly  sarcastic  Mrs.  Broad- 
sides, volunteering  an  answer  to  the  ques- 
tion proposed.  "  He  can  go  out  and  have 
a  day's  pleasure  without  making  a  beast  of 
himself,  and  that's  more  than  some  people 
can  do."  And  she  looked  very  spitefully 
at  Mr.  Broadsides,  and  bottled  some  bitters, 
and,  having  driven  the  cork  against  the 
edge  of  the  bar  very  violently,  began  to 
darn  up  an  extraordinary  hole  in  Mr.  Broad- 
sides' speckled  worsted  stockings. 


"Why,"  said  Valentine,  addressing  Mr. 
Broadsides,  "  you  were  all  right  when  you 
came  home,  were  you  not?" 

"  Right,  sir!"  cried  the  lady,  "  he  never 
is  right.  Go  where  he  may,  and  when  he 
may,  he  always  comes  home  like  a  beast. 
It's  wonderful  to  me — it  really  is  wonderful, 
that  men  can't  go  out  without  drinking  and 
swilling,  and  guttling  to  such  an  extent,  as 
to  make  themselves  stupid.  What  pleasure 
— what  comfort— what  enjoyment  can  there 
be  in  it?  That's  what  I  want  to  know! 
We  can  go  out,  and  be  pleasant  and  happy, 
and  come  home  without  getting  tipsy:  but 
you! — there,  if  I  wouldn't  have  every  man 
who  gets  in  that  state,  kept  on  brown  bread 
and  water  for  a  month  I'm  not  here!  What, 
if  I  were  to  go  out,  and  come  home  like 
you,  reeling!" 

"  Oh,  that  would  be  a  werry  different 
thing,"  observed  Broadsides. 

"  Not  at  all!  Don't  tell  me!  We  have 
just  as  much  right  to  get  tipsy  as  you  have. 
It's  just  as  bad  for  one  as  for  the  other,  and 
no  worse.  If  a  woman  gets  tipsy,  she's 
everything  that's  dreadful.  Oh  !  nothing's 
too  bad  for  her:  it's  then  the  fore-runner  of 
all  sorts  of  wickedness.  But  a  man! — he 
has  only  to  get  sober  again,  and  nothing 
more  is  said  or  thought  about  the  matter. 
I  say,  that  like  many  other  things,  it's  as 
bad  for  the  man  as  for  the  woman,  only  the 
mischief  of  it  is,  it  isn't  thought  so,  that's 
all." 

During  the  rapid  delivery  of  these  inte- 
resting observations,  Mr.  nnr.nlsi.li-s  was 
scratching  his  whiskers,  and  fidgeting,  and 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


135 


•winking,  and  nodding  towards  the  door, 
with  the  view  to  inspiring1  Valentine  with 
the  conviction,  that  by  leaving  the  bar, 
their  mutual  comfort  would,  in  all  proba- 
bility, be  very  materially  enhanced.  It  was 
some  time,  however,  before  he  was  able  to 
make  these  peculiarly  cabalistic  signs  un- 
derstood; but  he  was  at  length  successful, 
and  Valentine;  acting  upon  the  natural  sug- 
gestion, directed  a  pint  of  wine  to  be  sent 
into  the  coffee-room,  and  invited  Mr.  Broad- 
sides to  join  him. 

"  You  had  better  stay  here,"  said  the 
lady,  addressing  Valentine,  "  I  don't  allow 
every  one  to  be  in  the  bar,  but  I  don't  mind 
you;  and  it  shall  be  more  comfortable  here 
than  in  that  cold  room:  it  has  just  been 
scoured  out  and  is  still  very  damp." 

Valentine  apparently  felt  flattered.  He 
had  not  the  smallest  objection  to  remain; 
but  Broadsides  most  certainly  had,  and 
this  was  no  sooner  perceived  by  his  lady, 
than  she  inquired,  with  bitter  earnestness, 
whether  he  had  any  particular  wish  to  have 
another  fit  of  the  gout1  This  affectionate 
interrogatory  settled  the  business.  They 
remained  in  the  bar,  and  Valentine,  with 
appropriate  solemnity,  inquired  if  Broad- 
sides were  really  very  bad  when  he  re- 
turned. 

"  As  sober  as  a  judge,  sir!"  replied  that 
gentleman. 

"Good  gracious!"  exclaimed  the  lady, 
as  Broadsides  left  the  bar  to  look  after  a 
boiled  chicken.  "  How  can  you  say  that, 
when  you  know  that  you  were  as  tipsy  as 
tipsy  could  be?" 

"  Well,"  cried  Valentine,  throwing  his 
voice  immediately  behind  Mrs.  Broadsides, 
"that's  a  good  one." 

"  The  lady,  on  the  instant,  wheeled  round, 
expecting,  of  course,  to  see  some  person 
there;  but,  as  this  expectation  was  by  no 
means  realised,  she  felt,  in  some  slight 
degree,  alarmed,  and  looked  very  myste- 
rious, and  then  turned  to  Valentine,  of 
whom  she  inquired  if  he  had  heard  that 
extraordinary  remark. 

Valentine,  who  seemed  to  be  reading 
most  intently,  took  no  apparent  notice  of 
this  natural  question,  but  added,  with  his 
eyes  still  fixed  upon  the  paper — "  I  intend- 
ed it  for  you.  It  could  reach  no  farther. 
Why,  I  ask,  are  you  a  scold1?" 

The  tones  in  which  this  observation  was 
made,  bore,  in  the  judgment  of  Mrs.  Broad- 
sides, some  resemblance  to  those  of  the 
voice  of  the  waiter,  who  happened  to  be 
standing  a  shortdistance  from  the  bar,  count- 
ing his  money  again  and  again,  scratching 
his  head  with  great  violence,  and  endeavor- 
ing to  recollect  whether  two  very  hungry  in- 
dividaals,  who  had  consumed  nine  chops  and 


six  kidneys  the  previous  night  had,  in 
reality  paid  him  or  not. 

"  What's  that  you  say,  sir1?"  inquired 
the  lady,  with  a  sharpness  which  quite 
confused  all  his  calculations. 

"  Me,  mum!"  cried  the  waiter,  turning 
round  with  great  velocity,  "  Jdid'nt  speak, 
mum." 

"  You  did  speak!  I  heard  you,  sir!  Let 
me  have  no  more  of  your  impertinence,  I 
beg." 

The  waiter  felt  confused.  He  couldn't 
understand  it!  He  twisted  his  napkin  and 
swung  it  under  his  arm  with  great  energy 
of  mind;  but  he  could  not  unravel  the  mys- 
tery at  all.  He  did,  however,  eventually 
venture  to  observe  that,  upon  his  soul,  he 
had  never  opened  his  lips. 

"  How  dare  you,"  cried  the  lady,  "  tell 
me  that  wicked  falsehood,  when  I  heard 
you  as  plain  as " 

"  No!  you  heard  me,  mum!"  cried  Val- 
entine, throwing  his  voice  with  reprehensi- 
ble dexterity  into  the  mouth  of  the  waiter. 

"  Don't  I  say  so!"  continued  the  lady, 
"  I  know  it  was  you,  and  yet  you  have  the 
impudence  to  tell  me  to  my  face,  that  upon 
your  soul  you  didn't  open  your  lips!" 

"  No  more  I  did!  'twasn't  me!"  cried  the 
waiter,  whose  blood  really  began  to  bubble 
up. 

"  If  it  wasn't  you,  who  was  it  then,  sir] 
That  is  what  /  want  to  know!"  cried  the 
lady;  but  the  waiter  couldn't  tell  her.  He 
looked  extremely  puzzled,  and  so  did  his 
mistress,  who  at  length  began  to  believe 
that  it  couldn't  have  been  him,  and  while, 
with  their  mouths  wide  open,  they  were 
giving  each  other  a  lingering  look,  which 
plainly  signified  that  it  must  have  been 
some  one;  Valentine  who  seemed  to  be 
still  intent  upon  the  paper,  cried  in  a  deep 
hollow  voice,  wrhich  appeared  to  recede 
gradually — "  Farewell!  treat  him  better. — 
He's  kind  to  you:  be  kind  to  him!"  " 

Now,  whether  the  tender  conscience  of 
the  lady  was  pierced  by  these  pointed  re- 
marks: whether  she  felt  it  impossible  to 
treat  Broadsides  better,  or  was  anxious  to 
keep  him  in  a  blissful  state  of  ignorance  of 
better  treatment,  having  thus  been  enjoined, 
a  liberal  and  highly  enlightened  public 
will  in  all  probability  be  able  to  guess,  on 
being  informed  that  not  a  syllable  having 
reference  to  the  mystery  was  breathed 
when  Mr.  Broadsides  returned  to  the  bar. 
It  was,  however,  easy  to  perceive  that  an 
impression  had  been  made  upon  the  mind 
of  the  lady,  for  albeit  she  appeared  to  be 
thoughtful  and  gloomy,  her  tone  was  con- 
siderably changed,  when  in  reply  to  Mr. 
Broadsides'  inquiry,  as  to  whether  she  in- 
tended to  go  with  the  girls  to  the  fair,  she 


136 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


snid—  "Well,  dear,  I  don't  much  care  ifl 
do." 

"  That's  right,  my  good  girl!"  exclaimed 
Broadsides,  absolutely  electrified.  4k  I  love 
the  old  woman  when  she's  pleasant  and 
happy!"  and  he  rewarded  her  at  once  with 
a  smacking  kiss,  which  might  have  been 
heard  in  the  midst  of  a  storm. 

44  But,"  said  the  lady,  "how  long  shall 
yon  he  gone]" 

44  Oh,  not  above  a  couple  of  hours:  but 
don't  wait  for  me;  run  away  now  and  make 
yourself  tidy,  and  go  off  at  once.  I'll 
make  it  all  right  before  I  leave. — I'm 
going  down  to  the  docks,"  he  continued, 
addressing  Valentine.  44  You  never  were 
there  I  suppose?  What  say  you]  you 
may  just  as  well  run  down  with  me." 

Valentine  consented;  Mrs.  Broadsides 
left  the  bar;  and  the  waiter,  who  had  evi- 
dently not  got  quite  over  it,  brought  in  the 
Iray. 

44 That's  the  best  wife  in  the  world,"  ob- 
served Broadsides,  "that  of  mine.  It  is 
true,  there  ain't  none  on  us  perfect,  but  if 
she  could  but  get  over  that  temper  of  hern, 
sir,  she'd  be  perfection,  and  not  a  ha'portli 
less." 

44  But  you  were  of  course  tipsy  last  even- 
ing1?" said  Valentine. 

44  Why  as  to  the  matter  of  that,  perhaps 
I  was,  you  see.  a  little  bit  sprung, — I  don't 
deny  it;  I  might  have  been  a  small  matter 
so,  but,  lor?  that  makes  no  odds  in  the 
least.  I've  been  married  now  two-and- 
twenty  year,  and  I  don't  suppose  that  during 
that  period  of  time  I  ever  came  home  drunk, 
or  sober,  without  being,  according  to  the 
old  woman's  reckoning,  a  beast.  But  lor! 
practice  makes  perfect,  and  use  is  second 
natur.  She  has  done  it  so  long,  that  she 
has  brought  the  thing  at  last  to  such  per- 
fection, that  I  railly  shouldn't  feel  myself 
quite  at  home  without  it.  But  she's  a 
werry  good  sort:  and  you  know  there's 
always  something;  and  the  best  thing  a 
man  can  do,  is  not  to  look  at  either  the 
dark  or  the  bright  side  alone,  but  to  mix 
'em  up  together,  and  see  then  what  sort  of 
a  color  they  produce.  They  say  that  white 
is  the  union  of  all  colors,  and  depend  upon 
it  woman  is  the  same.  They're  in  the 
lamp,  the  union  of  all  that's  good  and  bad; 
yet  the  mixtur  you  see  is  so  particular 
pretty,  that  we  can't  get  on  at  all  without 
loving  'em,  no  how." 

Valentine  agreed  with  this  practical  phi- 
losophy, and  in  due  course  of  time,  which 
was  not  inconsiderable,  Mrs.  Broadsides 
descended  full-dressed — not  indeed  in  ;m 
aristocratic  sense,  for  in  that  sense  the 
term  44  full-dressed"  may  signify,  when  in- 
terpreted, the  state  of  being  nearly  half 


naked;  but  in  a  really  legitimate  sense  full- 
dressed,  swelled  out  to  an  enormous  extent 
at  every  point;  and  as  she  was  an  extremely 
stout  lady,  and  rather  tall  for  her  age,  which 
fluctuated  at  that  interesting  period  of  her 
existence,  between  forty-five  and  sixty,  her 
tout  ensemble  was  particularly  fascinating — 
a  fact  of  which  she  appeared  to  be  by  no 
means  unconscious.  She  sported,  on  the 
occasion,  a  lilac  satin  dress,  with  four  full 
twelve-inch  flounces,  which  were  delicately 
edged  with  crimson  fringe,  a  yellow  velvet 
shawl,  striped  with  crimson,  to  match  the 
fringe  of  the  flounces,  and  trimmed  with 
bright  emerald  bullion;  a  pink-and-blue 
bonnet  of  extraordinary  dimensions,  with  a 
bouquet  of  variegated  artificials  on  one  side, 
and  a  white  ostrich  plume  tipped  with  scar- 
let on  the  other;  and  a  long  white  veil, 
sweetly  flowered  all  over,  and  so  arranged 
as  to  form  a  sort  of  festooned  curtain,  which 
hung  about  six  inches  over  the  front.  Nor 
will  it  be  improper  to  speak  of  the  jewellery, 
with  which  certain  points  of  her  person 
were  adorned,  for  she  had  on  a  pair  of  really 
Brobdignagian  ear-drops  studded  with  Lil- 
liputian spangles,  an  elegant  mother  o'pearl 
necklace  with  a  cross  attached  in  front;  a 
massive  gold  chain,  which  hung  completely 
over  her  shoulders,  and  which  communica- 
ted with  an  immense  gold  chronometer  on 
one  side  of  her  waist,  and  on  the  other  to 
an  extraordinary  bunch  of  about  a  dozen 
seals  of  all  sorts  and  sizes;  an  eye-glass 
attached  to  a  chain  made  of  hair,  which 
enabled  it  to  hang  down  in  front  quite  as 
low  as  her  knees;  an  average  of  three  rings 
on  each  particular  finger  of  each  particular 
hand,  and  a  scent  bottle  adorned  with  a 
chased  gold  top,  which  peeped  for  a  breath 
of  air  just  out  of  her  heaving  bosom.  Thus 
equipped,  she  had  a  small  glass  of  brandy- 
and-water  warm,  and  when  the  two  young 
ladies  had  pronounced  themselves  ready, 
Valentine  submitted  a  glass  of  wine  to  each, 
and  then  handed  them  elegantly  into  a  de- 
cent hackney  coach,  the  driver  of  which 
had  engaged  to  take  them  there  and  bring 
them  back  for  twelve  shillings  and  two 
drops  of  something  to  drink. 

44  Now,"  said  Mr.  Broadsides,  the  mo- 
ment they  had  started  "  we'll  be  off,"  and 
after  having  given  certain  instructions  to 
his  servants,  he  and  Valentine  walked  to 
the  stand,  and  got  into  a  low  sedan-chair 
sort  of  a  cab,  which,  as  Broadsides  very 
justly  observed,  might  have  been  kicked 
into  very  little  bits  if  the  horse  had  felt  dis- 
posed to  be  handy  with  his  hind  legs. 
They  sat,  however,  in  the  most  perfect 
safety,  for  they  happened  to  be  behind  one 
of  those  poor  devoted  animals  which  have 
not  more  than  half  a  kick  in  them,  albeit  in 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


137 


the  space  of  half  an  hour  he  brought  them 
to  the  entrance  of  the  London  Docks. 

"  Well,  here  we  are,"  said  Broadsides,  as 
they  passed  through  the  gates,  at  which  cer- 
tain official  individuals  were  looking  with  pe- 
culiar suspicion  at  every  person  who  passed 
out.  "Them  are  the  sarchers  which  sarch  all 
the  laborers  afore  they  go  home,  which  I 
don't  like  the  principle  of,  'cause  it  is  treat- 
ing them  all  just  as  if  they  was  thieves." 

"And  I  suppose  by  that  means  they  are 
kept  honest1?"  observed  Valentine. 

"  Why  I  des-say  it  keeps  a  good  many 
from  stealing;  but  that's  altogether  a  dif- 
ferent thing  you  know  from  keeping  'em 
honest.  Honesty's  honesty  all  over  the 
world.  If  a  man  has  the  inclination  to 
steal,  he  ain't  a  ha'porth  the  honester  'cause 
he  can't  do  it.  That's  my  sentiments." 

"  I  suppose  that,  notwithstanding,  there 
is  a  great  deal  of  smuggling  going  for- 
ward!" 

"  1  believe  you!  The  men  does  a  pretty 
goodish  bit  in  that  way;  but  the  women 
are  by  far  the  most  reglarest  devils,  'cause, 
you  see,  them  at  the  gate  can't  so  easily 
detect  'em.  They  wind  long  bladders, 
filled  with  spirits,  round  their  bodies  to 
such  an  extent  you'd  be  surprised.  But 
they  can't  smug  quite  so  much  away  at  a 
time  now,  'cause  in  consequence  you  see 
of  the  alteration  of  the  fashion.  But  when 
the  balloon  sleeves  and  werry  large  bustles 
were  in  wogue,  they  could  manage  to  walk 
away  gallons  at  a  time." 

"Indeed!"  said  Valentine,  "but  how?" 

"  Why,  you  see,  independent  of  the  blad- 
ders which  they  wound  werry  comfortably 
round  'em,  they  could  stow  away  nearly 
half  a  gallon  in  each  sleeve,  for  as  them 
sort  of  sleeves  required  something  to  make 
'em  stand  out,  they  werry  natterally  fancied 
that  they  might  just  as  well  have  the  bul- 
gers  blown  out  with  rum  and  brandy  as 
with  air,  so  all  they  had  to  do  was  to  strap 
their  little  water-proofs  carefully  round 
their  arms,  and  their  sleeves  look  as  fash- 
ionable as  life;  and  then,  as  for  their  bus- 
tles, why  that  you  know,  of  course,  was 
werry  easily  managed,  for  they  had  but  to 
tie  their  big  bulgers  with  different  compart- 
ments round  their  waists,  and  they  could 
stow  away  a  gallon  of  stuff  any  hour  in  the 
day,  and  then  walk  through  the  gates  with 
it  hanging  on  behind,  just  as  natteral  as 
clock-work." 

Valentine  smiled;  but  Broadsides  laughed 
so  loudly  at  the  idea,  that  his  progress  was 
for  a  very  considerable  time  impeded.  He 
did,  however,  after  having  blown  out  his 
cheeks  with  great  vehemence  to  check  the 
current  of  his  mirth,  succeed  in  regaining 
the  power  to  waddle  onwards.  "  There," 
13 


said  he,  stopping  at  the  window  of  one  of 
the  little  shops  which  are  let  to  certain 
merchants  who  deal  in  ship's  stores,  and 
directing  the  attention  of  Valentine  to  a  row 
of  little  canisters,  labelled  "Roast  Beef," 
"  Beef  and  Vegetables,"  &c.,  "  That  there's 
the  stuff  to  make  your  hair  curl!  That's 
the  sort  of  tackle  to  take  out  on  a  long 
woyage!  There's  a  pound  on  it  smashed 
into  about  a  square  inch.  Of  course  the 
merest  mite  on  it  will  fill  a  man's  belly. 
He  can't  starve  any  how,  so  long  as  he's 
got  a  quarter  of  an  inch  of  that  in  him.  But 
come,  we  must  keep  on  moving,  you  know, 
or  we  sha'nt  get  half  over  the  business  to- 
day." 

"  Are  those  empty1?"  inquired  Valentine 
pointing  to  several  hundred  casks  which 
were  lying  to  the  left  of  the  entrance. 

"  Empty!  Full  of  wine,  sir — full,  sir, 
every  man  jack  on  'em.  But  lor!  that's 
nothing  to  what  you'll  see  below.  Why 
they've  got  in  the  wault  about  a  hundred 
thousand  pipes;  and  the  rent,  if  we  awerage 
'em  at  five  and  twenty  shillings  a- year  a- 
piece,  will  be  something  like  a  hundred 
and  twenty -five  thousand  pounds,  while  the 
walue,  if  we  take  'em  all  round  at  five  and 
forty  pound  a  pipe,  will  be  nearly  five  mil- 
lion of  money! — five  millions,  sir!  What 
do  you  think  of  that1?" 

Valentine  thought  it  enormous,  and  said 
so;  and  Broadsides  expressed  his  opinion, 
that  England  could  never  be  conquered,  so 
long  as  she  possessed  such  an  immense 
stock  of  wine.  "  What,"  said  he,  "has 
made  the  British  nation  so  glorious?  What 
has  made  our  generals  and  admirals  so  wic- 
toriousT  Wine,  sir,  wine,  and  nothing  but 
wine!  Wine,  sir! — as  sound  as  a  nut. 
That's  my  sentiments;"  and  the  eloquence 
with  which  those  sentiments  were  delivered, 
threw  him  into  such  a  state  of  perspiration, 
that  he  stood  at  the  entrance  of  the  vault 
for  some  considerable  time  with  his  hat  off, 
in  order  to  wipe  himself  dry. 

"  Lights!"  shouted  a  man,  as  they  even- 
tually descended;  and  two  very  oily  indi- 
viduals fired  the  wicks  of  two  circular 
lamps,  which  were  stuck  upon  sticks  above 
two  feet  long;  one  of  which  it  was  the  cus- 
tom to  give  to  each  person  to  carry  in  his 
hand  round  the  vault.  Broadsides  then 
drew  forth  some  papers,  and  having  arranged 
them  to  his  own  satisfaction  and  that  of  the 
clerk  in  attendance,  a  cooper  was  called, 
who  conducted  them  at  once  into  the  far- 
famed  place  which  contained,  according  to 
Broadsides,  a  hundred  thousand  pipes  of 
of  the  essence  of  Great  Britain's  glory. 

Valentine  was  for  some  time  unable  to 
see  any  thing  distinctly,  but  the  lamps, 
which  were  stationed  in  various  parts  of  the 


138 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


vault,  and  which  burned  very  dull  and 
very  red;  but  Broadsides  who  had  long 
been  accustomed  to  the  place,  was  not 
nearly  so  much  affected  by  the  gloom.  "  I 
say,"  said  he,  holding  up  the  lamp  he  had 
in  his  hand,  "only  look  at  the  fungus!" 
and  Valentine  saw,  suspended  from  the 
arches,  huge  masses  of  cobweb,  which  had 
the  appearance  of  fine  black  wool.  Some 
of  these  cobwebs  were  hanging  in  festoons 
from  point  to  point,  about  as  thick  as  a 
man's  leg,  while  others  hung  in  bunches 
about  the  size  of  a  man's  body,  and  formed 
altogether  an  extraordinary  mass  of  matter, 
which  certain  learned  members  of  the  Brit- 
ish Association  would  do  well  to  examine 
with  appropriate  minuteness,  with  the 
praiseworthy  view  of  reporting  thereon  at 
the  next  merry  meeting. 

"  How  much  of  this  rail  is  there  down 
in  the  waultT'  inquired  Broadsides,  of  the 
cooper,  as  he  pointed  to  the  iron  plates 
which  were  planted  along  the  middle  of 
each  avenue,  for  the  purpose  of  rolling  the 
casks  with  facility. 

"  Nine-and-twenty  mile,"  replied  the 
cooper. 

"Twenty-nine  miles!"  cried  Valentine 
in  amazement. 

"  Nine-and-twenty  mile,  sir;  and  I'll  be 
bound  to  say  there  ain't  a  foot  over  or  under. 
Here  we  shall  find  them,"  he  continued  on 
reaching  the  arch  under  which  were  some 
of  the  wines  that  Mr.  Broadsides  wished  to 
taste;  and  while  the  cooper  was  looking  for 
the  particular  casks,  Broadsides  called  the 
attention  of  Valentine  to  one  of  the  venti- 
lators. "There's  a  glorious  battle!"  said 
he;  "did  you  ever  behold  such  a  shindy? 
It's  the  foul  air  fighting  with  the  fresh. 
One  you  see  wants  to  come  in,  and  the  other 
one  wants  to  get  out;  neither  on  'em  seems 
inclined  to  wait  for  the  other,  and  thus  they 
go  on  continally  at  it  in  that  state  of  mind, 
you  see,  world  without  end." 

"This  is  No.  1,"  said  the  cooper,  at  this 
moment  bringing  an  ale-glass  full  of  wine. 

Broadsides  took  the  glass  by  its  foot,  and 
held  it  up  to  the  light,  and  then  shook  it  a 
little,  and  spilt  about  half,  and  then  smelt 
it,  and  turned  up  his  nose,  and  then  tasted 
it,  and  spurted  it  out  again,  and  having 
made  up  an  extraordinary  face,  he  proceeded 
to  blow  out  his  cheeks  to  an  extent  which 
made  it  appear  that  he  might  at  that  time 
have  had  in  his  mouth  a  remarkable  couple 
of  overgrown  codlings.  "That  won't  do 
at  no  price,"  said  he,  after  a  time,  "just 
walk  into  Six,"  and  a  glass  of  No.  C,  was 
accordingly  drawn,  and  when  he  had  shaken 
it  and  smelt  it,  and  tasted  it  as  before,  he 
pronounced  the  whole  lot  to  be  "  pison." 

"  I  suppose,"  observed  Valentine,  while 


Broadsides  was  occupied  in  bringing  his 
mouth  into  shape,  "that  you  frequently 
make  persons  tipsy  down  here1?" 

"They  frequently  make  theirselves  tipsy," 
replied  the  cooper,  "  when  they  come  down 
to  look  and  not  to  buy,  you  know — to  swill 
and  not  to  taste.  There  was  yesterday, 
for  instance,  three  young  bloods  came  in 
with  an  order  to  taste  five  and  twenty  quarter 
casks,  and  sure  enough  they  did  taste  'em. 
They  made  me  tap  every  cask,  and  swallow- 
ed every  glass  that  I  drawed,  and  when  I'd 
gone  right  clean  through  'em,  they  tried  to 
overpersuads  me  to  begin  the  lot  again  at 
the  beginning.  Now,  there  ain't  above  four 
of  these  'ere  to  a  pint,  so  they  couldn't 
have  taken  in  less  than  three  bottles  a-piece. 
I  warned  'em  of  the  consequence,  for  I  saw 
they  knew  nothing  at  all  about  it,  but  the 
fact  was,  they  came  for  a  swill,  and  a  swill 
they  most  certainly  had.  They  didn't, 
however,  feel  it  any  great  deal  down  here, 
but  pre-haps  they  didn't  when  they  got  out! 
I  knew  how  it'd  be,  so  I  went  up  the  steps 
just  to  watch  them,  and  lor!  directly  they 
smelt  the  fresh  air,  and  saw  the  light  of  the 
blessed  heaven,  they  all  began  to  reel  just 
like  so  many  devils.  I  thought  that  bang 
into  the  dock  go  they  must,  and  if  they'd 
only  seen  the  water,  in  of  course  they 
would  have  soused,  for  they  ran  right  bust 
against  everything  they  tried  to  avoid." 

"Then  persons  don't  feel  it  much  while 
they  are  down  here!"  observed  Valentine. 

"No,"  replied  the  cooper,  "very  seldom 
unless  they  happen  to  have  had  a  glass  of 
ale  before  they  come  down,  and  then  they 
just  do  if  they  drink  at  all  any  ways  freely. 
The  other  day,  now,  a  lushington  of  this 
kind  came  in  with  two  others,  and  I  attend- 
ed 'em;  and  when  they  had  tasted,  and 
tasted,  and  tasted  until  I  thought  they'd  all 
drop  down  dead  drunk  together,  this  gent 
slipped  away,  and  his  friends  very  natterly 
fancied  that,  finding  his  stomach  a  little  out 
of  order,  he'd  started  off  home,  and  as  I 
couldn't  see  him  no  where  about,  why  I 
natterly  fancied  so  too;  but  the  next  morn- 
ing just  as  I  went  into  No.  5,  north,  for  a 
sample,  who  should  I  see,  but  this  identical 
indiwidual  sitting  in  the  sawdust  with  his 
head  upon  a  pipe  as  comfortable  as  a  biddy, 
and  snoring  away  like  a  trooper.  I  woke 
him  of  course,  and  he  got  up  as  fresh  as  a 
daisy;  but  in  order  to  avoid  all  row,  you 
see,  I  made  him  keep  behind  till  a  party 
came  in,  and  he  slipped  out  with  them 
without  any  body  knowing  a  bit  about  the 
matter." 

"  I  presume  you  don't  drink  much  your- 
selves]" observed  Valentine. 

"  Why,  that,  you  see,  depends  upon  cir- 
cumstances. The  old  hands  don't:  the 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


139 


smell's  enough  for  them;  but  the  new  and 
werry  green  uns  are  contini/y  sucking  like 
infants.  It's  a  long  time  before  sich  as 
them  can  be  weaned.  It  was  only  the 
Saturday  night  before  last,  that  one  of  this 
sort  got  locked  down.  We  didn't  know  a 
word  about  the  matter,  and  the  vault  wasn't 
of  course  going  to  be  opened  again  before 
Monday;  but  he  got  pretty  sober  in  the 
course  of  Sunday  morning,  and  after  having 
spent  a  few  happy  hours  at  the  grating,  he 
gave  wiew  holler  to  one  of  the  outside 
watchmen,  who  sent  for  the  key,  and  got 
him  out  very  quietly.  But  it  cured  him. 
I  don't  believe  he  has  had  so  much  as  a  suck 
since  then." 

"Well,  come,"  said  Broadsides,  "now 
I  am  here,  let's  see  how  my  extra-particular 
get's  on." 

This  happened  to  be  under  the  opposite 
arch,  and  while  the  cooper  was  in  it  with 
Broadsides,  Valentine,  who  was  looking 
very  intently  at  some  cobwebs,  perceived  a 
tall  dark  figure  march  past  him  in  a  manner 
which  struck  him  as  being  extremely  mys- 
terious. He  was  angry,  very  angry  with 
himself  for  being  startled,  although  he 
couldn't  help  it;  and  after  having  reproached 
himself  severely  in  consequence,  he  walked 
to  the  opposite  arch.  "A  tall  person  pass- 
ed just  now,"  said  he  to  the  cooper.  "  Who 
was  it!" 

"  One  of  the  watchmen.  They  walk  in 
and  out  in  the  dark  to  see  that  no  indiwidual 
pays  twice.  There's  lots  on  'em  about. 
You'll  see  him  again  by'n  bye." 

"Very  well,"  thought  Valentine,  "if  I 
do,  I'll  startle  him,"  and  while  the  cooper 
was  broaching  the  extra-particular,  he  look- 
ed round  the  vault  with  an  anxious  eye. 

"Now  then,"  said  Broadsides,  handing 
him  a  glass,  "just  tell  me  now  what  you 
think  of  that." 

Valentine  tasted,  and  found  it  so  splendid, 
that  he  almost  unconsciously  finished  the 
glass. 

"That's  something  like,  ain't  it!  That's 
what  I  call  wine!  It's  as  sound  as  a  nut. 
Let's  have  another  glass,"  and  another 
glass  was  drawn,  and  while  Broadsides 
was  smelling  it,  and  shaking  it,  and 
spilling  it,  and  tasting  it,  and  spurting  it 
over  the  saw  dust,  and  making  it  go 
through  all  sorts  of  manoeuvres,  the  watch- 
man passed  again. 

"  Hush!'11  cried  Valentine  throwing  his 
voice  among  the  casks,  which  were  near 
him.  "  He's  here!" 

The  watchman  stood  perfectly  still.  He 
would  scarcely  allow  himself  to  breathe. 
He  was  a  man  who  reflected  upon  the  ima- 
ginary rehearsal  of  his  actions — an  ex- 
tremely cautious  man,  and  his  name  was 


Job  Scroggins.  Instead  therefore  of  rush- 
ing like  a  fool  to  the  spot,  he,  with  admira- 
ble tact,  held  up  his  hand  to  enjoin  silence, 
and  tried  with  great  optical  energy  to  pierce 
the  extremely  dense  gloom  of  the  vault. 
This  he  found  to  be  impracticable.  All 
was  dark,  pitch-dark,  in  the  direction  from 
which  the  voice  appeared  to  proceed.  No- 
thing could  be  distinguished.  Twenty  men 
might  have  been  drinking  there  unper- 
ceived.  Scroggins  therefore  having  formed 
his  plan  of  attack,  said  in  a  delicate  whis- 
per to  the  cooper,  "  If  you  stand  here,  we 
shall  nab  'em,"  and  crept  very  stealthily 
round  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  arch. 

Now  this  was  precisely  what  Valentine 
wanted.  He  wished  but  to  excite  the  sus- 
picion of  the  watchman  that  persons  were 
having  a  clandestine  treat,  to  enable  him  to 
keep  up  the  game.  Job  Scroggins  had 
therefore  no  sooner  got  round  than  Valen- 
tine sent  a  faint  whisper  very  near  him,  the 
purport  of  which  was  that  Harry  was  a  fool 
not  to  get  behind  the  casks. 

"  Hallo!"  shouted  Scroggins  in  a  voice 
of  thunder,  on  hearing  the  faint  expression 
of  that  affectionate  sentiment. 

"  Get  behind!  get  behind!"  cried  Valen- 
tine, "  we  shall  be  caught!" 

"  Hallo!"  again  shouted  Job  Scroggins 
with  all  the  energy  at  his  command. 
"  What  are  you  about  there!  D'ye  hear!" 

"  Hush!"  said  Valentine,  "  hush!  not  a 
word." 

"  I  hear  you,  my  rum  'uns!  Come  out 
of  that,  will  you!  Here,  Jones!" 

"  Hallo!"  shouted  Jones.  "  What  d'ye 
want!" 

"  Come  here!"  cried  Scroggins.  "  Here, 
quick! — No.  9! — WV11  nab  you,  my  lush- 
ingtons! — we'll  find  you  out!"  and  he  tore 
away  a  stout  piece  of  scantling,  while 
Broadsides  handed  the  glass  of  wine  to 
Valentine,  and  tucked  up  his  sleeves  to 
assist  in  the  caption. 

"  Now  then,"  cried  Jones,  who  had  been 
engaged  in  the  fortification  of  two  pipes  of 
port,  and  whose  nose  glowed  with  ineffec- 
tual fire.  "  What's  the  row!" 

"  Here's  a  lot  of  fellows  here,"  replied 
Scroggins,  "  swilling  away  at  the  wine  like 
devils." 

"  Where?"  cried  the  fiery-nosed  cooper 
with  extraordinary  fierceness. 

"  Here!"  shouted  Scroggins.  "  Lights! 
lights!" 

"  What's  the  matter!  Hallo!"  cried  two 
voices  in  the  distance. 

"  Here!  Nine!  Lights!  lights!"  reiterated 
Scroggins,  who  appeared  to  be  in  a  dreadful 
state  of  excitement  just  then. 

"  All  safe  now.  Lie  still,"  said  Valen- 
tine throwing  his  voice  behind  a  lot  of 


140 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


quarter  casks  which  stood  to  the  left  of  Job 
Scroggins. 

"  Ah,  you're  safe  enough!"  exclaimed 
Job,  in  a  tone  of  bitter  irony.  "  Pray  don't 
alarm  your  blessed  selves!  you're  quite  safe 
— to  be  nabbed  in  less  than  no  time.  Now 
then  there  look  alive— now,  quick!"  he 
continued,  as  two  additional  coopr-rs  ap- 
proached the  spot  with  lights.  "  If  you 
get  away  now,  my  fine  fellows,  why,  may 
I  be  blowed.  There,  you  go  behind  there, 
and  you  stand  here,  and  you  keep  a  sharp 
look  out  there.  Now  then,  if  they  escape, 
we'll  forgive  'em!" 

Having  stationed  the  coopers  with  lamps 
in  their  hands  at  various  parts  of  the  arch, 
Job  Scroggins  stole  gently  between  two 
distinct  rows  of  pipes,  and  Valentine,  wish- 
ing to  render  all  the  assistance  in  his  power, 
preceded  him.  Just,  however,  as  he  reached 
the  darkest  part  of  the  arch,  he  cried,  in  an 
assumed  voice  of  course,  "  Let's  drown 
him,"  and  threw  the  glass  of  wine  he  held 
in  his  hand  over  his  head  so  dexterously, 
that  the  whole  of  it  went  into  the  face  of 
Mr.  Scroggins,  who  was  looking  about 
behind  in  a  state  of  anxiety  the  most  intense. 

"  Here  they  are!  Here  are  the  thieves!" 
shouted  Scroggins,  wiping  his  wine-washed 
face  with  the  sleeve  of  his  coat.  "  Look 
out  there! — look  out!"  and  he  rushed  past 
"Valentine  with  great  indignation,  and  peered 
with  considerable  fierceness  of  aspect  into 
every  cavity  sufficiently  large  to  admit  the 
tail  of  a  consumptive  rat. 

*'  Hush!"  cried  Valentine,  sending  his 
voice  right  a-head;  and  away  went  Scrog- 
gins to  the  spot  from  which  the  whisper 
appeared  to  proceed,  while  the  coopers  were 
looking  about  with  great  eagerness,  expect- 
ing every  moment  to  see  the  thieves  rise. 

"  Quiet,  Harry!  quiet!  They'll  catch  us," 
whispered  Valentine. 

"  Catch  you!"  cried  Scroggins,  "  to  be 
sure  we  shall!"  And  he  poked  his  stick 
with  infinite  violence  between  the  casks, 
and  rattled  it  about  with  consummate  des- 
peration, and  looked!— as  the  lamp  was  be- 
neath his  wine-stained  face,  it  imparted  so 
ghastly  a  hue  to  his  features,  that  really  he 
looked  like  a  fiend. 

"  Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!"  cried  Valentine,  mer- 
rily sending  his  voice  right  under  the  arch 
adjoining. 

Away  went  Job  Scroggins  backed  up  by 
the  coopers,  who  struck  their  shins  cleverly 
against  the  corner  casks,  and  stmnMnl  ovrr 
the  scantling,  one  after  the  other  with  infi- 
nite presence  of  mind. 

"Away,  away!"  shouted  Valentino, 
tli rowing  his  voice  towards  the  spot  thr\ 
hud  just  left;  and  Job  Scroggins  rushed  back 
with  the  coopers  at  his  tail,  of  whom  t In- 


whole  were  inspired  with  the  spirit  of  ven- 
geance. 

"  Stand  there!"  shouted  Scroggins,  «*  they 
must  pass  that  way!"  and  he  poked  his 
thick  stick  between  the  casks  again  des- 
pentely,  and  flourished  it  about  with  unpa- 
ralleled zeal. 

"  It's  all  up  with  us,  Harry:  we're  block- 
ed right  in,"  whispered  Valentine  despair- 
ingly. "  Forgive  us!"  he  added  in  a  dif- 
ferent voice,  as  if  Harry  had  really  become 
very  much  alarmed— "  forgive  us!  we'll  do 
so  no  more:  have  mercy!" 

Mercy!  If  there  be  in  the  English  lan- 
guage one  word  which  tends  more  than 
another  to  soften  a  truly  British  heart,  that 
word  is  beyond  question,  mercy.  There  is 
magic  in  the  sound  of  that  soft  soothing 
word.  A  true  Englishman's  sympathies 
swell  when  it  is  breathed,  and  his  anger  is 
strangled  by  that  string  of  benevolence, 
which  he  winds  with  pride  round  his  com- 
passionate heart.  Tears  of  blood,  flow  they 
never  so  freely,  are  not  more  effectual  in 
cutting  the  throat  of  vengeance,  than  the 
magical  sound  of  this  beautiful  word,  for 
the  moment  it  strikes  on  the  drum  of  the 
ear,  the  spirit  of  Ate  is  kicked  from  the 
soul,  and  benevolence  rises  great,  glorious 
and  free  in  loveliness,  even  surpassing  it- 
self. About  this  it  is  clear  there  can't  be 
two  opinions;  and  hence,  none  can  marvel, 
that  when  the  word  reached  the  soft  sensi- 
tive ear  of  the  true-hearted  Scroggins,  he 
should  have  exclaimed  with  all  the  fervor 
of  which  he  was  capable:—"  mercy!  mercy? 
— You  don't  have  a  squeak!" 

"Come  out!"  he  continued;  "you  guz- 
zling vagabones! — mercy  indeed!— with  a 
hook!'; 

"  We  have  not  drank  a  great  deal,"  said 
Valentine  imploringly.  "  We  haven't  in- 
deed. You  shall  have  it  all  back  if  you 
will  but  forgive  us." 

Scroggins  smiled  a  sardonic  smile. 

"  This  is  how  the  wine  goes,"  said  Mr. 
Broadsides. 

"  And  then  we  get's  blowed  up  sky-high 
for  the  'ficiency,"  added  the  fiery-nosed 
cooper. 

"  Now  then!  are  you  coming  out  or  not!" 
shouted  Scroggins. 

Valentine  sent  forth  a  laugh  of  defiance, 
which  caused  the  heaving  bosom  of  Scrog- 
gins to  swell  with  the  essence  of  wrath. 
Ho  might  have  been  somewhat  subdued  by 
humility  although  that  was  not  extremely 
probable  then— still  ho  might  by  such 
means  have  been  softened;  but  when  he  n- 
llccti  (1  on  the  monstrous  idea  of  being  de- 
lied!  he  couldn't  stand  it!  he  wouldn't  st;m<l 
it!  He  flew  to  the  spot  from  which  the 
laugh  had  apparently  proceeded,  and  struck 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


141 


the  surrounding  casks  with  peculiar  indig- 
nation. 

"  Will  you  come  out  or  not,"  he  exclaim- 
ed, "  before  I  do  you  a  mischief!" 

"No."  shouted  Valentine. 

"Then  take  the  sconsequence,"  cried 
Scroggins,  who  looked  at  that  moment  re- 
markably fierce.  "  Now  then,"  he  contin- 
ued, addressing  the  coopers,  "we'll  give 
'em  no  quarter:  we'll  have  no  more  parley: 
we'll  drag  'em  out  now,  neck  and  eels!"" 

Previously,  however,  to  the  effectual  ac- 
complishment of  this  extremely  laudable 
object,  it  was  obviously  and  absolutely  ne- 
cessary to  find  them — a  remarkable  fact, 
which  struck  Scroggins  and  the  coopers 
with  such  consummate  force,  that  they  set 
to  work  at  once,  with  the  view  of  effecting 
this  highly  important  preliminary,  and  dis- 
played an  amount  of  zeal,  which  really  did 
them  great  credit. 

"  They're  somewhere  about  here,  I 
know,"  observed  the  fiery-nosed  cooper. 

"Oh,  we  shall  find  'em!  we'll  have 
'em!"  cried  Scroggins;  "  and  when  we  do 
catch  'em,  they'll  know  it!" 

The  highly  sarcastic  tone  in  which  these 
words  were  uttered,  was  clearly  indicative 
of  something  very  desperate;  and  as  the 
coopers,  who  were  beginning  to  get  very 
impatient,  were  running  round  the  arch 
with  unparalleled -energy,  Valentine,  unper- 
ceived,  threw  the  glass  he  had  had  in  his 
hand  upon  a  pile  of  pipes  under  the  gloomy 
arch  opposite,  and  immediately  cried: 
"  there's  a  fool!  now  we  can't  get  another 
drop." 

"  Here  they  are!"  shouted  Scroggins,  on 
hearing  the  crash.  "  Now  then,  boys! 
hurrah!  we  shall  nail  'ern!" 

This  soul  stirring  speech  put  the  coopers 
on  their  mettle,  and  they  rushed  towards 
the  arch  with  unprecedented  spirit;  but  be- 
fore they  reached  the  spot  in  which  the  bro- 
ken glass  was  lying,  Valentine — who  did 
not  exactly  comprehend  the  precise  meaning 
of  the  words:  "  now  we'll  nail  'em,"  albeit 
he  fancied,  that  if  poor  unhappy  persons 
had  really  been  there,  they  would  have 
stood  a  fair  chance  of  being  mercilessly 
hammered — cried  "now  let  us  start:  we 
can  get  no  more  wine!" 

"Stop  there,  you  vagabones!"  cried 
Scroggins,  vehemently,  thinking  to  frighten 
them  out  of  their  wits.  "  We  are  cocksure 
to  catch  you,  you  know!  You  may  just  as 
well  give  up  at  once!" 

They  had  now  reached  the  spot  in  which 
the  glass  lay  smashed  into  a  really  extra- 
ordinary number  of  little  pieces.  "  Here 
we  have  hocklar  demonstration,"  he  con- 
tinued: "here's  where  the  vagabones  was." 

"  Stoop  down,"  whispered  Valentine. 


"  Come  out!"  cried  Scroggins.  "  It's  o' 
no  use  you  know;  we  see  you!"  An  ob- 
servation which,  how  laudable  soever  its 
object  might  have  been,  involved  a  highly 
reprehensible  falsehood. 

"  Now  then! — crawl  gently,"  whispered 
Valentine. — "  Come  on!" 

Scroggins  leaped  over  the  pipes  in  an  in- 
stant, and  looked  round  and  round  with  an 
expression  of  surprise. 

"  Have  you  got  'em?"  inquired  the  fiery- 
nosed  cooper. 

"  Got  'em!"  echoed  Scroggins,  "  I  ony 
just  wish  I  had,  for  their  sakes.  I  'stablish 
a  trifle  or  two  in  their  mem'ries  to  sarve 
'em  for  life.  I'll  warrant  they  wouldn't 
forget  it  a  one  while." 

Valentine  now  sent  a  slight  laugh  so 
very  near  the  legs  of  Mr.  Scroggins,  that 
that  gentleman  spun  round  with  the  velocity 
of  a  cockchafer,  and  felt  very  angry  indeed 
with  himself  when  he  reflected  that  the 
"  Lushingtons"  still  were  at  large.  "  Where 
can  they  be  crept  to!"  he  cried,  in  amaze- 
ment. "  They're  not  a  yard  from  me,  and 
yet — why  where  the " 

"  There's  no  room  for  two  men  to  hide 
their  bodies  here,"  observed  the  fiery-nosed 
cooper. 

"They  must  be  particular  small,"  said 
Mr.  Broadsides. 

"  They  must  be  particular  active"  said 
Scroggins;  and  Valentine  sent  another 
laugh  very  near  him. 

Job  Scroggins  looked  savage — undoubt- 
edly savage!  He  shook  his  red  head  with 
extreme  desperation,  and  ground  his  great 
teeth  with  maniacal  zeal.  "  Where  can  they 
be  hid!"  he  exclaimed,  with  great  empha- 
sis. "  Blister 'em!  Where  can  the  scoun- 
drels be  got  to!" 

He  paused  for  a  reply,  and  fixed  his  eyes 
upon  his  companions,  and  his  companions 
fixed  their  eyes  upon  him,  while  Broadsides 
scratched  his  head  with  his  right  hand, 
and  rubbed  his  chin  very  mysteriously  with 
his  left. 

At  this  interesting  moment  an  intelligent 
cooper,  who  had  theretofore  searched  with- 
out uttering  a  syllable,  ventured  to  offer  a 
rational  suggestion,  the  purport  of  which 
was,  that  they  certainly  must  be  some- 
where. 

"Somewhere!"  cried  Scroggins,  very  an- 
grily: "  We  know  they  must  be  somewhere; 
but  where  is  that  somewhere!  That's  the 
grand  pint!" 

The  intelligent  cooper,  who  offered  this 
suggestion,  was  silent,  for  he  saw  that  Mr. 
Scroggins  looked  ready  to  eat  him:  and 
Scroggins  was  a  big  man,  and  had  an  ex- 
cessively carnivorous  aspect.  Silence  was, 
therefore,  a  species  of  wisdom,  which  the 
13* 


142 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


little  intelligent  cooper  displayed,  and  the 
search  was  resumed  with  increased  perse- 
verance. 

But  Valentine  himself  now  became  some- 
what puzzled.  He  scarcely  knew  how  to 
proceed.  He  was  anxious  to  send  the  invisi- 
ble "  Lushingtons"  off  with  eclat,  but  the 
question  was,  how  could  he  get  them  away] 
"While,  therefore,  the  watchman  and  the 
coopers  were  hunting  about  in  all  direc- 
tions, poking  their  sticks  into  every  kind  of 
cavity,  asking  themselves  all  sorts  of  queer 
questions,  and  answering  themselves  in  all 
sorts  of  queer  ways,  he  was  quietly  con- 
ceiving a  design  to  carry  into  immediate 
execution,  with  the  view  of  thickening  the 
mystery  in  which  they  were  involved.  He 
had  not,  however,  to  puzzle  himself  long, 
for,  being  blessed  with  an  exceedingly  vivid 
imagination,  he  had  but  to  give  it  full  swing 
for  a  time,  and  a  host  of  ideas  would  dart 
across  his  brain  with  about  the  velocity  of 
lightning;  and,  although  it  occasionally 
happened  that  they  rushed  in  so  wildly,  and 
upset  each  other  so  wantonly,  and  caused 
so  much  confusion,  that  he  was  really  com- 
pelled, in  self-defence,  to  kick  them  all  out 
together;  in  this  particular  instance  they 
entered  in  the  most  orderly  manner  possi- 
ble, and  after  playing  at  leap-frog  clean 
down  each  other's  throats,  the  most  pow- 
erful remained,  having  swallowed  all  the 
rest;  and  that  Valentine  seized  by  the  col- 
lar at  once,  with  the  view  of  making  it 
perform  that  particular  office  for  which  it  had 
been  created.  This  was,  however,  a  despe- 
rate idea,  it  being  no  other  than  that  of  in- 
troducing his  voice  into  one  of  the  pipes  of 
wine,  is  order  to  see  how  Job  Scroggins  and 
his  companions  would  act;  but  Valentine, 
resolved  not  to  repudiate  it  in  consequence  of 
its  desperate  character,  held  it  firmly,  and 
just  as  the  energetic  Job,  after  running 
round  and  round  with  great  fierceness 
of  aspect,  and  vowing  the  most  extra- 
ordinary species  of  vengeance,  had  paused 
to  regain  a  little  breath,  and  to  wipe  the 
perspiration  from  his  face,  with  the  cuff  of 
his  bob-tailed  coat,  he  pitched  his  voice 
dexterously  into  an  extremely  old  cask  and 
cried,  "  Wasn't  it  lucky  we  found  this  one 
empty  eh!" 

Job  Scroggins  stared;  and  so  did  old 
Broadsides,  and  so  did  the  fiery-nosed 
cooper;  and  they  drew  near  the  cask  from 
which  the  sound  had  apparently  proceeded, 
and  listened  again  with  an  expression  of 
amazement. 

"  Keep  in  the  head,"  whispered  Valen- 
tine, very  audibly. 

"They're  here!"  shouted  Scroggins, 
snatching  an  adze  from  the  fiery-nosed 
cooper.  "  Look  out!— now  they're  nailed!" 


and  without  a  single  moment's  reflection, 
without  considering  whether  the  cask  were 
full  or  empty,  without  even  giving  the 
slightest  notice  to  those  who  were  with 
him,  he  smashed  in  the  head  of  the  pipe, 
and  the  wine,  of  course  rushed  out  in  tor- 
rents. 

"  You  fool!"  cried  the  fiery-nosed  cooper, 
as  the  stream  dashed  the  lamps  from  their 
hands,  and  extinguished  the  lights. 

"  Held!  help"'  shouted  Scroggins. 

*'  Silence,  you  ass!  hold  your  tongue!" 
cried  the  fiery-nosed  cooper.  "  Hoist  the 
cask  up  on  end! — Now! — Stick  to  it! — 
Now!— All  together!— Hurrah!" 

In  an  instant  the  thing  was  accomplish- 
ed, for  Valentine  who  was  really  very  sorry 
for  what  had  happened,  put  forth  with  the 
rest  all  the  strength  at  his  command. 

44  Now,  don't  make  a  noise,"  said  the 
fiery-nosed  cooper;  "get  a  light  from  the 
lamp,  there — quick!"  And  Scroggins,  who 
was  then  in  a  dreadful  state  of  mind,  grop- 
ed his  way  at  once  out  of  the  arch,  while 
the  rest  were,  of  course,  in  total  darkness, 
and  up  to  their  ankles  in  wine.  It  was  not, 
however,  long  before  Scroggins  returned, 
and  when  he  did,  the  very  first  question 
asked  was—"  What  cask  is  it!" 

"All  right:— all  right!"  said  the  fiery- 
nosed  cooper,  after  having  examined  it 
minutely.  "  It's  one  of  them  old  uns  that's 
been  here  so  long." 

"What  one  of  them  three!"  cried  his 
comrade.  "  Well  that's  werry  lucky  as  far 
as  it  goes.  It'll  never  be  cleared.  It  was 
only  t'other  day  I  was  saying  that  I'd  bet 
any  money  the  warrants  was  lost." 

"  Come,  that's  most  fortunate,"  thought 
Valentine. 

"  But  what  are  we  to  do!"  cried  the 
greatly  alarmed  Seroggins.  "  How  are  we 
to  hide  it! — There's  such  a  rare  lot  on  it 
spilt!" 

"  Now  don't  make  no  noise,"  said  his 
fiery-nosed  friend:  "I'll  cooper  it  up,  and 
you  get  all  the  sawdust  you  can — now  be 
handy!  It's  an  awful  puddle  surely;  but 
the  sawdust  '11  soon  suck  it  up."  And  he 
began  to  repair  the  cask,  while  the  rest 
were  engaged  in  scraping  sawdust  together 
and  mixing  it  up  with  the  wine,  and  then 
throwing  it,  when  it  became  perfectly  satu- 
rated, under  the  scantling  to  dry. 

By  dint  of  great  labor — for  all,  including 
Broadsides,  who  puffed  away  frightfully, 
assisted — in  the  space  of  twenty  minutes 
the  pool  became  pretty  well  absorbed;  and 
as  the  fiery-nosed  cooper  had  by  that  time 
completed  his  job,  the  pipe  was  carefully 
placed  upon  the  scantling  again,  and  whi-n 
more  fresh  sawdust  had  been  strewn  over 
the  spot,  the  place  looked  so  much  as  if 


P.  14$, 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


143 


nothing  had  happened,  that  it  might  even 
then  have  been  passed  unnoticed. 

"Well,"  cried  Scroggins,  "it's  well  it 
isn't  no  worse;  but  if  I'd  ony  ha'  caught 
them  'ere  warmint,  whoever  they  are,  if  I 
wouldn't  have  sarved  'em  out,  blister  'em, 
blow  me!" 

"  But  did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  fool," 
observed  the  fiery-nosed  cooper,  "  to  smash 
in  the  head  of  a  pipe,  when  he  knew  we 
hadn't  got  an  empty  cask  in  the  placel" 

"  Why,  you  see,"  said  Mr.  Scroggins, 
in  extenuation,  "  I  did  n't  then  give  it  a 
thought.  It  was  a  mad  go;  I  know  it— a 
werry  mad  go;  but,  you  see,  I  was  eo 
savage,  that  I  did  n't  know  rayly  what  I 
did;  and  I  fancied  I  heered  the  two  waga- 
bones  inside." 

"And  so  did  I,"  said  his  fiery-nosed 
friend;  "  but  then  I  know'd  it  couldn't  be." 

"They  must  ha'  been  behind  that  'ere 
pipe,"  continued  Scroggins,  "  I'm  sartain 
they  must,  and  I  ony  just  wish  I'd  ha' 
caught  'em,  that's  all;  if  I  wouldn't  ha' 
given  'em  pepper! — may  I  never  set  eyes  on 
my  babbies  again!" 

During  this  extremely  interesting  col- 
loquy, Broadsides  and  Valentine  were  in- 


dustriously occupied  in  wiping  their  sticky 
hands  and  faces,  and  making  themselves 
sufficiently  decent  to  pass  without  exciting 
special  notice.  They  found  this,  however, 
a  difficult  job,  for  the  wine  had  spurted  over 
them  freely;  but  when  they  had  carefully 
turned  down  their  collars,  and  buttoned 
their  coats  so  closely  up  to  their  chins  that 
scarcely  a  particle  of  their  deeply-stained 
shirts  could  be  perceived,  it  was  unani- 
mously decided  that  they  might  venture. 

"  But  you  want  to  taste  the  other  pipe  of 
port,  sir,  don't  you?"  observed  the  cooper. 

"The  stink  of  them  lamps,"  replied 
Broadsides,  "  has  spylt  my  taste  for  a  fort- 
nit:  besides,  I  don't  care  a  bit  about  it;  I 
only  came  to  taste,  what  I  wouldn't  have 
at  no  price,  them  six  pipes  of  pison." 

The  business  being  therefore  at  an  end, 
the  fiery-nosed  cooper  polished  Valentine's 
boots  with  his  apron,  when  Broadsides 
gave  the  men  half-a-crown  to  drink  his 
health,  and  he  and  Valentine — who  gave 
them  half-a-sovereign — were  ushered  very 
respectfully  out  of  the  vault,  and  after 
passing  the  gates  without  exciting  more 
than  ordinary  attention,  got  into  a  cab,  and 
rode  home. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


VALENTINE  BECOMES  ACQUAINTED  WITH  A  FRIGHTFUL    CALAMITY,    AND   HAS  A  HEART-REND- 
ING INTERVIEW  ON  THE  SUBJECT  WITH  HORACE. 


THERE  is  a  remarkable  bit  of  sublimity — a 
powerful,  pale,  universal  reflector,  which  is 
sometimes  above  us,  and  sometimes  below 
us,  and  sometimes  on  a  line  precisely  paral- 
lel with  us — a  reflector  of  which  the  composi- 
tion is  unknown,  but  which  is  ycleped  by  our 
sublunary  philosophers — a  moon.  That  this 
moon  will  be  ever  cut  up  into  stars,  may 
rationally,  notwithstanding  the  idea  origi- 
nated with  our  own  immortal  Shakspeare, 
be  doubted;  but  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
as  it  derives  its  pale  lustre  from  the  sun,  so 
mankind  in  the  aggregate  derive  their  lustre 
from  money;  and  albeit  the  connection  be- 
tween the  moon  and  money  may  not  at  a 
glance  be  perceived,  except,  indeed,  by 
superficial  men  of  genius,  and  philosophers 
steeped  to  the  very  lips  in  learned  mud, 
that  there  is  a  connection  between  them 
will  be  acknowledged  by  all,  when  they  le- 
flect  upon  the  fact  of  the  moon  being  silver 
by  prescription. 

Now,  money  is  said  to  be  the  devil;  and 
if  it  be,  it  is  beyond  all  dispute  an  extreme- 


ly pleasant  devil,  and  one  of  which  men 
are  so  ardently  enamored,  that  they  abso- 
lutely worship  it  as  if  it  were  a  god.  No 
matter  of  what  material  this  money  may  be 
composed — no  matter  whether  it  consists 
of  precious  metals,  precious  stones,  or  pre- 
cious little  bits  of  paper,  for  every  converti- 
ble representative  of  money  is  equally  pre- 
cious, its  accumulation  and  distribution  in 
reality  constitute  the  principal  business  of 
men's  lives.  Some  despise  it  for  a  time; 
they  never  despise  it  long:  they  soon  suffer 
for  the  indulgence  in  that  bad  passion. 
Others  will  do  anything,  however  dishonor- 
able, to  obtain  it.  If  a  man  has  money, 
he's  all  right;  if  he  has  none,  he  is  all 
wrong.  It  matters  not  what  hermits  and 
monks  may  say,  if  an  honest  man  be  poor, 
his  fellow-men  despise  him;  while  a  wealthy 
villain,  in  the  world's  estimation,  is  a  high- 
ly respectable  member  of  society,  and  hence 
the  penealty  on  poverty  is  greater  than  that 
which  is  attached  to  any  absolute  crime. 
Nor  is  this  all,  as  the  saying  is;  nothing 


144 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


like  all.  It's  astonishing  the  spirit  of  inde- 
pendence the  possession  of  money  inspires, 
and  equally  astonishing  are  the  dejection 
and  humility  which  the  non-possession  of 
it  induces.  If  a  man  has  no  money,  his 
mind  is  ill  at  ease;  he  cannot  feel  comforta- 
ble any  how — it  amounts  to  an  absolute 
physical  impossibility  for  him  to  hold  up 
his  head  like  a  man  who  has  lots.  He  can't 
do  it!  It's  of  no  use  to  physic  him  with 
philosophy  !  All  the  philosophy  in  the 
world  is  insufficient  to  cure  his  pecuniary 
disease.  He  can't  understand  your  phi- 
losophy then,  and  he  won't  understand. 
He  knows  better.  He  knows  that  he  has 
got  no  money! — a  species  of  knowledge 
which  affects  alike  body  and  soul.  And 
yet,  notwithstanding  money  is  so  valuable 
— so  precious,  that  its  absence  teems  with 
misery  and  humiliation;  notwithstanding  it 
is  so  dear,  so  highly  prized  when  it  is 
wanted,  that  we  will  risk  even  our  lives  to 
obtain  it,  how  thoughtlessly  we  waste  it! 
how  freely  we  squander  it  away,  when  it  is 
gained,  as  if  its  possession  inspired  the  be- 
lief, that  we  should  never  want  another 
five-pound  note  so  long  as  we  had  the  abili- 
ty to  breathe!  Beyond  all  dispute — for  there 
cannot  exist  two  opinions  on  the  subject — 
in  this  little  matter  a  man  is  an  ass. 

Now,  all  this  is  very  profound,  but  Val- 
entine really  knew  nothing  about  it.  He 
only  knew  this,  that  in  a  pecuniary  sense 
he  was  getting  remarkably  short,  and  that 
it  became  absolutely  necessary  to  write  to 
Uncle  John  for  a  fresh  supply.  A  blessed 
position  for  a  man  to  be  placed  in  is  that,  in 
which  he  has  but  to  say,  "  I  want  so  much," 
and  so  much  is  sent  as  a  matter  of  course. 
This  was  precisely  the  position  of  Valen- 
tine; but  before  he  wrote  home,  he  was 
anxious  to  see  the  Goodmans,  in  order  to 
ascertain  if  they  could,  or  would,  give  him 
any  farther  information  with  respect  to  his 
benevolent  old  friend. 

Accordingly,  on  the  morning  of  the  day 
on  which  he  intended  to  write  to  Uncle 
John,  he  set  off  for  the  residence  of  Walter, 
and  was  certainly  somewhat  startled  on 
being  unable  to  discover  the  house  in  which 
he  had  lived.  On  arriving  at  the  spot 
where  the  house  had  stood,  he  could  see 
but  the  foundation,  and  a  few  burnt  beams; 
but  on  making  inquiries  at  a  shop  in  the 
vicinity,  he  not  only  ascertained  what  had 
happened  from  a  person  who  gave  him  ;i 
really  heart-rending  account  of  the  occur- 
rence, but  was  informed  that  Walter  and 
his  family  were  at  that  time  lodging  in  a 
house  directly  opposite.  Thither  of  course 
he  immediately  went,  and  having  sent  up 
his  card,  paced  the  parlor  into  which  he  had 
been  shown  with  considerable  anxiety;  for, 


possessing  a  heart  in  which  the  kindliest 
feelings  of  our  nature  had  been  implanted, 
he  deeply  sympathised  with  those  of  whose 
dreadful  sufferings  so  frightful  a  picture 
had  been  drawn.  He  had  not,  however, 
dwelt  upon  the  calamity  long,  when  a  per- 
son dashed  into  the  room,  and  exclaimed, 
44  Hallo,  my  young  trump!  don't  you  know 
me1?" 

Valentine  in  a  moment  knew  the  voice 
to  be  that  of  Horace;  but  his  person  he  cer- 
tainly would  not  have  known.  "  Good 
God!"  said  he,  grasping  his  hand,  "  is  it 
possible?" 

"It  just  is,"  cried  Horace,  "  and  no  mis- 
take about  it.  Don't  I  look  a  beauty,  eh? 
Did  you  ever  see  such  a  Guy?  But  thank 
Heaven  for  all  things,"  he  continued,  pull- 
ing off  a  large  wig,  and  displaying  his 
head,  the  black  skin  of  which  had  just  be- 
gan to  peel.  "  It's  a  comfort  no  doubt,  if 
you  can  but  just  look  at  the  thing  in  the 
right  light." 

"  And  how  is  your  father?"  inquired  Val- 
entine. 

"  Why,"  replied  Horace  with  great  so- 
lemnity of  aspect,  "  he's  as  much  like  a 
jolly  old  cinder  as  possible.  He's  frizzled 
all  up  into  one  lump  of  coke.  Vm  rummy 
enough,  but  lor!  he?s  out  and  out!  There's 
no  mistake  at  all  about  him." 

"But  he's  out  of  all  danger,  I  hope?" 

"Oh!  yes;  he's  getting  on  like  a  brick. 
I  thought  he  was  booked  though  at  one 
time,  for  of  all  the  unhappy  looking  bits  of 
black  crackling!— did  you  ever  happen  to 
see  a  smoked  pig?  Because  if  you  ever 
did,  you  have  seen  something  like  him. — 
You  wouldn't  believe  him  to  be  flesh  and 
blood.  You  wouldn't  know  him  in  fact 
from  a  jolly  old  piece  of  burnt  cork.  He 
stood  it,  however,  throughout,  like  a  trump, 
and  I'll  back  him  after  this  against  any 
regular  salamander  going." 

"  And  the  ladies,  how  are  they?" 

"  Why,  they're  only  tollolish.  You 
know  what  women  are.  They  don't  like 
the  look  of  the  governor  at  all,  and  certainly 
he  don't  look  particularly  fresh." 

"Well,"  said  Valentine,  rising,  "I'm 
really  very  sorry  for  what  has  occurred, 
and  if  you  think  that  I  can  be  of  service 
to  you  in  any  way,  I  hope  you  will  com- 
mand me.  I'll  not  detain  you  now." 

"I  wish  you  would,  old  boy,"  said  Ho- 
race, with  much  earnestness.  "  You'd  be 
doing  me  a  very  great  favor.  The  fact  is, 
our  out-and-out  old  fool  of  a  doctor  won't 
let  me  have  more  than  one  glass  of  win.  a 
•  1  iv,  which  of  course  is  particularly  rotten, 
more  especially  now  I'm  gelling  all  right 
again.  But  the  old  fool  won't  listen  to 
reason;  nor  will  the  tww  womi-n,  who  are 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


of  course  on  his  side,  and  who  keep  the 
blessed  wine  locked  up,  just  as  if  body  and 
soul  could  be  kept  on  decent  terms  with 
each  other,  by  that  nasty  lush  which  he  ex- 
pects me  to  swallow  by  the  pailful.  Upon 
my  soul,  that  little  wretch  of  a  boy,  to 
whom  he  gives  about  two  pence  a  month 
to  carry  out  all  his  poison,  is  everlastingly 
at  the  door  with  his  basket  full  of  some  in- 
fernal tincture  of  filth.  I've  kicked  him 
right  bang  into  the  road  three  times;  but  he 
still  comes,  and  comes.  I'll  half  murder 
him  some  day." 

"  But  of  course  it  does  you  good?" 
"  Is  it  rational  to  suppose  it?  Is  it  any 
thing  like  rational  to  entertain  the  idea,  that 
such  hog-wash  as  that  can  do  any  fellow 
good?  It's  the  nastiest  muck  that  ever 
was  concocted  to  disorder  the  bowels  of  a 
Christian.  Do  you  happen  to  know  what 
assafcetida  is?  Because,  if  you  do,'  you 
know  what  sort  of  physic  I  swill,  for  they 
shove  a  lot  of  that  into  every  blessed  bottle. 
I'm  certain  it's  that:  there  can  be  no  mis- 
take, I  should  know  it  a  mile  off;  that,  and 
the  stuff  they  sell  to  poison  the  bugs,  con- 
stitute *  the  mixture  as  before,'  and  an  ex- 
tremely pleasant  mixture  it  is,  if  you  can 
but  get  it  down.  Now,  I  want  you,  there- 
fore, to  do  me  this  kindness;  if  you'll  stop 
— if  it  be  only  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  I 
shall  take  it  as  an  especial  mark  of  friend- 
ship, for  I  can  gammon  them  out  of  some 
wine  for  you,  and  that's  the  only  way  in 
which  I  can  see  my  way  clear  to  get  a 
glass  for  myself;  for  of  course  I  can't  stir 
out  of  the  house  with  this  jolly  old  smoke- 
dried  countenance,  tattooed  and  scored  like 
the  nob  of  a  Chocktaw  Chief.  It's  worse, 
ten  to  one  worse,  than  having  the  small- 
pox. The  measles  are  a  fool  to  it;  and  as 
for  the  itch! — there,  you  may  believe  me  or 
not,  as  you  like,  but  if  all  the  infernal  tribes 
of  wasps,  bugs,  musquitoes,  fleas,  and  every 
other  kind  of  vermin  in  nature  were  march- 
ing about  me  in  everlasting  legions,  they 
couldn't  produce  an  itch  like  it.  I'll  defy 
them  to  do  it!  and  yet  that  old  donkey  that 
scours  me  out,  has  the  face  to  tell  me  that 
I  ought  not  to  scratch  it!  I'm  regularly 
drowned  about  seven  times  a  day,  in  what 
he  christens  lotion — the  nastiest,  greasiest, 
slipperiest  muck  that  ever  made  a  tom-cat 
sick.  It  does  me  no  good;  it  only  makes 
me  itch  more,  as  I  tell  the  old  fool,  who 
however  takes  no  sort  of  notice  at  all  of 
what  I  say,  as  if  I  didn't  know  about  my 
own  feelings  best!  If  I  seriously  expostu- 
late with  him,  he  only  laughs  and  directs 
them  to  'rub  it  in;  rub  it  in!  Oh!  never 
mind;  rub  it  in!'  And  they  do  rub  it  in 
like  devils.  But  don't  go  just  yet,  there's 
a  trump,"  he  added,  and  rushed  from  the 


145 

room  quite  delighted  with  the  idea  of 
having  an  additional  glass  of  wine. 
"  Whatan  extraordinary  creature!"  thought 
Valentine,  on  being  left  alone.  "  How 
dreadfully  he  must  suffer;  and  yet  how  his 
spirits  sustain  him.  Most  men,  if  in  his 
present  state,  would  be  lying  in  bed,  in- 
creasing by  dwelling  upon  their  agony,  and 
groaning  as  if  groans  alone  were  capable  of 
effecting  a  cure." 

"All  right!  all  right!"  cried  Horace, 
bouncing  into  the  room,  «« I've  done  the 
trick.  I've  gammoned  them  both,  that 
you've  been  walking  a  very  long  distance, 
and  feel  most  particularly  faint.  So  it's  to 
come  down  directly.  They  wouldn't 
trust  me  with  it,  though;  I  suppose  they 
fancied  that  I  should  walk  into  the  decanter 
on  the  stairs.  But  no  matter — come  in! — 
Now  I  look  upon  this  as  very  friendly."  _ 

The  servant  at  this  moment  entered  with 
the  wine,  and  Horace  observed  that  there 
was  no  mistake  about  her. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  said  the  girl,  ad- 
dressing Valentine,  "  Missises  compli- 
ments, and  she'd  take  it  as  a  particular  fa- 
vor, if  you  wouldn't  allow  Mr.  Horace  to 
have  more  than  half  a  glass." 

"  Why  you  out-and-out,  know  nothing, 
wretch!  what  d'ye  mean!"  cried  Horace. 
"  Is  this  your  gratitude1?  Didn't  I  carry 
you  over  the  tiles'?  Be  off! — I  hate  the 
sight  of  you!"  and  he  pulled  off  his  wig  and 
threw  it  at  her  with  great  energy,  as  she 
darted  like  lightning  from  the  room.  "  You 
see!"  he  continued,  as  he  picked  up  his  wig, 
"this  is  just  the  way  they  serve  me  day 
after  day.  If  I  hadn't  the  temper  of  an 
angel,  they'd  drive  me  into  fits.  But  come! 
— May  we  never  want  nothing." 

Having  earnestly  delivered  this  beautiful 
sentiment,  and  emptied  his  glass,  he 
smacked  his  lips  with  really  infinite  gusto, 
and  replenished. 

"  Bring  me  a  bottle  of  wine,  there's  a 
trump!"  said  he.  "J9o,  if  you  have  any 
charity  in  you.  You  haven't  an  idea  what 
a  favor  I  should  esteem  it.  It's  the  hand- 
somest present  you  could  possibly  make 
me.  You  could  call  to-morrow,  you  know, 
and  bring  it  snugly  in  your  pocket.  But 
don't  let  them  see  it,  if  you  do,  I'm  done. 
It  would  be  to  me  the  highest  treat  in  na- 
ture. Success  to  you,  old  boy!"  he  con- 
tinued, again  emptying  his  glass.  "  You 
don't  know  how  happy  I  am  to  see  you!" 

"Well,  now,"  said  Valentine  "how  did 
this  dreadful  calamity  occur1?" 

"  Why,  you  see,"  replied  Horace,  "  the 
old  governor  was  a  little  bit  thick  in  the 
clear,  and  they  fancied  that  somebody  ought 
to  sit  up  with  him.  Of  course,  I  saw  in  a 
twinkling,  who  that  somebody  must  be;  I 


146 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


knew  that,  being  a  pleasant  job,  I  was  to 
have  it;  and  I  wasn't  at  all  out  of  my  reck- 
oning. I  did  have  it,  naturally;  I  had  it  for 
three  blessed  nights,  and  as  I  went  to  bed 
immediately  after  breakfast,  I  snoozed  very 
soundly  till  supper  time  came.  Well,  you 
see,  on  the  third  night  the  governor  was 
unbearable,  for  what  must  he  do  but  take 
it  into  his  jolly  old  sconce,  that  Uncle  Grim 
was  in  the  room!  It's  a  fact  upon  my  soul! 
He  would  have  it  that  he  was  standing  at 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  nothing  could  drive 
it  out  of  him.  I  tried  all  I  knew  to  swindle 
the  old  ass  into  the  belief  that  I  had  pitched 
him  neck  and  crop  out  of  the  window;  but 
no;  he  wouldn't  have  it;  he  fancied  he  saw 
him  there  still;  and  after  cutting  away  like 
a  jolly  old  lunatic  for  two  or  three  hours, 
he  dropped  off  as  I  thought  to  sleep.  Well! 
as  soon  as  I  saw  his  eyes  closed  right  and 
tight,  I  left  the  room  to  get  a  cup  of  hot 
coffee,  which  I  knew  was  all  regular  in  the 
kitchen,  and  I  suppose  that  as  soon  as  my 
blessed  back  was  turned,  the  old  ass  jumped 
out  and  set  fire  to  the  bed-clothes,  for  on 
running  up  again,  which  I  did  like  a  wheel- 
barrow, I  found  the  room  in  flames,  and  him 
laughing  like  a  fool  fit  to  split.  I  called 
to  him  again  and  a^ain,  but  he  took  no 
notice;  I  put  it  to  him  whether  he  didn't 
think  he  was  a  donkey,  but  he  made  no 
reply;  I  couldn't  drag  him  out;  I  couldn't 
get  at  him;  I  couldn't  even  get  into  the 
room,  and  it  was  not  until  the  whole  house 
was  one  flake  of  fire  and  he  was  as  black 
as  an  old  tin  pot,  that  I  was  able,  by  smash- 
ing in  the  panel  of  the  wainscot,  to  lug  him 
into  the  passage,  and  thence  out  of  the 
house.  I  ran  up  again  after  that,  to  lay 
my  fist  upon  a  little  lot  of  documents;  but 
lor!  the  room  was  full  of  blazes,  and  to  add 
to  the  comfort  of  my  position,  1  wish  I  may 
die  if  the  jolly  old  stairs  didn't  fall  the  very 
moment  I  wished  to  descend.  Well,  up  to 
the  attic  I  flew,  and  out  upon  the  tiles  I 
bounced  like  a  ball.  It  was  there,  that  I 
met  with  that  girl  whom  you  saw — who 
certainly  did  startle  me  a  little  above  a  bit 
— and  there  we  were  forced  to  remain,  till 
one  of  the  firemen— who  was  a  trump  every 
inch  of  him—came  to  our  assistance.  Well! 
hnving  caught  hold  of  the  girl,  with  about 
the  same  coolness,  as  if  there  had  been  no- 
thing the  matter,  he  cocked  me  into  a  sort 
of  a  long  cotton  stocking,  and  down  I  slipped 
gradually  from  the  parapet  to  the  ground. 
But  the  friction! — Oh  don't  mention  it!  My 
skin  was  like  the  crackling  of  a  roast  leg  of 
pork  overdone;  and  as  for  my  poor  t 
— the  fire  had  made  it  so  particularly  r<  n<  n, 
that  I  came  out  as  naked  as  a  now-born  devil. 


I  didn't  however  feel  much  more  then;  but 
in  the  morning,  when  the  excitement  had 
gone  a  little  off,  perhaps  I  didn't!  Talk  of 
Pox's  Book  of  Martyrs!  I'll  bet  ten  to  one 
here  wasn't  a  martyr  among  them  that  suf- 
fered a  tithe  of  what  I  did.  It  made  me  so 
savage!  But  don't  let  us  talk  any  more 
about  it.  Every  evil  is  pregnant  with  good; 
the  offspring  of  this  is  the  fact  of  its  being 
over,  and  that  is  an  absolute  blessing." 

Valentine  listened  to  all  this  with  the 
utmost  attention;  but  that  which  struck 
him  with  greater  force  than  all  the  rest,  was 
the  fact  of  Walter  having  endeavored  to 
burn  the  apparition  of  his  brother  out  of  the 
room.  **  What  could  possibly  have  in- 
duced him,"  thought  he,  "to  have  recourse 
to  such  an  expedient1?  One  would  have 
thought  that  the  notion  of  his  brother  being 
present,  instead  of  exciting  angry  feelings, 
would  have  been  calculated  to  comfort  and 
onsole  him.  But  every  thing  tends  to 
confirm  my  belief  of  his  being  the  victim  of 
some  foul  play." 

There  was  a  pause;  but  it  was  not  of  long 
duration,  for  Horace  again  replenished  his 
glass,  and  gave  as  a  toast:  "  the  knock- 
kneed  quaker." 

"  Have  you  seen  or  heard  any  thing  of 
your  unclel"  inquired  Valentine  with  con- 
siderable earnestness. 

Horace  looked  at  him  intently,  as  if  he 
wished  to  read  the  motive  which  prompted 
the  question,  and  then  answered,  "  No,  I 
can't  say  that  I  have;  I  believe  that  he  is 
all  right  somewhere,  but  where  I  don't 
know,  nor  does  any  one  else  but  the  gover- 
nor." 

"  Then,"  thought  Valentine,  "  when  the 
governor  is  convalescent,  since  his  imagina- 
tion is  so  susceptible  of  apparently  super- 
natural influences,  I'll  wring  the  secret  from 
him  by  apparently  supernatural  means." 

"  What,  are  you  off!"  cried  Horace  as 
Valentine  rose. 

"  I  have  letters  to  write,  which  will  take 
me  some  time." 

"  Well,  if  you  must  go,  you  know,  why  you 
must:  but  mind,  don't  forget  me,  there's  a 
charitable  soul.  You've  no  idea  what  a 
relief  this  glass  or  two  of  wine  has  been  to 
me  to-day.  If  you  can't  bring  a  bottle,  you 
know,  bring  a  pint.  That  thief  of  a  doctor, 
I  know,  wants  to  rattle  my  life  out,  with  his 
nasty  messes;  therefore,  don't  forget  to  bring 
me  some,  there's  a  good  fellow." 

Valentine  promised  that  he  would  not, 
and  after  wishing  him  well  over  it,  and 
requesting  to  be  remembered  up-stairs,  he 
li-lt  the  hniK-ip,  with  the  view  of  writing 
forthwith  to  Uncle  John. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


147 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


THE  MASQUERADE  AT  VAUXHALL. 


MORALISTS  declaim  against  masquerades; 
they  contend  that  they  are  things  which 
ought  not  to  be  countenanced;  they  will  not 
hear  a  syllable  advanced  in  their  favor,  al- 
though it  is  manifest  that  they  who  denounce 
them,  are  extremely  inconsistent,  if  they  fail 
to  denounce  the  whole  world,  inasmuch,  as 
the  world  is  one  grand  masquerade,  and  all 
who  live  in  it  are  maskers:  from  the  king 
to  the  mendicant,  all  are  masked  and  their 
actions  form  neither  more  nor  less  than  one 
grand  social  system  of  mummery.  Decep- 
tion is  the  primary  object  of  all,  and  there 
is  nothing  they  seek  to  disguise  more  than 
that.  What  man  can  tell  what  another  man 
is?  He  may  guess;  he  may  make  up  his 
mind  that  he  is  this  or  that;  but  he  is  able  to 
discover  his  true  character  no  more,  than 
he  is  able  to  discover  the  seat  of  the  soul; 
for  while  each  assumes  a  character  he  wish- 
es to  sustain,  all  strive  to  appear  to  be  that 
which  they  are  not. 

Masquerades  are  therefore  the'types  of  the 
world,  and  are,  with  the  world,  to  be  ap- 
plauded or  censured  equally.  Each  is  a 
miniature  world  of  itself,  in  which  goodness, 
vice,  folly,  and  knavery  mix  with  the  most 
absolute  indiscrimination,  aud  whether  our 
view  be  comprehensive  or  limited,  we  see 
that  the  object  of  all  is  disguise. 

Independently,  however,  of  this  high 
consideration,  masquerades  are  an  exceed- 
ingly pleasant  species  of  entertainment,  and 
the  only  wonder  is,  that  in  private  life  they 
are  not  to  greater  extent  upheld.  When 
men  say,  that  vice  invariably  attends  them, 
they  say  but  that  which  is  applicable  to  all 
entertainments;  but  if  they  be  properly  con- 
ducted a  more  really  delightful  kind  of 
amusement  can  scarcely  be  conceived. 

Now  Valentine  had  heard  much  about 
masquerades,  but  of  course,  as  they  are 
confined  to  the  metropolis,  he  had  never 
been  at  one.  Having  an  anxious  desire, 
however,  to  witness  the  scene,  he  embraced 
an  opportunity  which  a  "  carnival"  at  Vaux- 
hall  "afforded,  and  having  purchased  on  the 
evening  appointed  a  ticket,  and  a  very  extra- 
ordinary nose,  which  he  placed  in  his  hat, 
that  it  might  n,ot  be  spoiled,  started  off  in 


high  spirits  alone. 


was  a  beautiful  evening,  and  as  the 
moon  shone  brightly  and  the  air  was  re- 
freshing, he  made  up  his  mind  to  walk  at 
least  half  the  distance;  but  he  had  not  pro- 
ceeded far,  before  his  attention  was  attracted 


towards  a  really  magnificent-looking  creature 
in  a  splendid  Grecian  dress,  who  was  hold- 
ing a  conversation  with  a  dirty-looking  cab- 
man. Valentine  thought  the  association 
odd,  but  as  he  heard,  in  reply  to  the  cab- 
man's remark,  "  It's  a  hateenpenny  fare" — 
the  Grecian  beauty  say,  "  I  have  but  a 
shilling,"  the  mystery  was  solved  in  a  mo- 
ment. 

"  I  can  lend  you  some  silver,"  said  Valen- 
tine, "  how  much  do  you  want]" 

'  I — feel  obliged,"  said  the  Grecian  beauty 
who  seemed  greatly  confused,  "  I  want  but 
sixpence." 

Valentine  placed  half-a-crown  in  her  hand, 
and  walked  on  until  he  came  to  the  coach- 
stand,  at  Kennington  Cross,  when  fancying 
he  had  walked  far  enough,  he  jumped  into 
a  cab,  and  was  whirled  to  Vauxhall  in  the 
space  of  five  minutes. 

There  was  a  crowd  round  the  entrance, 
consisting  of  about  a  thousand  persons,  who 
had  assembled  for  the  purpose  of  catching 
a  glance  of  the  maskers;  and  as  Valentine 
had  seen,  at  the  bottom  of  the  bills,  an  an- 
nouncement to  the  effect,  that  no  person 
would  be  admitted  without  a  mask,  he 
fancied  it  proper  to  put  on  his  nose  before 
he  alighted  from  the  cab. 

"  Oh!  oh!  there's  a  conk!  there's  a  smeller! 
Oh!  oh!"  exclaimed  about  fifty  voices  in 
chorus. 

Valentine  felt  flattered  by  these  notes  of 
admiration,  and  having  bowed  to  the  crowd 
passed  in. 

Now  when  their  Royal  Highnesses  Rieza 
Koolee  Meerza,  Najaf  Koolee  Meerza,  and 
Saymoor  Meerza,  of  Persia,  were  in  London, 
they  went  to  Vauxhall  on  an  ordinary  night, 
and  this  is  their  description  of  the  place  and 
its  glories: — "  In  the  evening  we  visited  a 
large  garden,  beautifully  lighted  up,  and 
the  fireworks  we  saw  here  made  us  forget 
all  others  that  we  had  already  seen.  A 
garden,  a  heaven;  large,  adorned  with  roses 
of  different  colors  in  every  direction,  the 
water  was  running  on  the  beautiful  green, 
pictures  were  drawn  on  every  wall.  Here 
and  there  were  young  moonly-faces  selling 
refreshments.  There  were  burning  in  this 
place  about  two  millions  of  lights,  each 
giving  a  different  color;  the  lanterns  and 
lights  are  so  arranged  as  to  make  poetry,  in 
such  a  manner  that  they  have  no  end.  On 
every  side  there  appeared  the  moon  and  the 
sun,  with  the  planets,  each  moving  in  its 


148 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


orbit;  and  in  every,  there  were  about  10, 000 
Frank  moons,  walking  and  gazing  about, 
where  the  roses  and  their  tribes  were  ad- 
miring their  beautiful  cheeks.  Each  was 
taken  by  the  hand;  such  a  company  in 
such  a  place  says  to  the  soul,  *  Behold  thy 
paradise!'  " 

Now,  however  absurd  this  description 
may  seem — however  ridiculous  it  may  in 
reality  be,  it  portrays  the  feelings  with 
which  Valentine  was  inspired,  when  the 
brilliant  scene  opened  before  him.  He  felt 
absolutely  enchanted,  and  gazed  upon  the 
spectacle  in  a  state  of  amazement  the  most 
intense.  He  beheld  the  appareutly  inter- 
minable festoons  of  variegated  lamps,  and 
heard  the  merry  shouts,  and  the  martial 
music  in  the  distance.  His  whole  soul  was 
inspired,  and  he  felt  that  peculiarly  thrilling 
sensation  which  modern  philosophers  so 
beautifully  describe,  when  they  say  of  a 
mortal,  that  "  he  don't  know  exactly 
whether  he  is  standing  on  his  head  or  his 
heels."  He  pulled  off  his  nose,  but  that 
made  no  difference:  he  was  still  completely 
lost  in  admiration;  and  when  he  did  at  length 
manage  to  find  himself  again,  he  saw  around 
him  groups  of  gaily  dressed  creatures,  who 
appeared  to  have  come  from  all  quarters  of 
the  globe,  with  the  view  of  imparting  life 
and  spirit  to  the  scene.  Greeks,  Germans, 
Chinese,  Russians,  Dutchmen,  Turks,  Per- 
sians, Italians,  apes,  bears,  sylphs,  wild 
Indians,  and  devils,  were  the  most  distin- 
guished foreigners  present;  while  the  most 
distinguished  natives  were,  beadles,  clowns, 
pantaloons,  soldiers,  sailors,  sweeps,  jug- 
glers, barristers,  knights,  jockeys,  beef-eat- 
ers, firemen,  nuns,  footmen,  widows,  harle- 
quins, ballad-singers,  romps  and  old  maids. 
The  Persian  princes  saw  the  "  full  moons" 
in  petticoats  only;  Valentine  but  beheld  a 
great  variety  of  them  in  trowsers,  and  after 
having  reviewed  them  for  some  consider- 
able time,  his  astonishment  somewhat  sub- 
sided; he  began  to  feel  himself  again,  and 
replaced  his  nose,  and  having  got  into 
the  middle  of  a  stream  of  mortals  and 
immortals,  who  were  following  the  sound 
of  a  bell,  he  soon  found  himself  within  a 
really  elegant  little  theatre,  in  which  a  poor 
man  was  mouthing  what  were  termed 
"  imitations"  of  some  of  the  most  popular 
actors  of  the  day. 

Valentine  listened  to  the  commencement 
of  this  pitiful  buisness  with  an  expression 
of  contempt.  He  felt  it  to  be  a  dreadful 
waste  of  time  which  ought  not,  on  such  an 
occasion,  to  bo  tolerated;  and,  therefore, 
throwing  his  voice  just  behind  the  poor 
creature,  said  solemnly  in  the  notorious 
jumping  wobble  of  tho  particular  actor 
whom  the  man  was  pretending  to  imitate, 


"  Sir-r-r,  do  you-er  expect  me  to  endure-er 
this  insult]" 

The  fellow  turned  round  very  sharply  in 
the  full  expectation  of  seeing  his  prototype 
behind  him;  and  although  he  was  in  this 
little  particular  disappointed,  the  confusion 
into  which  the  idea  of  his  being  there  had 
thrown  him,  made  him  look  so  exceedingly 
droll,  that  the  audience  began  to  laugh  very 
naturally  and  very  merrily. 

"  Enough!  enough!"  shouted  Valentine, 
and  the  shout  had  at  least  a  hundred  echoes, 
which  had  the  effect  of  confusing  the  poor 
man  still  more;  and  although  he  tried  des- 
perately hard  to  recover  his  self-possession, 
every  faithful  imitation  he  attempted  drew 
forth  such  ludicrous  expressions  of  ridicule, 
that  he  eventually  shuffled  oft'  the  stage 
with  a  look  of  scorn  which  was  highly 
theatrical,  appropriate,  and  telling. 

The  audience,  however,  remained  to  see 
some  other  dreadful  buisness — a  fact  which 
Valentine  held  to  be,  under  the  circumstan- 
ces, monstrous.  He  therefore  rushed  from 
the  theatre  with  the  laudable  view  of  hunt- 
ing up  the  individual  who  had  the  manage- 
ment of  the  bell,  and  having  happily  found 
him  with  the  instrument  under  his  arm,  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  get  hold  of  it  somehow. 

"  Well)  old  fellow,"  said  he,  sitting  down 
in  one  of  the  boxes,  «*  Do  you  ever  drink 
brandy-and-water?" 

**  Always,  sir,  when  I  can  get  it,"  replied 
the  witty  bellman. 

'*  Well,"  said  Valentine,  throwing  down 
a  shilling,  ««  then  run  and  get  a  glass  and 
bring  it  hot." 

The  unsuspecting  individual  placed  his 
bell  upon  the  table,  and  trotted  off  at  once 
with  an  expression  of  pleasure  the  most 
profound,  which  happened  to  be  precisely 
what  Valentine  wanted,  for  he  immediately 
laid  hold  of  the  noisy  instrument  in  question 
and  taking  it  with  him  into  one  of  the  dark 
walks  near  the  back  of  the  theatre,  commen- 
ced ringing  away  with  unparalleled  fury. 
This  suited  his  views  to  a  hair.  The  effect 
was  instantaneous  throughout  the  gardens: 
nil  were  in  motion — a  living  stream  issued 
from  the  theatre — in  fact,  from  all  quarters 
the  rush  towards  the  spot  in  which  he  rang 
the  bell  so  furiously  was  sufficiently  tre- 
mendous to  realize  his  fondest  anticipations. 
He  beheld  with  delight  the  mighty  torrent 
coming  towards  him  in  the  full  expectation 
of  seeing  something  very  grand;  but  as  they 
•approached,  he  slipped  away  through  the 
shrubbery  which  led  to  mother  walk  rqually 
dark,  where  holding  the  bell  in  both  hands, 
he  began  to  ring  again  with  all  the  energy 
in  his  nature.  Back  went  tho  crowd 
thinking  naturally  enough  that  they  had 
taken  the  wrong  direction,  and  as  Valentine 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


149 


kept  ringing  as  if  he  wished  to  raise  the 
dead,  their  curiosity  was  excited  to  an  ex- 
traordinary pitch,  and  they  increased  their 
speed  in  proportion.  The  stream  turned 
the  corner;  and  down  the  walk  it  rushed, 
when  Valentine,  perceiving1  a  somewhat 
short  cut  into  the  middle  of  the  gardens, 
walked  very  deliberately  in  that  direction, 
deriving  at  the  same  time  considerable 
amusement  from  the  fact  of  the  people 
still  rushing-  down  the  walk,  of  course 
wondering  what  on  earth  was  to  be  seen. 
By  the  time  this  particular  walk  became  full, 
he  had  reached  the  open  space  in  the  centre 
of  the  gardens,  and  having-  jumped  upon 
one  of  the  tables  which  stood  just  behind 
the  grand  orchestra,  he  recommenced  ring- 
ing as  furiously  as  before.  The  crowd  for 
a  moment  hesitated,  as  if  they  really  doubt- 
ed the  evidence  of  their  own  ears;  but  hav- 
ing satisfied  themselves  as  to  the  quarter 
from  which  the  sound  of  the  bell  proceeded, 
they  rushed  back  at  once,  and  there  Valen- 
tine stood,  still  ringing  away  with  all  the 
force  at  his  command.  He  did  not  attempt 
to  move  an  inch  from  the  spot,  nor  did  lie 
mean  to  move  until  he  had  drawn  them  all 
round  him,  which  he  had  no  sooner  accom- 
plished, than,  perceiving  the  hoax,  they  si- 
multaneously burst  into  one  roar  of  laughter. 

Determined  to  keep  up  the  spirit  of  the 
thing,  he  now  began  to  issue  a  formal  pro- 
clamation; but  the  crowd  were  so  convulsed, 
and  made  so  deafening  a  noise,  that  his  own 
voice  was  drowned  in  the  general  clamor. 

**  Hurrah!  now  my  lads!"  shouted  the 
leader  of  a  press-gang — "  Now,  then!  bear 
a  hand!"  and  a  dozen  stout  fellows,  whom 
he  led,  raised  the  table  upon  which  the 
Herald  Valentine  was  standing,  with  the 
praiseworthy  intention  of  bearing  him  in 
triumph  round  the  gardens. 

Any  thing  but  that  would  have  met  his 
views  precisely;  but  it  did  so  happen  that 
he  had  been  borne  in  triumph  before! — the 
equalrightites  had  borne  him  in  triumph 
round  CJerkenwell  Green — a  fact  of  which 
he  had  so  lively  a  recollection,  that,  he 
seized  the  very  earliest  opportunity  of  leap- 
ing from  the  table,  when,  pulling  off  his 
nose,  that  he  might  not  be  recognised,  he 
mixed  with  the  crowd,  who  seemed  to  enjoy 
the  thing  exceedingly. 

His  first  object  now  was  to  restore  the 
bell  to  the  individual  who  had  the  really 
legitimate  management  thereof,  and  having 
accomplished  this  to  the  entire  satisfaction  of 
that  individual,  he  proceeded  very  leisurely 
towards  the  spot  in  which  Neptune  was 
represented  sitting  majestically  in  his  shell 
drawn  by  fiery  looking  steeds,  out  of  whose 
extended  nostrils  issued  streams  of  living 
water.  This  group  looked  extremely  pic- 
14 


turesque,  and  while  it  was  being  admired 
by  Valentine,  a  little  fellow  dressed  as  a 
school  boy  with  a  hoop  in  his  hand,  ap- 
proached with  a  child  who  had  a  skipping 
rope  tied  round  her  waist. 

"That,  my  little  dear,"  said  the  school- 
boy, u  is  Neptune  the  god  of  the  sea,"  and 
the  tones  in  which  this  information  was 
conveyed,  had  the  effect  of  even  startling 
Valentine,  who  thought  it  a  most  extraordi- 
nary voice  to  proceed  from  a  boy;  and  yet 
he  was  dressed  in  every  particular  like  a 
boy,  and  had  on  an  exceedingly  juvenile 
mask. 

"  It's  very  pretty,  isn't  it1?"  observed  the 
little  girl.  "  But  what  does  it  mean!"  The 
school  boy  began  to  explain  to  her  Nep- 
tune's transformations  and  their  object;  but 
Valentine  no  sooner  perceived  his  design, 
than  throwing  his  voice  towards  Neptune, 
he  exclaimed,  "  Wretch! — Forbear!" 

The  boy  trembled,  and  dropped  his  hoop, 
and  then  fumbled  about  his  pockets,  and 
eventually  drew  out  a  pair  of  gold  specta- 
cles; but  the  moment  he  lifted  up  his  juve- 
nile mask  to  put  them  on,  the  child  shrieked 
and  ran  away,  for  he  displayed  the  shrivelled 
face  of  a  decrepit  old  man,  who  really  ap- 
peared to  be  an  octogenarian. 

Valentine  naturally  felt  disgusted,  and 
drew  a  little  aside;  when,  as  he  took  no  ap- 
parent notice  of  what  had  occurred,  the  boy 
pulled  off  his  cap,  and  exhibited  a  little 
head  perfectly  bald,  and  having  lifted  his 
juvenile  mask  up  higher  in  order  to  see 
through  his  spectacles  with  greater  dis- 
tinctness, he  examined  the  group  with  an 
expression  of  amazement. 

"  Shame!"  cried  Valentine,  sending  his 
voice  in  the  same  direction,  "  You  wretched, 
wretched  old  man!  Are  my  actions  fit  to 
be  explained  to  a. child!" 

The  "  boy"  trembled  again  violently,  and 
while  looking  and  shuffling  about  in  a  state 
of  great  alarm,  he  placed  his  foot  upon  the 
edge  of  the  hoop  that  had  fallen,  and  as  it 
rose  on  the  instant  it  came  in  contact  with 
his  shin  with  so  much  force  that  he  ab- 
solutely groaned  with  the  pain  it  occa- 
sioned. 

"Away!"  cried  Valentine,  through  Nep- 
tune, "  Reform!  ere  it  be  too  late!"  and  the 
"  boy"  hobbled  away  as  fast  as  his  feeble 
legs  could  carry  him  towards  a  spot  in 
which  the  lights  were  most  brilliant.  Here 
he  got  into  one  of  the  boxes  to  look  at  his 
old  shin,  and  while  he  was  rubbing  away 
with  great  energy,  and  cursing  both  Nep- 
tune and  the  hoop  very  profoundly,  Valen- 
tine entered  the  same  box  and  sat  down  un- 
perceived. 

"  Have  you  hurt  yourself  much,  my  little 
fellow!"  said  he  at  length.  "  Oh!  never 


150 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


mind,  my  man.  It  will  soon  be  well! 
Don't  cry!  Let  me  rub  it  with  a  little  cold 
brandy-and-water.  Here,  waiter!  some 
brandy-and-water,  cold— quick!" 

The  very  moment,  however,  the  "boy" 
became  conscious  of  Valentine's  presence, 
he  left  off  both  rubbing  and  cursing,  and 
limped  with  considerable  dexterity  into  the 
next  box. 

"That  poor  little  boy  has  hurt  his  leg," 
said  Valentine,  on  the  brandy-and-water 
being  produced.  "Just  see  what  you  can 
do  for  him  will  you?"  and  he  and  the  waiter 
proceeded  at  once  to  the  box  in  which  the 
little  boy  was  rubbing  his  shin,  still  in 
great  apparent  agony.  "  Here,  my  little 
man,"  he  continued,  "let  the  waiter  rub 
some  of  this  in  for  you,  there's  a  good  boy. 
I'm  sure  you  must  have  injured  yourself 
very  much." 

The  good  little  boy  left  off  rubbing  again, 
and  having  muttered  something  which 
sounded  very  much  like  a  naughty  excla- 
mation, he  limped  across  the  gardens  with 
his  dear  little  hoop. 

*'  You'll  excuse  me,  sir,"  said  the  waiter, 
who  had  been  laboring  very  laudably  to 
suppress  a  fit  of  laughter,  "  but  how  werry 
green  you  are,  sir!  Why  that  little  boy's 
a  hold  man!" 

"I  know  it,"  said  Valentine,  "I  was 
anxious  to  make  him  ashamed  of  himself, 
that  was  all." 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  the  waiter,  shaking  his 
head  very  piously,  "  you'd  never  do  that, 
sir;  he's  too  far  gone.  He's  a  lord,  sir,  and 
nothing  can  shame  him.  He's  always  here 
after  the  werry  little  gals,  and  the  leetler 
they  are,  sir,  the  better  he  likes  'em." 

As  Valentine  made  no  farther  observa- 
tion, the  waiter  of  course  left  him,  and  he 
continued  in  the  box  until  the  fireworks 
were  announced,  when  he  proceeded  at  once 
to  the  gallery,  in  order  to  have  an  uninter- 
rupted view. 

"  Oh!  oh!  oh!"  exclaimed  at  least  a  hun- 
dred voices,  as  the  first  splendid  rocket 
ascended  with  a  roar;  but,  albeit  these  ironi 
cal  exclamations  were  perpetually  uttered 
they  failed  to  divert  the  attention  of  Valen- 
tine, who  really  thought  the  whole  exhibition 
magnificent.  He  had  never  witnessed  any 
thing  at  all  comparable  in  point  of  grandeur, 
and  hence  the  only  thing  which  failed  to  de- 
light him,  was  the  fact  of  the  last  device 
shooting  itself  away. 

The  very  moment  the  fireworks  were 
over,  there  was  a  freslt  importation  of  noise 
A  mob  of  sweeps,  and  a  legion  of  recruits 
were  introduced,  and  the  clamor  they  raised 
was  decidedly  terrific.  The  sweeps  had 
apparently  been  boiled  for  the  occasion,  and 
then  very  delicately  tinted  with  soot;  while 


the  recruits  were  preceded  by  the  "merry 
fife  and  drum,"  which  had  an  effect  so  en- 
livening, that  Valentine  almost  unconscious- 
ly marched  with  them,  until  he  came  in  front 
of  a  place  which  was  called  the  grand  pa- 
vilion, and  which  commanded  a  view  of 
the  greater  portion  of  the  gardens. 

"That's  a  delightful  place  to  sit  in," 
thought  Valentine,  "  I  may  as  well  go  up 
at  once;"  and  accordingly  into  the  pavilion 
he  went,  and  found  it  thronged  with  very 
droll-looking  creatures,  apparently  full  of 
life  and  spirit. 

Having  seated  himself  in  one  of  the  boxes 
in  front,  so  as  to  have  a  full  view  of  the 
scene,  he  again  took  off  his  really  extraor- 
dinary nose  to  look  round  him  with  more 
perfect  freedom.  Immediately  beneath  him, 
some  remarkable  characters  were  having  a 
quadrille,  and  this  had  a  very  curious  effect, 
inasmuch  as  all  distinctions  appeared  to  be 
levelled.  A  dustman  was  dancing  with  a 
Persian  princess;  a  wild  red  Indian  with  a 
nun;  a  learned  judge  with  a  nut-brown  gip- 
sy; and  a  sweep  in  his  May-day  habiliments 
with  a  sylph;  while  the  style  in  which  each 
of  them  moved,  was  so  strikingly  charac- 
teristic, that  they  appeared  to  have  studied 
to  make  the  scene  as  grotesquely  ludicrous 
as  possible. 

"  Most  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  sig- 
nors,"  said  a  scraggy  creature,  stalking  into 
the  pavilion,  in  the  character  of  Othello, 
with  a  remarkably  short  pipe  in  his  mojuth, 
"  that  I  have  ta'en  away  this  old  cock's 
daughter  — ."  He  was  about  to  proceed, 
but  as  he  had  placed  his  heavy  hand  upon 
the  head  of  a  very  fiery  old  gentleman,  he 
received  in  an  instant  a  glass  of  champagne 
in  his  sooty  countenance — an  insult  which 
the  "valiant  Moor,"  put  in  his  pipe,  and 
stalked  out  with  appropriate  solemnity  to 
smoke  it. 

"  What  did  you  order,  sir1?"  inquired  one 
of  the  waiters  addressing  Valentine. 

"  Nothing:  what  have  you  to  eat]" 

"  Ham  and  chicken,  sir,  roast  — " 

"  That  will  do:  let  me  have  it  as  soon  as 
possible,"  said  Valentine,  who  in  the  ex- 
citement had  altogether  forgotten  his  sto- 
mach, which  now  began  to  hint  at  the  fact 
of  its  being  empty. 

He  had  scarcely,  however,  time  to  reflect 
upon  this  circumstance,  before  the  dishes 
were  placed  before  him,  and  having  ordered 
some  wine,  he  commenced  a  very  pleasing 
operation,  to  which  the  gay  scene  imparted 
an  additional  zest. 

As  the  place  in  which  he  sat  was  so  con- 
spicuous that  those  who  passed  the  pavilion 
could  scarcely  fail  to  see  him,  it  was  not 
long  before  he  was  recognised  by  tlio  idrnti- 
c.il  (Grecian  beauty,  whom  hi-  had  seen  in 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


151 


conversation  with  the  cabman,  and  who 
entered  the  pavilion  at  once. 

44 1  have  to  thank  you,"  said  she,  remov- 
ing her  mask,  "for  your  kindness  to  me 
this  evening.  It  is  more  than  I  could  have 
expected  from  a  perfect  stranger." 

*'  Oh,  the  cab!"  said  Valentine,  recollect- 
ing the  circumstance,  don't  name  it.  You 
have  been  here  of  course  ever  since?" 

44  I  have,"  she  replied;  "  I  have  been 
looking  in  vain  for  a  person  whom  I  fully 
expected  to  see." 


shall  be  intruding. 

44  Not  at  all!  not  in  the  least!  sit  down." 
And  she  did  so,  but  with  evident  timidity. 

44 There  is,"  thought  Valentine,  "in  the 
midst  of  this  scene  at  least  one  heavy  heart 
— a  heart  probably  susceptible  of  all  the 
most  amiable  feelings  of  our  nature,  yet 
blasted  by  the  consciousness  of  guilt."  And 
he  gazed  with  a  feeling  of  pity  upon  the 
beautiful  creature  before  him,  and  as  he 
gazed,  he  perceived  the  tears  trickling  down 
her  cheeks,  which  she  appeared  to  be  most 
anxious  to  conceal. 

Fancying  that  his  steady  look  had  some- 
what embarrassed  her,  he  assumed  an  air 
of  gaiety — although  he  did  not  at  that  mo- 
ment feel  gay — and  began  to  direct  her  at- 
tention to  the  most  grotesque  creatures  that 
came  within  view.  He  could  not,  however, 
extort  from  her  a  smile.  She  appeared  to 
feel  grateful,  exceedingly  grateful,  for  all 
the  attentions  shown,  but  her  features  were 
as  rigid  as  marble.  She  ate  but  little,  and 
was  silent,  except  indeed  when  it  became 
necessary  for  her  to  answer  the  direct  ques- 
tions of  Valentine. 

44  You  are  not  in  good  spirits  this  eve- 
ning?" he  observed,  after  having  for  some 
considerable  time  tried  to  divert  her. 

44 1  never  am,"  she  replied  faintly;  44I 
have  not  been  for  many,  very  many  dread- 
ful months." 

There  was  something  irresistibly  touch- 
ing in  the  heart-broken  tones  in  which  these 
words  were  uttered;  but  as  Valentine  was 
anxious  not  to  increase  the  pain  she  evi- 
dently endured,  he  at  once  waived  the  sub- 
ject, and  tried  again  to  cheer  her. 

44  Is  that  the  earl?"  inquired  a  person  who 
sat  behind  Valentine,  pointing  to  a  small 
sallow  consumptive-looking  creature,  who 
was  leaningagainst  the  side  of  the  pavilion, 
as  if  he  had  not  the  power  to  stand  without 
support. 

The  Grecian  beauty  started,  and  appeared 
much  confused. 

"  Why  do  you  tremble?"  inquired  Valen- 
tine. 


"'Tis  he,"  she  replied,  "  he  who  has 
been  the  cause  of  all  my  affliction."  And 
the  tears  again  sprang  into  her  eyes,  and 
she  sobbed,  while  endeavoring  to  conceal 
them. 

Valentine  turned  towards  the  earl,  and 
looked  at  him  with  an  expression  of  con- 
tempt. 

44  But  for  him,"  continued  the  miserable 
girl,  "  I  should  still  have  been  virtuous- 
still  pure." 

44  Is  it  possible?"  said  Valentine,  "  that 
a  wretched-looking  creature  like  that  could 
have  robbed  you  of  virtue?" 

44  It  was  his  title,"  she  replied,  "  it  was 
that  by  which  I  was  fascinated — not  by  his 
person." 

44  But  how  came  you  first  to  know  him?" 
inquired  Valentine.  '4  Come,  come,  tell  me 
all;"  and  having  at  length  succeeded  in 
somewhat  subduing  her  emotion,  he  pre- 
vailed upon  her  to  explain  to  him,  briefly, 
the  circumstances  out  of  which  her  afflic- 
tion arose. 

44  My  poor  father,"  said  she,  4<  is  a  clergy- 
man residing  nearly  a  hundred  miles  from, 
London,  and  the  disgrace  which  I  have 
brought  upon  him,  afflicts  me  more,  far  more 
than  all  besides.  By  him,  about  six  months 
since,  I  was  taken  to  our  election  ball.  The 
earl  was  there;  1  danced  with  him;  he  paid 
me  marked  attention  throughout  the  evening, 
and  called  the  following  day,  and  on  be- 
coming acquainted  with  the  circumstances 
of  my  father,  who  had  then  an  exceedingly 
limited  income,  he  exerted  his  influence  in 
his  favor,  and  the  result  was,  my  father's 
preferment.  I  was  grateful — we  were  all, 
of  course,  exceedingly  grateful  to  him  for 
this  act  of  kindness,  and  he  became  a  con- 
stant visitor;  but  his  object — although,  alas! 
it  was  not  then  perceived— was  my  ruin, 
and  that  he  eventually  accomplished.  I 
eloped  and  came  with  him  to  London,  where 
he  engaged  a  house  for  me,  and  was  for  a 
few  short  weeks  most  attentive  and  kind, 
but  after  that  his  visits  gradually  became 
less  and  less  frequent,  until  at  length  he 
deserted  me  entirely." 

44  And  is  your  father  aware  of  your  pre- 
sent position?" 

44  He  is  not;  I  have  not  dared  to  write  to 
him." 

44  Do  you  think  that  he  would  not  receive 
you  again,  if  you  were  to  explain  to  him 
how  you  are  situated,  and  that  you  are 
anxious  to  return?" 

44 1  fear  not:  I  much  fear  that  he  would 
not;  but  having  heard  that  the  earl  would 
be  here  to-night,  I  borrowed  this  dress, 
which  is  like  one  he  gave  me,  and  came 
expressly  in  order  to  prevail  upon  him,  if 
possible,  to  give  me  a  sum  sufficient  to  en- 


152 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


able  me  to  return  to  my  poor  disgraced 
father,  that  I  may  throw  myself  in  penitence 
at  his  feet,  and  on  my  knees  implore  for- 
giveness." 

44  How  much  do  you  require  for  that  pur- 
pose]" said  Valentine,  whom  the  relation 
of  these  circumstances  had  touched  most 
acutely. 

'4 1  could  manage  it  with  even  thirty  shil- 
lings," she  replied,  4t>  even  that  would  en- 
able me  to  return." 

Valentine  instantly  drew  out  his  purse. 
He  had  but  two  sovereigns  and  some  silver. 
He  gave  her  the  two  sovereigns,  and  urged 
her  not  to  speak  to  the  earl,  but  to  go  home 
at  once  and  prepare  for  her  journey. 

The  poor  girl  appeared  to  be  overwhelmed 
with  gratitude.  She  a  thousand  times  thanked 
him  with  eloquence  and  warmth,  and  hav- 
ing blessed  him  and  kissed  his  hand  fer- 
vently, left  the  pavilion  unseen  by  the  earl. 

Valentine  now  tried  to  shake  off  the  feel- 
ing which  the  tale  of  this  beautiful  girl  had 
inspired.  He  replaced  his  nose,  walked 
again  round  the  gardens,  went  to  look  at 
the  hermit,  and  astonished  the  persons  who 
were  standing  around,  by  sending  his  voice 
into  the  moon-lit  cell,  and  making  the  old 
anchorite  apparently  repeat  certain  passages 
in  Byron's  Corsair. 

Still  he  felt  somewhat  dull,  and  returned 
towards  the  theatre,  and  as  he  found  that 
the  maskers  were  dancing  there  merrily,  he 
joined  them  at  once,  and  having  engaged  an 
active  partner,  in  the  similitude  of  a  little 
female  midshipman,  he  became  again  one 
of  the  gayest  of  the  gay. 

Having  enjoyed  himself  exceedingly  for 
about  an  hour  here,  his  ears  were  suddenly 
assailed  by  a  series  of  extraordinary  shrieks 
which  apparently  proceeded  from  the  pavil- 
ion, and  as  several  of  the  females  rushed  in 
to  inform  their  friends  that  "Slashing  Soph" 
•was  having  a  glorious  set  to  with  a  broom 
girl,  he  ran  with  the  stream  which  at  once 
issued  forth,  towards  the  spot. 

In  front  of  the  pavilion  a  crowd  had  as- 
sembled: a  ring  was  formed,  and  the  spec- 
tators stood  a  dozen  deep.  He  could  still 
hear  the  shrieks,  mixed  with  loud  exclam- 
ations of  "  Cut  away,  Soph! — Pitch  into 
her,  Broomy!"  and  so  on,  but  could  not 
obtain  even  a  glimpse  of  the  belligerent 
powers. 

"I  will  see  who  she  is!"  shrieked  a  fe- 
male in  the  centre. 

"That  voice!"  thought  Valentine,  «*  that 
voice!"      He  instantly  elbowed   his   way 
through  the  crowd,  and  "beheld  in  "  Slash- 
•  ph"  the  Grecian  beauty! 

He  rushed  to  her  at  once  and  drew  her 
back;   but  she  desperately  resign  I 
effort  to  hold  her. 


"Let  me  alone!"  she  exclaimed,  "  I  can 
lick  her! — I'll  murder  her! — Let  me  alone!" 

44  Foolish  girl!  I  will  not!"  cried  Valen- 
tine firmly;  but  he  had  no  sooner  uttered 
the  words,  than  she  turned  round  and  struck 
him  in  the  face  with  considerable  violence. 

He  indignantly  relinquished  his  hold,  and 
she  no  sooner  found  herself  free,  than  she 
sprang  at  the  broom-girl,  who  was  backed  by 
a  dustman,  and  tore  her  cap  and  mask  in  an 
instant  to  tatters.  The  broom-girl,  although 
a  much  more  formidable-looking  person, 
stood  no  chance  whatever  with  her,  for  she 
stood  up  firmly,  and  struck  fairly  out  right 
and  left,  like  a  man;  and  while  she  did  so, 
indulged  in  the  most  horrible  language  that 
ever  proceeded  from  human  lips. 

Valentine  was  so  utterly  disgusted,  that 
he  pressed  at  once  out  of  the  ring,  and  on 
approaching  a  female  in  the  character  of  a 
nun,  he  inquired  if  she  knew  the  Grecian 
beauty. 

44  Know  her!"  exclaimed  the  nun,  44  what, 
Slashing  Soph! — who  don't]  Why,  I've 
known  her  ever  since  she  wasn't  higher 
than  six-pen'orth  of  ha'pence.  We  were 
brought  up  together — only  she  happened 
to  have  a  better  education  than  me,  and 
that  has  made  her  the  most  artful  card  that 
ever  walked  on  two  legs." 

44  But  her  parents  are  respectable,  are 
they  not]"  said  Valentine. 

44  Her  father  was,  no  doubt,"  replied  the 
nun,  4t  for  her  mother  made  him  pay  pretty 
handsomely  for  her.  Why,  she's  the 
daughter  of  old  mother  Maxwell,  don't  you 
know]" 

Most  certainly  Valentine  knew  nothing 
of  the  sort:  he  knew,  well  knew,  that  he 
had  been  duped,  and  that  was  all  he  did 
know  about  the  matter.  44  But  what  was 
the  cause  of  this  battle]"  he  inquired. 

44  Why,  you  see,"  replied  the  nun, 
44  about  an  hour  ago,  Soph  got  together  a 
few  of  the  girls,  and  stood  champagne  all 
round,  and  then  brandy-and-water.  She 
had  just  been  playing  modest,  she  said,  to 
a  sensitive  young  fool,  whom  she  wheedled 
out  of  a  couple  of  sovereigns,  to  enable  her 
to  return  to  her  father,  and  she  laughed  so 
heartily  as  she  explained  to  them  how  she 
did  it,  and  drank  so  freely,  that  when  she 
had  spent  all  she  had,  she  became  so  quar- 
relsome—as she  always  is  when  she  has 
been  drinking— that  she  pitched  into  the 
very  first  girl  she  could  lay  hold  of,  who 
happened  to  be  this  poor  Broomy,  as  harm- 
less a  creature  as  ever  lived." 

44  Hut  he  who  gave  her  the  money  must 
have  born  a  fool  indeed!"  observed  "Valen- 
line,  liy  no  means  expecting  a  reply  very 

llatteriii'J  to  himself. 

"  Why,   I   don't  know   so  much  about 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


153 


that,"  said  the  nun,  "  when  she  makes  a 
dead  set  at  a  man,  she  never  leaves  him  un- 
til she  has  accomplished  her  object.  He 
is  down  to  every  move  on  the  board,  who  is 
able  to  get  over  Soph." 

At  this  moment  another  fight  commenced. 
The  dustman,  who  had  backed  the  broom- 
girl,  becoming  excessively  indignant  at 
what  he  considered  an  unwarrantable  inter- 
ference on  the  part  of  an  ape,  thought  pro- 
per to  strike  that  gentleman,  who  at  once 
returned  the  blow  with  full  interest  thereon, 
and  at  it  they  went  with  appropriate  des- 
peration. The  ape  being  by  far  the  more 
active  of  the  two,  had  decidedly  the  best  of 
the  battle,  a  fact  which  so  enraged  a  very  sin- 
gular looking  Scotchman,  that,  determined 
to  take  his  revenge  out  of  some  one,  he 
began  to  hammer  away  at  a  tall  thin  mili- 
tary individual,  who  was  conversing  with  a 
lady  in  a  Turkish  dress,  and  this  a  sailor 
regarded  as  so  strikingly  unfair,  that  he 
rushed  upon  the  Scotchman,  and  beat  him 
most  cruelly.  This  in  return  had  the  effect 
of  arousing  the  pugnacity  of  many  others, 
and  in  a  short  time  the  battle  became  gene- 
ral. Nor  was  it  confined  to  this  particular 
spot,  for  as  a  gentleman  in  the  character  of 
Punch,  while  leaning  over  the  front  of  the 
pavilion,  had  amused  himself  by  pouring  a 
quantity  of  wine  into  the  mouth  of  a  mask 
which  its  owner  had  raised  expressly  for 
the  purpose  of  kissing  a  flower-girl,  the  in- 
dividual thus  operated  upon,  was  so  indig- 
nant at  the  outrage,  that  he  rushed  up  at 
once  with  the  laudable  view  of  deliberately 
pummelling  Punch  in  the  pavilion,  which 
he  did  so  unmercifully,  that,  as  some  cried 
"  shame!"  and  others,  cried  "  bravo!"  two 
parties  were  immediately  formed,  and  the 
fight  became  general  there. 

From  the  pavilion,  the  battle  gradually 
spread  over  the  gardens,  and  a  series  of 
running  fights  were  kept  up  with  great 
spirit.  The  peaceably  disposed  shrieked 
with  fear,  and  ran  about  in  all  directions 
with  desperate  energy.  Some  sought  refuge 
in  the  theatre,  but  even  that  soon  became  a 
gladiatorial  arena,  while  others  rushed  into 
the  bar,  near  the  entrance,  and  the  rattling 
of*  punch  bowls  and  glasses  became  awful. 
Boxes  were  broken  down,  and  benches 


were  pulled  up,  trees  were  shorn  of  their 
branches,  and  tables  were  smashed — in 
short,  every  thing  which  could  be  made 
available  as  a  weapon,  was  with  the  utmost 
avidity  seized  by  the  more  desperate,  while 
at  the  extreme  end  of  the  gardens,  the  more 
rational  were  engaged  in  the  interesting 
occupation  of  pulling  down  the  variegated 
lamps,  and  pitching  them  dexterously  at 
each  other,  which  had  a  very  good  effect, 
inasmuch  as  each  lamp  contained  a  quantity 
of  oil,  with  which  those  whom  they  struck 
were  profusely  anointed,  and  contrasted 
very  amusingly  with  the  furious  onslaught 
made  by  those,  who  appeared  to  feel  that 
they  were  bound  by  some  just  and  eternal 
principle  to  do  all  the  serious  mischief  in 
their  power. 

Valentine  wisely  kept  aloof  from  all  this. 
He  saw  the  combatants  dealing  out  des- 
perate blows  with  the  most  perfect  indis- 
crimination, and  had  no  disposition  what- 
ever to  join  them,  for  their  weapons  were 
employed,  in  some  instances,  with  frightful 
effect.  The  men  were  shouting  and  swear- 
ing, while  the  women  were  screaming; 
some  were  struggling  on  the  ground,  while 
others  were  trampling  over  them;  some 
were  climbing  into  the  pavilion,  while 
others  were  leaping  from  it  upon  the  heads 
of  those  below;  in  fact,  they  fought  so 
fiercely,  and  yelled  with  so  much  fury,  that 
had  a  corresponding  number  of  maniacs 
been  let  loose,  they  could  neither  have  made 
more  noise,  nor  have  battled  with  more  des- 
peration. 

The  police  did  all  in  their  power  to  quell 
the  riot,  but  were  incapable  of  accomplish- 
ing much;  their  authority  was  utterly  con- 
temned, for  their  numerical  strength  was 
but  small.  They  did,  however,  eventually, 
by  dint  of  great  exertions,  succeed  in  get- 
ting hold  of  the  Grecian  beauty,  whom  they 
dragged  out  of  the  gardens,  with  the  view 
of  locking  her  up;  when  Valentine — who 
by  no  means  regretted  this  proceeding,  and 
who  had  seen  quite  enough  of  the  madmen 
who  were  battling,  they  knew  not  why  nor 
with  whom — left  them,  while  they  were 
still  very  desperately  at  it,  with  just  suffi- 
cient money  in  his  purse  to  carry  him  home, 
and  no  more. 


14 


154 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

IN  WHICH  VALENTINE  HAS  THE    PLEASURE  OF    MEETING   TWO    PERSONS    IN    WHOM    HE  TAKES 
GREAT  INTEREST,  AND  WHOM  HE  ACCOMPANIES  TO  A  WAX-WORK   EXHIBITION. 


••  IT  is!"  exclaimed  Valentine,  one  calm 
delightful  evening,  as  he  turned  into  Gros- 
venor-square.  "It  must  be  the  dear,  sweet 
girl  whom  I  rescued!"  And  this  was  un- 
questionably, under  the  circumstances,  an 
exceedingly  natural  exclamation;  for  he  at 
that  moment  met  a  most  elegant  creature, 
whose  glance,  as  she  passed  him,  appeared 
to  pierce  his  soul. 

He  stopped  on  the  instant;  and  breathed 
extremely  hard.  His  blood  thrilled  through 
his  veins:  he  heard  his  heart  beat  violently, 
and  felt  altogether  particularly  odd. 

"  I  am  sure,"  he  continued, "  quite  sure! — 
and — and — why  what  an  idiot  I  am!"  and 
he  began  to  be  really  very  angry  with  him- 
self for  entertaining  a  feeling  so  essentially 
queer;  still  he  had  not  the  power  to  shake 
it  off.  "  VAL!  VAL!"  he  exclaimed,  ad- 
dressing himself  in  the  second  person  sin- 
gular, "  What,  what  are  you  about1?  Do 
you  mean  to  remain  standing  here  like  a 
statue1?"  The  person  thus  addressed,  ap- 
peared to  repudiate  the  idea;  for  he  instantly 
commenced  an  irregular  rush  towards  the 
object  of  his  adoration. 

With  what  graceful  dignity  she  moved! 
— with  what  elegant  ease  did  she  hang  on 
the  arm  of  him  who,  as  a  natural  matter  of 
course,  was  her  father!  Her  air  was,  in  the 
bright  imagination  of  Valentine,  that  of  a 
sylph,  or  of  an  angel! — there  was  poetry 
even  in  the  folds  of  her  train  as  it  swept  the 
ground  clean  at  each  fairy-like  step. 

He  approached  her!  and  experienced  that 
peculiar  heart-sinking  sensation  in  a  greater 
degree  than  before.  He  passed!— and  felt 
that  he  had  never  in  the  whole  course  of 
his  life  walked  so  awkwardly.  He  could 
scarcely  walk  at  all!  and  as  for  keeping  on 
the  same  row  of  flags!  that  became  at  once 
an  absolute  impossibility.  And  then,  where 
were  his  hands'?  His  right  was  sometimes 
in  his  breast;  then  it  wandered  to  the  arm- 
hole  of  his  waistcoat — then  up  to  his  stock 
— and  then  into  his  coat  pocket — while  his 
left  was,  if  possible,  more  restless  still. 
He  could  not  tell  exactly  how  it  was,  but 
he  had  never  found  his  hands  at  all  trouble- 
some before.  He  drew  off  his  gloves,  and 
then  drew  them  on,  and  in  doing  so,  split 
,one  of  them  clean  across  the  back.  Well, 
then,  that  wouldn't  do:  he  pulled  it  off 
again,  and  carried  it  in  his  hand;  and  after 
fidgetting  forward  in  this  most  undignified 
fashion  for  a  very  considerable  distance,  he 


made  a  dead  set  at  some  celestial  body 
which  his  vivid  imagination  had  established 
in  the  heavens  for  that  particular  occasion, 
and  stopped  with  the  view  of  making  a  few 
profound  astronomical  observations  thereon, 
until  the  beautiful  creature  came  up.  This 
he  held  to  be  an  admirable  ruse,  and  there- 
fore looked — and  looked — and  felt  so  droll! 
— She  was  a  long  time  coming! — a  very 
long  time.  He  must  have  shot  a-head  very 
fast! — He  became  quite  impatient — he  ven- 
tured to  look  back;  and  found  to  his  horror 
that  she  had  vanished!  Which  house  could 
they  have  entered1?  It  must  have  been  one 
of  them!  Did  they  reside  there!  It  was 
then  too  late  for  them  to  be  making  flying 
calls!  Well!  what  was  to  be  done?  Was 
he  to  remain  there  till  midnight,  or,  to  give 
a  look  up  in  the  morning?  He  stood  still, 
and  turned  the  thing  over  in  his  mind,  and 
eventually  arrived  at  the  conclusion,  that  it 
would  be,  under  the  circumstances,  best  for 
him  to  walk  up  and  down  for  an  hour  or  so 
then,  when,  if  they  did  not  come  out,  the 
probability  would  be,  that  they  did  reside 
there,  in  which  case  he  would  simply  have 
to  come  every  morning  until  he  saw  her, 
which  he  argued  must,  in  the  natural  course 
of  things,  be  very  soon.  The  instant,  how- 
ever, he  had  arrived  at  this  remarkable  con- 
clusion, a  most  extraordinary  idea  struck 
him!  They  might  have  turned  down  the 
street  he  had  just  passed  over! — They 
might! — He  flew  to  the  corner  of  that  par- 
ticular street,  and  there  they  were  walking 
very  leisurely  in  the  distance. 

"  Well  of  all  the  stupid  idiots,"  thought 
he,  "  — but  no  matter.  I  pass  them  no 
more  until  I  see  them  safely  housed."  And 
he  followed  them  straight;  and  walked 
much  more  steadily,  and  felt  himself  very 
considerably  better.  "  And  have  I  disco- 
vered you  at  last?"  he  exclaimed  as  he 
viewed  the  graceful  creature  before  him 
with  a  feeling  which  amounted  to  ecstasy. 
His  heart  told  him  that  he  had;  and  he  be- 
gan to  consider  how  he  should  act  when  he 
had  succeeded  in  tracing  them  home,  and 
continued  to  be  occupied  with  this  impor- 
tant consideration  until  he  saw  them  step 
into  a  house,  near  which  stood  a  long  line 
of  public  and  private  carriages.  He  hur- 
ried forward  and  reached  the  spot.  It  was 
not  a  private  house.  "  Some  concert," 
thought  ho,  "  and  I  am  not  dressed.  Well, 
have  1  not  time  to  run  home?"  He  looked 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


155 


round  for  a  cab;  but  before  he  called  one, 
he  inquired  of  a  person  who  was  standing 
at  the  entrance,  what  place  it  was. 

41  The  Wax-work  Exhibition,  sir,"  replied 
that  person. 

"Excellent!"  thought  Valentine;  "no- 
thing could  have  been  better;"  and  he  pass- 
ed through  the  hall  and  ascended  the  stairs, 
and  having  given  some  money,  he  scarcely 
knew  what,  to  a  little  old  lady  who  sat  on 
the  left,  he  proceeded  at  once  into  a  fine 
lofty  room,  in  which  a  variety  of  life-like 
figures  were  arranged  in  strikingly  pictu- 
resque groups;  while  from  the  ceiling  were 
suspended  innumerable  lamps,  which  impart- 
ed an  additional  lustre  to  the  scene,  which, 
on  the  whole,  looked  extremely  imposing. 

Without,  however,  giving  more  than  a 
cursory  glance  at  these  figures,  he  walked 
round  the  room,  and,  of  course,  soon  found 
himself  immediately  opposite  the  fair  one, 
for  a  sight  of  whose  beautiful  features,  he 
had  so  long,  and  so  ardently  panted.  Her 
veil  was  down;  and  as  she  held  it  in  her 
hand,  it  was  fluted,  of  course,  treble,  and  it 
was,  moreover,  one  of  those  tiresome  thick 
veils  which  ought  not,  in  any  Christian 
country,  to  be  tolerated.  He  could  not  see 
her  face.  Her  eyes  he  could  perceive,  and 
they  appeared  to  sparkle  brilliantly,  but 
that  was  not  enough:  he  wished  to  see  her 
entire  face,  and  that  he  could  not  do.  Well! 
how  was  he  to  act]  He  looked  at  her  fa- 
ther again  and  again,  and  he  certainly  ap- 
peared to  be  a  different  man;  but  then,  men 
will  look  different  under  different  circum- 
stances, and  he  had  to  consider  that  when 
he  saw  him  before,  he  had  just  been  res- 
cued from  the  muddiest  part  of  the  Thames. 
His  altered  appearance  was  therefore  held 
to  be  no  proof  at  all  of  his  not  being  the 
same  individual.  But  that  was  of  very 
little  moment.  The  object  of  Valentine 
was  to  see  the  fine  features  of  her — and  his 
panting  heart  told  him  in  language  the  most 
intelligible  that  it  was  her — of  whom  he 
was  so  deeply  enamored;  yet  those  features 
continued  to  be  concealed  by  this  villanous 
veil. 

"  Patience,  Val*  patience,"  he  whispered 
to  himself;  "she  may  presently  raise  it." 
And  she  might  have  done  so;  but  as  he 
perceived  no  symptoms  of  the  fond  hope 
involved  in  that  act  being  realized,  he  felt 
himself  bound  by  every  principle  of  love 
and  manhood  to  have  recourse  to  some  quiet 
manoeuvre.  But  what  could  he  do?  He 
considered  for  a  moment.  An  idea  flashed 
across  his  brain.  They  were  examining 
every  figure  minutely:  they  would  not 
suffer  one  to  escape  notice.  WTell,  could 
he  not  himself  represent  a  wax  figure,  and 
thereby  attract  their  especial  attention?  It 


was  then  the  only  thing  he  could  think  of: 
he  determined  to  do  it,  and  being  thus  de- 
terminedj  he  placed  himself  firmly  by  the 
side  of  a  life-like  representation  of  some 
diabolical  person  at  which  he  appeared  to 
be  looking  most  intently. 

He  had  scarcely  been  standing  in  this 
position  a  moment  when  a  company  of  ladies 
drew  near,  and  gazed  upon  him  with  an  ex- 
pression of  wonder.  "  Bless  me,"  said  one, 
"  Did  you  ever  see  anything  so  perfectly 
natural?"  "  Why  it  seems  absolutely  to 
breathe,"  said  another.  "  Well  I  declare," 
said  a  third,  in  a  somewhat  merry  mood, 
"  I  don't  know  what  they  will  bring  things 
to  next,  but  I  suppose  they  will  be  brought 
by  and  bye  to  such  perfection  that  we  shall 
be  having  for  husbands  wax  men,  by  mis- 
take." 

Valentine  felt  that  it  would  do,  and  there- 
fore kept  his  position,  while  the  ladies  were 
first  looking  about  him  to  see  if  he  were 
ticketed,  and  then  referring  to  their  cata- 
logues respectively,  in  order  to  ascertain 
what  distinguished  individual  he  could  be; 
but  as  he  soon  became  anxious  for  them  to 
depart,  he  turned  his  eyes  full  upon  them, 
when  they  shrank  back  almost  as  much 
alarmed  as  if  he  had  absolutely  risen  from, 
the  tomb.  He  could  not  avoid  smiling  at 
the  astonishment  displayed,  and  as  the  smile 
had  the  effect  of  destroying  the  illusion,  the 
amazed  ones,  after  indulging  in  a  few  highly 
appropriate  exclamations  of  surprise,  sotto 
voce,  passed  on.  The  very  moment  they 
had  left  him  he  perceived  the  approach  of 
her  whose  attention  he  was  anxious  to  at- 
tract and  therefore  stood  as  before  like  a 
statue. 

"That's  very  good!— -excellent  indeed! 
Is  it  not?"  observed  the  father  of  the  lady, 
waving  his  hand  towards  Valentine.  "  Who 
is  it?" 

The  lady  referred  to  her  book,  and  Val- 
entine stood  with  a  firmness  which  really, 
under  the  circumstances,  did  him  great 
credit.  Being  unable  to  find  anything  like 
a  description  of  him  in  the  catalogue,  she 
again  raised  her  eyes,  and  looked  earnestly 
at  him,  and  as  she  found  it  impossible  to 
see  him  with  sufficient  distinctness,  she 
lifted  her  veil!  In  an  instant  Valentine 
turned  his  eyes  upon  her,  and  beheld — not 
her  in  whom  all  his  hopes  were  concentered! 
no,  nothing  at  all  like  her!  It  was  a  lady 
with  dark,  piercing  eyes,  it  is  true,  but 
with  a  face  thickly  studded  with  scarlet 
carbuncles. 

"  You  did  it  excellently  well,  sir,"  ob- 
served the  old  gentleman,  smiling,  and  tap- 
ping him  playfully  on  the  shoulder:  "  Upon 
my  life  I  imagined  you  to  be  a  real  figure." 

Valentine  of  course  felt  flattered — highly 


156 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


flattered;  but  was  really  so  enraged  that  he 
would  scarcely  be  civil.  He  did,  how- 
ever, manage  to  force  up  about  half  a  smile, 
of  a  particularly  wretched  cas/e,  and  walked 
at  once  to  the  other  end  of  the  room.  He 
had  never  before  met  with  so  serious  a  dis- 
appointment, and  he  felt  so  exceedingly 
vexed,  that  he  could  with  pleasure  have 
quarrelled  with  any  man  breathing.  He 
threw  himself  carelessly  upon  one  of  the 
seats,  and  looked  upon  all  around  him  as  if 
they  had  been  really  his  natural  enemies. 
He  several  times  called  himself  a  fool  most 
emphatically,  and  twisted,  and  fidgetted, 
and  knocked  himself  about — very  naturally, 
it  is  true,  for  he  was  then  extremely 
wretched — but  certainly  with  most  unwar- 
rantable violence.  He  felt  that  he  wanted 
something,  either  to  do  or  to  drink,  he 
neither  knew  nor  cared  which,  albeit  at  that 
moment  he  could  have  drunk  a  pint  of  wine 
off  with  infinite  gusto.  Wine,  however, 
could  not  be  had  there;  but,  as  he  saw  a 
very  decent  old  fellow  in  spectacles  sitting 
beside  him,  and  looking  about  very  quietly 
with  a  little  black  box  in  his  hand;  he  felt 
that  perhaps  a  pinch  of  snuff,  if  it  gave  him 
no  comfort,  might  somewhat  revive  him; 
and,  therefore,  addressing  this  spectacled 
person  said,  "  Will  you  oblige  me?" 

The  old  boy  appeared  not  to  hear  him. 
He  continued  to  move  his  head  right  and 
left,  and  to  turn  his  eyes  about  in  all  direc- 
tions, but  neither  uttered  a  syllable  nor 
offered  the  box.  Valentine,  therefore,  fancy- 
ing that  he  must  be  either  deaf  or  lost  in  a 
maze  of  admiration,  said,  raising  his  voice, 
"  May  I  trouble  you?" 

The  old  fellow  still  looked  about  him, 
but  positively  took  no  more  notice  of  the 
request  than  if  it  had  never  been  made!  Of 
course  Valentine  thought  this  extraordinary 
conduct,  and  began  to  be  very  angry  with 
the  cross  old  bear;  but  just  as  he  was  about 
to  expostulate  with  him— to  ask  him  what 
it  was  he  really  meant — for  he  was  just  in 
the  humor  to  consider  himself  insulted — 
he  heard  a  half-suppressed  tittering,  which 
he  found  to  proceed  from  two  merry  little 
ladies  behind  him,  when  in  an  instant  his 
eyes  were  opened,  and  he  saw  at  once  that 
wax  was  the  materiel  with  which  the  old 
boy  had  been  built. 

••  Well,  this  is  extraordinary!"  thought 
Valentine,  whom  the  incident  restored  to 
good  humor;  and  he  smiled  at  the  deception 
—indeed  he  as  nearly  as  possible  laughed — 
and  on  looking  round,  saw  many  very  pleas- 
ant people  who  were  laughing  both  at  him 
and  with  him. 

"  Thau's  a  dead  tak  in,  zir,  than  tin T< 
be,"  observed  a  ruddy-faced  person,  who 
was  dressed  like  a  farmer;  "  I  thowt  mysel 


it  wor  flash  and  blud,  darng  me  if  I  didn't;" 
and  he  grinned  very  desperately,  and  cram- 
med a  great  portion  of  his  handkerchief  into 
his  mouth,  feeling,  probably,  that,  although 
he  had  a  very  sweet  laugh  when  it  had  its 
full  natural  swing,  it  migltt  not  be  altogether 
decent  to  allow  it  to  break  loose  there. 

"It  is  very  amusing,"  said  Valentine, 
addressing  this  person;  and  he  absolutely 
felt  it  to  be  so,  and  that  feeling  prompted 
him  to  walk  round  the  room  with  the  view 
of  examining  the  rest  of  the  figures,  which 
he  did  with  that  species  of  pleasure  which 
is  at  once  very  natural  and  very  remarkable; 
for  although  curiosity  may  be  generally  ac- 
knowledged to  be  a  feeling,  of  which  the 
indulgence  is  essential  to  the  pleasurable 
existence  of  us  all,  there  is  probably  nothing 
in  which  that  feeling  is  so  strikingly  mani- 
fested as  in  the  peculiar  gratification  which 
we  derive  from  a  sight  of  the  most  famous, 
and  most  infamous  men  of  the  age.  Whe- 
ther they,  who  step  out  of  the  ordinary 
track,  be  philanthropists,  murderers,  war- 
riors, or  villains,  we  are  anxious  to  see  what 
sort  of  men  they  are,  and  if  that  be  impossi- 
ble— if  we  cannot  see  them  in  proprid  per- 
sona— why  the  next  best  thing  in  public  es- 
timation, is  to  see  their  portraits — being 
public  lions,  or  objects  of  public  curiosity — 
and  as  wax  models  are  a  species  of  por- 
traiture which  is  by  far  the  most  striking, 
and  which  approaches  (he  nearest  to  nature, 
the  gratification  they  impart,  if  they  be  per- 
fect, is  greater  than  that  which  is  derived 
from  representations  on  canvass.  Nothing 
can  give  so  correct  an  idea  of  the  features 
and  figures  of  men  as  wax  models:  every 
shade,  every  line,  every  little  peculiarity, 
may  be  so  portrayed  as  to  make  it  appear 
that  the  originals  are  living  and  breathing 
before  you.  It  is  impossible  to  take  a  por- 
trait on  canvass  for  life;  but  a  perfect  wax 
model  may  be  taken  for  a  living  man;  and 
hence,  if  the  most  exact  imitation  of  nature 
be  the  perfection  of  art,  the  art  of  wax-mo- 
delling, as  far  as  portraiture  is  concerned, 
may  be  held  to  be  by  far  the  most  perfect. 

This  is,  however,  by  no  means  establish- 
ed; nor  is  it  absolutely  essential  to  the  pro- 
gress of  this  history  that  it  should  be;  for  if 
all  the  legitimate  orthodox  artists  in  the 
universe  were  to  form  themselves  into  one 
grand  corporation,  with  the  view  of  up>vi- 
ting  it  in  totn,  it  would  not  interfere  with 
the  indisputable  fact,  that  Valentine  was 
pleased  with  the  whole  exhibition,  ;m<l  I'.m- 
cied  that  as  he  had  taken  one  of  the  figures 
for  lifr,  he  ought,  in  justice  to  himself,  to 
extend  the  deception,  in  order  to  witness  its 
effect  upon  others. 

Now  this  singular  fancy  had  no  sooner 
been  conceived,  than  he  observed  at  the  up- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


157 


per  part  of  the  room  a  little  ancient  indivi- 
dual, who  was  obviously,  in  his  own  esti- 
mation, a  decided  Narcissus.  His  hair  was 
powdered,  and  his  coat  was  powdered  too: 
a  white  cravat  sustained  a  very  highly 
glazed  collar,  which  appeared  to  entertain 
the  design  of  sawing  off  both  his  ears;  and 
while  his  waistcoat  was  white,  and  his  hat 
was  white,  he  sported  white  cords,  and 
white  tops  to  his  boots,  and  carried  in  one 
hand  a  pair  of  white  gloves,  and  a  scented 
white  handkerchief  gracefully  in  the  other. 
Valentine  of  course  became  highly  amused 
with  the  bearing  and  dress  of  this  respect- 
able individual,  whose  politeness  was  so  ex- 
cessive, that  when  persons  approached  in 
an  opposite  direction,  he  would  bow  and 
slip  aside  to  allow  them  to  pass — an  opera- 
tion which  he  had  to  perform  about  ten 
times  per  minute.  He  nevertheless  looked 
at  every  figure  most  intently,  and  as  Valen- 
tine almost  unconsciously  drew  near,  it 
struck  him  that  he  might,  perhaps,  for  a 
moment  inspire  the  belief  that  there  were 
fewer  inanimate  objects  in  the  room  than 
there  really  were.  Accordingly,  just  as  the 
ancient  Narcissus  was  about  to  examine 
the  representation  of  an  elderly  gentleman 
standing  alone,  Valentine,  throwing  his 
•voice  towards  that  elderly  gentleman,  ex- 
claimed, "Ah!  glad  to  see  you! — how  do1?" 

Narcissus  gazed  very  curiously,  and 
bowed  very  profoundly,  and  then  with  a 
sweet  smile,  observed,  "  Upon  my  honor, 
you  have  the  advantage  of  me — really — I 
beg  pardon— but  positively  1"  — 

"  What!  have  you  forgotten  me  quite?" 
said  Valentine. 

"Why  where  have  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
meeting — tut! — bless  my  life  and  heart,  how 
stupid  to  be  sure! — I  know  those  features; 
and  yet,  for  the  life  of  me,  I  cannot  call  to 
mind"  — 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  observed  Valen- 
tine, "  that  you  don't  remember  me?" 

Narcissus  dropped  his  head  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  tried  with  all  the  energy  of 
mind  he  possessed  to  recollect  where  he  had 
met  that  gentleman  before.  "  Why  I  know 
you,"  said  he,  "as  well  as  possible;  and 
yet,  do  you  think  that  I  can  call  to  my  re- 
collection?—bless  my  life  and  soul,  what  a 
memory  I  have! — Now  this  is  really  very 
extraordinary.  But  wait— wait  a  bit,"  he 
continued,  raising  his  hand  to  enjoin  silence; 
—"At  Brighton!— Why  to  be  sure!— Mr. 
Pringle.  My  dear  friend,  how  are  you!  I 
hope  I  have  the  pleasure"  — 

Narcissus  paused — and  very  properly; 
for  albeit  he  held  out  his  hand  with  the 
view  of  grasping  that  of  Pringle  with  affec- 
tionate warmth,  Mr.  Pringle  by  no  means 
displayed  a  corresponding  amount  of  affec- 


tion. Narcissus  looked  utterly  amazed!  He 
was  perfectly  unconscious  of  having  offend- 
ed Mr.  Pringle;  and  therefore  felt  quite  at  a 
loss  to  account  for  that  gentleman's  cold- 
ness. He  could  not  at  all  understand  it. 
He  felt  that  an  immediate  explanation  was 
due,  and  was  just  on  the  point  of  demanding 
such  explanation  with  appropriate  firmness 
and  force,  when  a  remarkable  idea  flashed 
at  once  across  his  mind,  of  which  the  sub- 
stance was,  that  Pringle  was  not  the  man 
he  took  him  for — that  he  was,  in  a  word,  a 
man  of  wax!  He  therefore  pulled  up  his 
fiery  indignation,  and  examined  the  figure 
before  him  more  minutely,  and  having  even- 
tually satisfied  himself  on  the  particular 
point  at  issue,  he  took  off  his  hat  and  ex- 
claimed, "Well!  I  never!"  And  the  fact 
of  his  having  indulged  in  this  extraordinary 
exclamation  was,  under  the  peculiar  circum- 
stances of  the  case,-  an  extremely  natural 
fact;  and  here  the  matter  would  have  ended, 
but  for  the  mystery !— he  had  distinctly 
heard  a  voice!  His  eyes  might  have  been, 
and  evidently  had  been,  deceived:  he  was 
fully  prepared  to  admit  that;  but  he  certain- 
ly was  not  prepared  to  admit  that  his  ears 
had  been  deceived  at  the  same  time.  And 
yet,  whence  could  the  voice  have  proceeded"? 
The  thing  was  inanimate!  It  could  not 
have  proceeded  from  that:  it  was  impossi- 
ble; and  yet  he  had  heard  it.  He  examined 
it  again  from  head  to  foot  very  minutely, 
and  drew  his  hand  across  his  chin  very 
lightly,  and  very  thoughtfully;  but  he  could 
not  get  over  it,  and  Valentine,  leaving  him 
lost  in  conjecture,  adjourned  to  a  seat  in  the 
centre  of  the  room. 

Now  on  the  left  of  this  seat  there  was  a 
figure  which  he  had  not  seen  before,  but 
which  was  nominally  an  exact  representa- 
tion of  the  beautiful  Madame  St.  Ama- 
ranthe,  of  whom  the  wretch,  Robespierre, 
became  enamored,  and  whom  he  eventually 
destroyed  for  being  sufficiently  virtuous  to 
reject  his  addresses.  This  figure  was  lying 
at  full  length  on  a  couch;  and  it  certainly 
did  look  as  much  as  possible  like  a  lovely 
little  creature  asleep.  It  was  perfectly 
evident  that  the  sympathies  of  those  who 
stood  around  were  very  strongly  excited, 
and  as  they  were  descanting  very  freely 
upon  the  character  of  the  sanguinary  mon- 
ster of  whom  Madame  Saint  Amaranthe 
was  the  victim,  Valentine  threw  a  series  of 
well-directed  sobs  beneath  the  veil  with 
which  the  figure  was  covered,  when  in  an 
instant  the  persons  who  were  standing 
around  simultaneously  shrank  back  ap- 
palled. 

"  My  goodness !"  cried  a  remarkably 
stout  matron,  "if  it  isn't  alive,  I'm  not 
here!" 


158 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"  Gracious,  ma!"  exclaimed  one  of  her 
interesting  daughters,  "  How  excessively 
ridiculous!" 

"Don't  tell  me,  child,"  rejoined  the  af- 
fectionate matron,  "when  I  heard  the  poor 
dear  sobbing,  fit  to  break  her  heart." 

Valentine  here  introduced  a  short  cough 
and  after  that  a  long  yawn,  which,  seeing 
that  the  arm  of  the  figure  was  placed  above 
the  head,  had  a  strikingly  natural  effect. 

"There,  there!  1  knew  it  was  alive!  I 
said  so!"  continued  the  old  lady,  who  being 
disposed  to  render  all  the  assistance  in  her 
power  was  about  to  remove  the  veil. 

"You  reely  mustn't  touch,  mam,  if  you 
please,"  said  a  girl  who  was  stationed  near 
the  couch,  and  who  began  to  explain  to  an  | 
individual  in  her  immediate  vicinity  how 
extraordinary  a  thing  it  was,  that  notwith- 
standing there  was  an  announcement  on  al- 
most every  figure  to  the  effect  that  visitors 
were  not  to  touch,  touch  they  would,  and 
nothing  in  nature  could  keep  them  from 
touching. 

"  Depend  upon  it,  dear,"  said  the  matron, 
in  a  whisper,  it's  all  an  imposition;  it's  alive, 
dear,  and  that's  the  very  reason  why  we 
musn't  touch,  to  see  whether  it  is  or  is 
not." 

"This  acute  observation,  on  the  part  of 
the  old  lady,  induced  her  exemplary  daugh- 
ter, who  was  dressed  with  extraordinary 
gaiety,  to  toss  her  head  proudly,  and  to  curl 
her  lip  contemptuously,  and  to  exclaim  very 
pointedly,  "  Dear  me,  ma!  how  excessively 
vulgar  to  be  sure!" 

"  You  may  say  what  you  please,"  rejoin- 
ed the  matron,  "  but  I  know  what  I  know," 
and  having  made  this  highly  appropriate 
and  self-satisfactory  observation,  she  looked 
at  Madame  St.  Amaranthe  very  earnestly 
again. 


"  Where  are  you  pushing?"  cried  Valen- 
tine, assuming  the  shrill  voice  of  a  scolding 
woman,  and  throwing  it  towards  the  figure 
of  a  little  old  lady,  in  a  black  silk  cloak 
which  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  couch. 

"You  are  very  polite,  I  must  say,"  ob- 
served a  rough  individual,  turning  very 
sharply  round;  "  where  did  you  go  to  school! 
You'd  better  have  the  whole  room  to  your- 
self, marm!  Well  I'm  sure!— what  next!" 
and  he  looked  very  fiercely,  and  felt  very 
indignant,  until  he  discovered  his  mistake, 
when  he  laughed  very  heartily,  and  the 
people  around,  of  course,  joined  him  very 
freely. 

At  this  moment,  however,  the  two  per- 
sons who  had  been  the  immediate  cause  of 
Valentine's  visit  to  the  exhibition  walked 
past,  and  the  sight  of  them  plunged  him 
into  misery  again.  He  felt  wretched,  par- 
ticularly wretched.  His  dearest  hopes  had 
been  dashed  from  the  eminence  to  which 
they  had  been  raised,  and  that  eminence 
was  so  high  that  they  appeared  to  have 
reached  the  very  depths  of  despair.  "  Am 
I  never  to  see  her  again,"  thought  he, 
"  never1?"  He  rose  and  left  the  room;  and 
as  he  proceeded  towards  home,  two  lines  of 
a  song  which  he  had  heard  in  infancy  sug- 
gested themselves,  and  which  ran  somehow 
thus:— 

"Shall  I  never  again  hear  her  voice 
Nor  see  her  loved  form  any  more?" 

And  the  peculiarly  interesting  interrogatory 
involved  was  so  appropriate,  that  he  in- 
voluntarily hummed  the  poetical  reply, 
namely: 

"  No,  no,  no,  I  shall  never  see  her  more! 
No,  no,  no,  I  shall  Viever  see  her  more! 
No!  no!  no!  I  shall  never  see  her  more!" 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

GOODMAN  MATURES  HIS  PLAN  OF  ESCAPE.  THE  COMMISSIONERS  ARRIVE.  HE  PREPARES  TO 
CONVINCE  THEM  OF  HIS  ABSOLUTE  SANITY,  AND  IS  GOADED  ON  TO  MADNESS.  HE  RECOVERS; 
AND,  HAVING  REORGANISED  HIS  FORCES,  RESOLUTELY  MAKES  THE  ATTACK. 


NOTWITHSTANDING  Whitely  labored  to  in- 
spire his  friend  with  the  conviction  that  the 
design  he  had  conceived  would  be  imprac- 
ticable, Goodman,  who  saw  no  other  nros- 
pect  before  him  than  that  of  perpetual  im- 
prisonment if  that  design  were  not  carried 
into  actual  execution,  had  been  busily  occu- 
pied, maturing  his  scheme  every  day  since 
that  on  which  the  important  Kulij«  «-t  \\;is 
broached.  He  sounded  all  in  whom  ho  felt 


that  confidence  might  be  placed,  and  with 
pleasure  found  all  whom  he  sounded  will- 
ing to  join.  Still  Whitely  felt  doubtful  of 
success.  He  saw  twenty  men,  of  whom 
the  majority  were  young  and  muscular, 
pn-pjiri'd  to  make  a  simultaneous  effort  to 
,  ilr.it  liberty  of  which  i!i;\v  h:ul  been 
with  rt-;i!ly  cruel  injustice  deprived;  yet,  al- 
though there  were  but  five  or  six  kn-prr* 
to  be  conquered,  he  believed  that  the  minds 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


159 


of  the  twenty  had  become  so  enfeebled, 
that  their  spirits  had  been,  by  brutal  treat- 
ment, so  broken,  and  their  native  resolution 
so  completely  subverted,  that  however  de- 
lighted with  the  project  they  might  be,  how- 
ever anxious  they  might  seem  to  carry  it 
into  effect,  when  the  moment  for  action  ar- 
rived, they  would  shrink  back  dismayed, 
and  thus  secure  to  the  six  ruffians  a  signal 
triumph. 

The  process  of  organization,  notwith- 
standing, went  on — the  day  was  fixed;  but 
in  proportion  as  Goodman  became  more  re- 
solute and  sanguine  of  success,  his  friend 
Whitely  became  more  feverish  and  fearful. 

The  day  arrived;  and  on  the  morning  of 
that  day,  they  ascertained  that  two  of  the 
keepers  out  of  the  six  were  to  be  absent,  in 
all  probability  with  the  view  of  seizing 
another  victim. 

"  Now,"  exclaimed  Goodman,  on  hearing 
this  news,  "  we  are  safe!  Nothing  could 
have  been  more  fortunate.  Everything,  my 
friend,  is  in  our  favor.  There  will  now  be 
but  four  of  these  men  to  overcome,  and,  if 
taken  by  surprise,  there  may  be  but  one. 
What,  therefore,  think  you  now?  Why  if 
even  the  hearts  of  two-thirds  of  our  com- 
panions were  to  sink,  success  would  be 
certain." 

Whitely  shook  his  head  mournfully  and 
sighed,  and  slightly  trembled. 

"My  dear,  dear  friend,"  continued  Good- 
man, "be  firm.  Upon  my  life,  I  doubt 
your  resolution  more  than  that  of  any  man 
to  whom  I  have  spoken  on  the  subject. 
Consider  the  monstrous  character  of  our 
position.  Consider  how  we  have  been  kid- 
napped— stolen  from  society;  consider  also, 
that  unless  we  do  make  our  escape  thus, 
imprisonment  for  life  is  inevitable." 

"I  do, "returned  Whitely,  "I  do  consid- 
er all;  but  I  cannot  avoid  looking  at  the 
consequences  of  a  failure." 

"A  failure!"  exclaimed  Goodman;  "It  is 
madness  to  think  of  it.  Think  of  success, 
my  dear  friend,  not  of  failure.  Suppose  we 
admit  the  possibility,  or  even  the  probabili- 
ty of  failure;  what  then1?  Is  not  the  chance 
of  regaining  our  liberty  worth  all  the  risk? 
Are  we,  or  are  we  not  to  make  the  attempt] 
If  we  are,  why  then,  perish  the  thought  of 
a  failure!  Why  should  we  think  of  it? 
What  was  ever  achieved  by  entertaining 
the  thought?  What  would  have  been  our 
national  character  if  the  consequences  of 
failure  had  preyed  upon  our  souls?  We 
have  been,  as  a  nation,  invariably  success- 
ful, because  we  have  invariably  felt  sure  of 
success,  even  under  the  most  adverse  cir- 
cumstances. Had  it  not  been  for  that,  we 
should  have  been  in  the  world's  estimation 
a  nation  of  cowards.  Why  speak  of  a  fail- 


ure, then,  now?  In  a  case  like  this,  which 
entirely  depends  upon  individual  firmness 
and  resolution,  we  must  succeed,  if  we 
believe  we  shall  succeed;  but  we  cannot 
succeed  if  we  fear  that  we  shall  fail.  Come! 
come!  be  a  man.  Think  of  twenty  opposed 
to  four;  and  the  cause  of  that  twenty  indis- 
putably just:  think  of  this,  and  feel  ashamed 
to  dream  even  of  a  failure.  If  we  be  but 
firm,  our  freedom  will  be  achieved:  I  feel 
perfectly  certain  of  that.  All  depends  upon 
us.  We  are  to  lead,  and  have  therefore  the 
power  within  ourselves  to  inspire  our  com- 
panions with  the  courage  of  lions,  or  to 
cause  them  to  cringe  like  spaniels  again. 
Shall  we  not  make  the  attempt?" 

"  We  will!"  cried  Whitely,  with  unusual 
firmness,  grasping  the  hand  of  Goodman  as 
he  spoke,  "  We  will! — come  what  may, 
the  attempt  shall  be  made." 

Goodman  was  delighted.  He  felt  far 
more  sanguine  than  ever.  He  went  round 
to  his  companions,  spoke  to  them  cautious- 
ly one  by  one,  lest  suspicion  should  be  ex- 
cited, and  found  them  all  impatient  to  com- 
mence the  attack.  Twilight,  however,  was 
considered  the  fittest  period  for  the  com- 
mencement of  operations.  Goodman  was 
then  to  give  the  signal  by  drawing  forth  a 
sheet  which  he  had  cut  into  strips,  with 
which  the  principal  keeper  was  to  be  bound, 
when,  having  obtained  the  keys,  they  were 
to  rush  to  the  door  which  led  to  the  resi- 
dence of  the  proprietor  of  the  asylum,  and 
which  they  had  but  to  pass  to  be  free.  This 
was  well  understood  by  them  all,  and  all 
were  anxious  for  the  day  to  wear  away; 
but  just  as  they  were  about  to  be  summoned 
to  what,  by  an  extraordinary  stretch  of  the 
imagination,  was  conceived  to  be  a  dinner, 
it  was  announced  that  the  commissioners 
had  unexpectedly  arrived,  when,  of  course 
a  general  rush  was  made  by  the  servants  of 
the  establishment,  with  the  view  of  getting 
things  in  order  for  the  mockery  of  an  inspec- 
tion about  to  take  place. 

"Now,"  said  Whitely,  the  moment  he 
heard  of  their  arrival,  "  as  far  as  you  are 
concerned,  this  attempt  need  not  be  made. 
The  commissioners  were  not  expected:  the 
keepers  have  therefore  no  time  to  excite 
you;  and  as  you  are  the  only  *  patient* 
whom  they  have  not  yet  seen,  you  are  per- 
fectly sure  to  be  called  before  them.  Be 
firm;  be  composed:  for  Heaven's  sake,  my 
friend,  say  nothing  which  may  develop  the 
smallest  degree  of  excitement.  Appeal  to 
their  judgment.  Be  calm — quite  calm.  The 
keepers  may  wish  you  to  take  a  glass  of 
wine  before  you  enter  the  drawing-room:  if 
they  should,  be  sure  that  it  is  drugged;  be 
quite  sure! — on  no  account  touch  it.  Re- 
member, my  friend,  the  way  in  which  they 


160 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


excited  me,  and  thus  made  it  appear  that  I 
was  really  insane,  which  the  commissioners 
believe  to  this  day.  Therefore  do  not  touch 
anything  before  you  see  them,  as  you  value 
your  liberty." 

This  caution  was  received  with  gratitude 
by  Goodman,  who  felt  sure  that  he  should 
be  able  to  convince  the  commissioners  that 
he  was  a  perfectly  sane  man,  and  therefore 
at  once  began  to  think  of  the  best  mode  of 
commencing  his  appeal;  but  while  he  was 
thus  engaged  in  the  full  conviction  of  suc- 
cess, the  proprietor  was  occupied  in  giving 
instructions  to  his  head-keeper;  for  he  also 
felt  certain  that  Goodman — whose  mildness 
and  perfect  self-possession  he  had  had 
ample  opportunities  of  witnessing — would, 
if  fair  play  were  allowed,  succeed  in  estab- 
lishing his  perfect  sanity;  and  he  did  not 
forget  that,  in  such  an  event,  he  should,  of 
course,  lose  one  of  the  most  profitable  pa- 
tients he  had. 

Accordingly,  Goodman  had  scarcely  time 
to  decide  on  the  commencement  of  his  ad- 
dress, before  the  head-keeper  entered  the 
garden,  and  addressing  him,  shouted,  "  Now 
then — here—  you! — This  way  here,  you're 
wanted!" 

"Success!  success!"  exclaimed  Whitely; 
"  Be  calm!  God  bless  you!  My  dear  friend, 
God  bless  you!"  And  as  the  friends  shook 
hands,  the  tear  which  stood  in  Whitely's 
eye  portrayed  the  feelings  of  his  heart  with 
far  more  eloquence  than  words. 

"  Now  then!"  shouted  the  keeper,  "  how 
much  longer  are  you  going  for  to  make  me 
keep  waiting  here,  hay!" 

Goodman  joined  him  at  once  with  the 
utmost  firmness.  He  felt  that  all  depended 
upon  his  tranquil  bearing  then,  and  hence 
determined  not  to  notice  any  indignity  that 
might  be  offered.  Instead,  however,  of 
being  introduced  to  the  commissioners, 
who  were  appropriately  taking  wine  in  the 
drawing-room,  the  keeper  led  him  to  the 
cell  in  which  he  slept,  and  in  which  he 
found  another  keeper  loaded  with  an  arm- 
full  of  chains. 

"  Now  then,"  cried  the  principal  ruffian, 
44  come,  strip!  and  look  alive." 

44  Am  I  not  to  see  the  commissioners?" 
inquired  Goodman,  calmly. 

44  And  no  mistake,  you  are.  They're  a 
coming  here  directly.  So  you'd  better  look 
sharp!" 

44  Pray,"  said  Goodman,  humbly,  yrt 
earnestly,  "  allow  me  to  see  them  as  1  am." 

:rip,  I  say,  and  be  quick!  d'y< 
mo!  come!  I'm  not  going  to  stand  all  thish 
'ere  dilly  dallying.  Sam!  here,  just  lug  off 
his  coat."  And  the  fellow  threw  the  chains 
upon  the  ground,  and  tore  the  coat  off  ac- 
cordingly. 


44  My  good  men,  pray  tell  me  your  object 
in " 

44  Silence!"  interrupted  the  ruffian.  "Hold 
your  mouth,  or  I'll  make  yer!" 

The  very  moment  the  coat  was  off,  they 
slipped  on  a  strait  waistcoat,  and  then 
threw  him  down  upon  the  bed;  and  while 
one  of  them  was  fastening  an  iron  collar 
round  his  neck,  and  locking  the  chain  at- 
tached to  a  stanchion,  the  other  was  engaged 
in  pulling  off  his  shoes  and  stockings,  and 
chaining  his  legs  firmly  to  the  bottom  of 
the  bed. 

Goodman  remained  silent.  "  Let  them 
do  what  they  please,"  thought  he,  "  I  shall 
still  have  the  power  to  speak  to  the  com- 
missioners. Let  them  load  me  with  chains^ 
I  must  not  be  excited." 

The  sleeves  of  the  strait  waistcoat,  were 
now  tied  to  the  bedstead,  on  either  side; 
his  bare  feet  were  chained  securely;  he  was 
unable  to  move  hand  or  foot,  he  had  not 
even  the  power  to  raise  his  head. 

"  Now,"  said  the  principal  ruffian,  ad- 
dressing his  assistant,  "Do  you  go  down, 
and  let  me  know  when  they're  a-coming." 

The  fellow  obeyed,  and  the  moment  he 
had  done  so,  the  keeper  deliberately  drew 
a  feather  from  his  breast,  and  having 
straightened  it,  and  looked  at  it  with  an  air 
of  the  most  intense  satisfaction,  knelt  down 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

44  What,  in  heaven's  name,"  thought 
Goodman,  "  is  about  to  take  place!  My 
good  man,"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  state  of  great 
alarm,  "  what,  what  are  you  going  to  do 
with  me!" 

Scarcely  had  the  last  word  been  uttered 
when  the  miscreant  began  to  tickle  the  soles 
of  his  victim's  feet! 

44  Oh!  o/*/"  exclaimed  Goodman;  "  Oh! 
Do  not!  Pray  do  not!  Ok' — God!  I  can- 
not endure  it!  Mercy!  Murder!  Murder! 
Murder!"  and  he  struggled  and  shrieked, 
and  the  more  he  shrieked  and  struggled  the 
more  quickly  was  the  feather  applied.  The 
blood  rushed  to  his  head.  He  strained  hor- 
ribly. The  torture  was  exquisite.  His 
cries  might  have  pierced  the  heart  even  of  a 
fiend,  yet  that  wretch  still  kept  up  th« 
dreadful  process.  "  My  God!  My  God!" 
exclaimed  Goodman,  "  What  agony!" 

These  were  the  last  words  he  conscious- 
ly uttered,  for  his  veins  began  to  swell,  ami 
his  face  became  black,  and  his  eyes  ap- 
peared to  be  in  the  act  of  start i MIT  from  their 
sockets.  The  room  shook  with  his  convul- 
sions. He  raved  with  maniacal  fury!  In 
a  \vi-nl,  lie  had  been  goaded  to  madness. 

44 They  are  here!  they  are  here!"  cried 
the  assistant,  rushing  into  the  room. 

44 All  right;  I've  done  the  trick,"  saiil 
the  miscreant,  concealing  the  iVathrr,  and 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


16L 


throwing  a  blanket  over  the  feet  of  his 
victim. 

The  commissioners  entered!  Goodman 
was  a  maniac! — laughing  and  raving,  al- 
ternately— torturing  his  features  into  shapes 
the  most  hideous — writhing  with  frightful 
energy  to  get  loose,  and  screaming  horribly. 

"Here  is  the  poor  man,"  observed  the 
humane  proprietor,  with  an  expression  of 
the  purest  sympathy;  "  Poor  gentleman! 
Really,  it  is  enough  to  make  one's  heart 
bleed  to  see  him." 

"Dreadful!"  cried  one  of  the  commis- 
sioners. 

"  Dreadful,  indeed!"  exclaimed  another. 

"  Poor  fellow!  Is  he  often  thus?"  in- 
quired a  third. 

"  Not  very  often  so  out-and-out  bad,  sir," 
replied  the  brutal  keeper;  "  only  about 
twice  a  week;  and  he's  much  to  be  pitied: 
there  ain't  a  patient  I  pities  more  than  him." 
And  he  winked  at  the  proprietor,  and  the 
proprietor  winked  at  him,  as  the  commis,- 
sioners  drew  near  to  the  bedside,  while 
poor  Goodman  was  shouting,  "  Villains! 
Murderers!  Fiends!"  He  was  mad! — rav- 
ing mad!  The  commissioners  were  satis- 
fied. Accustomed  as  they  had  been  to  such 
scenes,  this  struck  them  with  horror,  and 
they  prepared  to  leave  the  room. 

"  It's  shocking  when  they  are  so,"  ob- 
served the  Christian  proprietor,  "  truly 
shocking.  Take  care  of  him,  Johnson; 
treat  him  tenderly,  poor  man!" 

"  I  will,  sir,  depend  on't,"  replied  the 
keeper;  and  the  commissioners  quitted  the 
scene,  much  affected. 

The  very  moment  they  had  left,  the  mis- 
creant burst  into  a  loud  roar  of  laughter, 
and  congratulated  himself  on  the  success 
of  his  brutal  experiment.  He  had  tried  it 
before  frequently;  and  although  one  of  his 
victims  had  died  under  the  dreadful  opera- 
tion, while  another  had  been  struck  with 
paralysis,  and  a  third  had  been  reduced  to 
a  state  of  idiotcy,  in  which  he  continued 
till  death,  it  had  occasionally  so  far  failed 
as  to  induce  almost  immediate  exhaustion, 
which  had  been  found  not  to  answer  the 
proposed  end  so  well.  In  this  case,  how- 
ever, he  had  been  perfectly  successful,  and 
therefore,  after  having  remained  in  the 
room  until  the  commissioners  had  quitted 
the  asylum,  he  left  his  raving  victim  with 
a  fiend-like  smile  to  receive  the  applause  of 
his  infamous  master. 

Poor  Goodman's  dreadful  paroxysm  lasted 
without  a  moment's  intermission  for  more 
than  six  hours;  and  when  consciousness 
returned,  his  exhaustion  was  so  absolute, 
that  he  instantly  sank  into  a  deep  heavy 
sleep— a  sleep,  indeed,  so  profound,  that 
although  the  two  keepers  divested  him  of 
15 


the  chains,  the  strait  waistcoat,  and  the  iron 
collar,  and  even  completely  undressed  him, 
he  did  not  awake. 

About  twelve  o'clock,  however,  that 
night,  he  was  aroused  by  a  series  of  despe- 
rate pinches,  and,  on  opening  his  eyes,  he 
perceived  the  proprietor — who  had  become 
apprehensive  of  losing  a  patient  for  whom 
he  was  so  liberally  paid — standing  over 
him. 

"Wa-ater!"  he  gasped,  after  a  violent 
effort  to  uncleave  his  tongue  from  the  roof 
of  his  mouth;  and  the  proprietor  gave  him 
a  cordial,  which  in  a  short  time  considera- 
bly revived  him. 

"  How  horribly! — oh!  how  horribly  have 
I  been  used!"  said  Goodman,  faintly,  as 
soon  as  he  had  recovered  the  power  to 
speak.  "I  hope  you  did  not  authorise  this 
dreadful  treatment?"  he  continued,  as  the 
feverish  tears  rolled  upon  the  pillow  on 
either  side  as  he  lay. 

"  Dreadful  treatment!"  exclaimed  the 
proprietor,  with  an  expression  of  utter 
amazement.  "  What  dreadful  treatment!" 

Goodman  briefly,  but  warmly  explained. 

"  Pooh!  It's  all  your  delusion,"  exclaimed 
the  proprietor  "  It's  all  your  delusion!''1 

"Delusion!"  echoed  Goodman  in  a 
mournful  tone.  "That  man,  that  despe- 
rately wicked  man  well  knows  that  it  is  no 
delusion.  May  God  in  his  mercy  forgive 
him!"  he  continued;  and  again  the  tears 
gushed  from  his  eyes;  his  heart  was  full, 
and  he  sobbed  bitterly. 

"Johnson!"  said  the  proprietor  in  an 
angry  tone,  "  Have  you  been  ill-using  this 
patient]" 

"  Me,  sir!  Me  ill-use  patients!  I  never 
ill-uses  'em:  on  the  contrayry,  I  always 
treats  'em  in  the  kindestest  manner.  How 
ever  patients  can  get  up  sich  'bom'nable 
lies,  puts  me  out  altogether:  but  then  they 
know  nothink,  you  know,  when  they're  that 
way.  The  commissioners  seed  that  there 
warn't  no  mistake." 

"The  commissioners!"  cried  Goodman, 
"Then  they  have  been  here.  They  have 
seen  me,  in  all  probability,  raving.  They 
are  satisfied  that  I  am  mad!  Oh,  villany! 
— Monstrous  villany!" 

"  Come,  come!  none  of  that!  none  of 
that!"  cried  the  proprietor;  "compose 
yourself,  and  don't  run  away  with  such 
fancies.  I  tell  you,  it's  all  your  delusion, 
and  nothing  but  delusion:  go  to  sleep:  go 
to  sleep."  And  thus  he  left  him. 

"  Now,"  said  the  ruffian,  when  his  mas- 
ter had  left,  "do  you  want  any  other  little 
thing  afore  I  go;  cos  if  you  do,  you  don't 
have  it.  I  ill-uses  you,  do  1?  Never 
mind.  I'll  sarve  you  out  for  that,  one  of 
these  here  odd  days,  mark  my  words;  now, 


162 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


you  mind  if  I  don't!"  And  he  slammed  the 
door  of  the  cell,  and  having  locked  it  se- 
curely, poor  Goodman  was  left  to  his  re- 
flections for  the  night. 

For  one  entire  week  he  never  quitted  his 
cell;  which,  independently  of  the  acute 
physical  pain  he  endured  was,  of  itself,  a 
dreadful  species  of  torture,  for  neither  a 
book  nor  a  paper  of  any  description  was  he 
allowed;  not  a  soul  was  he  permitted  either 
to  speak  to  or  to  see,  with  the  single  excep- 
tion of  that  savage  ruffian,  the  very  sight  of 
\vhom  induced  an  involuntary  shudder. 

Meanwhile,  his  companions  in  misfor- 
tune were  marvelling  what  had  become  of 
him.  The  keepers  would,  of  course,  give 
them  no  information.  They  could  not  hear 
of  his  being  still  in  the  asylum,  nor  could 
they  hear  of  his  having  obtained  his  liberty; 
but  when  four  or  five  days  had  elapsed,  the 
impression  became  general  that,  having 
succeeded  in  convincing  the  commissioners 
of  his  sanity,  he  had  been  quietly  suffered 
to  depart. 

At  the  expiration  of  the  week,  however, 
he  again  appeared  amongst  them,  and  the 
feelings  which  were  excited  by  his  re-ap- 
pearance, were  those  of  mingled  pleasure 
and  regret.  As  far  as  they  were  concerned, 
they  were  delighted  to  see  him;  for  the 
goodness  of  his  heart,  which  was  at  all 
times  conspicuous,  had  won  their  affections; 
but  as  far  as  regarded  himself,  they  beheld 
him  with  sorrow. 

Their  gladness  was,  however,  soon  per- 
mitted to  preponderate;  for  although  he 
was  feverish  and  physically  weak,  his 
strength  of  mind  had  been  unimpaired  by 
the  monstrous  outrage  to  which  he  had 
been  subjected,  and  being,  if  possible,  more 
firmly  determined  than  before,  to  effect  an 
escape,  they  viewed  him  as  their  liberator, 
and  placed  implicit  confidence  in  his  judg- 
ment and  resolution.  He  aroused  their  en- 
thusiasm by  an  explanation  of  what  had 
occurred,  and  they  looked  upon  success  as 
a  matter  of  course.  There  was,  however, 
one  whose  enthusiasm  he  could  not  excite, 
and  that  was  Whitely — the  horrible  conse- 
quences of  a  failure  having  again  taken 
possession  of  his  soul. 

"  My  friend,"  said  that  gentleman,  when 
Goodman  had  labored  to  warm  him  again 
with  his  eloquence,  "  let  us  now  trust  en- 
tirely to  Providence.  He  never  deserts 
those  who  put  their  whole  trust  in  Him." 

••  I  believe  it,"  said  Goodman,  "  I  firmly 
religiously  believe  it:  I  do  trust  in  Provi- 
dence, and  have  implicit  confidence  in  His 
goodness:  it  is  hence  that  I  believe  that  our 
enterprise  will  be  successful,  being,  as  it  is, 
indisputably  based  upon  justice;  bat  be  as- 
sured that  it  never  was  intended  that  a  man 


should  trust  in  Providence  and  be  inactive 
— that  he  should  suffer  those  faculties  with 
vhich  he  has  been  endowed,  to  lie  dormant, 
ooking  to  Providence  for  the  accomplish- 
ment of  that  which  Providence  has  given 
him  the  power  to  achieve." 

*If  we  believe,"  rejoined  Whitely,  "that 
He  who  works  the  universe,  guides  even 
he  worm;  that  He  permits  the  varied  ills 
of  human  life,  and  forms  the  varied  moulds 
n  which  the  minds  of  men  are  cast,  and 
that  in  His  judgments  He  is  merciful  and 
ust:  how  can  we  believe  that  He  will  ever 
desert  those  who  put  their  whole  trust  and 
onfidence  in  Him"?  We  have  suffered;  we 
suffer  still;  but  did  suffering  increase  in 
sower  with  its  age,  we  must  have  been 
goaded  to  death  or  to  madness;  but  even  in 
our  position,  we  see  that  pain  and  pleasure 
cannot  be  divorced,  for  there  is  no  wound 
which  can  be  inflicted,  at  which  we  do  not 
'eel  the  God  of  Nature  administering,  at 
east,  the  balm  of  hope.  Man  never  des- 
pairs. He  cannot  do  so  wholly.  He  looks 
to  Him  with  confidence,  even  in  the  last 
extremity.  In  Him,  therefore,  let  us  con- 
fide. Let  us  look  to  Him  for  aid.  Let  us 
hope! — still  hope! — and  be  resigned." 

44  My  friend,"  said  Goodman,  solemnly, 
"  the  presence  of  resignation  in  such  a  case 
as  this  of  necessity  supposes  the  absence  of 
hope.  When  liberty  is  wounded,  men  will 
hope;  they  mourn,  and  mourn,  and  call  her 
virtues  up,  and  pant  and  pray  for  her  re- 
overy — the  slightest  change  reanimates 
their  souls  while  they  believe  that  she  yet 
may  be  restored:  it  is  when  she  becomes  to 
us  dead,  when  we  are  sure  that  she  is  gone, 
never,  never  to  return,  that  hope  gives  place 
to  resignation.  I  feel,  with  you,  that  they 
who  firmly  confide  in  Him  will  not  do  so 
in  vain;  but  that  feeling  by  no  means 
prompts  the  conviction,  that  all  human  ex- 
ertion is  therefore  unnecessary,  or  that  all 
such  exertion,  of  necessity,  amounts  to  op- 
position to  His  will.  We  look  to  Him  for 
aid;  but  is  it,  therefore,  our  duty  to  lie  dor- 
mant? That,  indeed,  would  be  illustrating 
with  a  vengeance  the  apathetic  faith  of  the 
fabled  waggoner,  who  called  for  the  aid  of 
Jupiter.  We  must  put  our  own  shoulders 
to  the  wheel,  my  friend.  Aide  tot,  et  It  del 
t'aidera." 

It  by  no  means  required  all  this  to  con- 
vince Mr.  Whitely  of  the  fact,  that  trusting 
in  Providence  did  not  suppose  it  to  be  the 
duty  of  man  to  remain  inactive;  but  being 
anxious  to  induce  Goodman  to  forego  his 
design,  he  had  recourse  to  every  thing 
bearing  even  the  semblance  of  an  argument 
which  might  tend  to  subvert  his  resolution. 
Kim)  ing,  however,  that  this  was  impossible, 
he  again  declared  his  readiness  to  join  him, 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


163 


and  promised  to  think  no  more  of  a  failure, 
but  to  act  with  the  resolute  firmness  of  a 
man  of  feeling1  perfectly  sure  of  success. 

Accordingly,  the  next  day  was  fixed  upon 
as  the  one  on  which  the  attempt  should  be 
made,  about  twilight;  and  Goodman,  by 
calling  into  action  all  the  eloquence  at  his 
command,  succeeded  in  inspiring  his  com- 
panions with  so  much  courage,  that  they 
were  to  a  man  as  determined  as  himself. 

The  morning  came;  and  on  being  turned 
into  the  garden,  they  all  seemed  to  have 
the  impression,  that  it  was  for  the  last  time. 
They  breathed  more  freely,  and  stepped 
more  lightly,  and  smiled  at  each  other  with 
an  air  of  satisfaction  the  most  absolute. 
The  day  appeared  to  wear  away  but  slowly, 
for  they  held  as  little  communication  as 
possible  with  each  other  lest  the  keepers 
should  have  their  suspicion  aroused. 

Twilight  approached!  and  all,  save  Good- 
man and  Whitely,  who  remained  firm  as 
rocks,  were  in  a  state  of  the  most  feverish 
excitement. 

Their  lips  were  pale,  and  their  hearts 
beat  violently.  They  walked  round  and 
round,  and  to  and  fro,  with  hurried  steps, 
tugging  at  the  sleeves  of  their  coats,  trying 
the  firmness  of  the  muscles  of  their  arms, 
and  grinding  their  teeth  with  apparent  des- 
peration. They  could  not  control  the  de- 
velopment of  their  feelings.  "  Be  firm!" 
whispered  Goodman  to  each  as  they  passed 
him,  "  be  firm!"  and  each  replied  with  a 
look  of  resolution. 

"  Now,"  said  Goodman,  addressing 
"Whitely,  as  the  ruffian  who  had  tortured 
him  entered  the  garden.  "The  time  is 
come!  Every  eye  is  upon  us.  See!  all 
are  prepared.  They  will  rush  to  our  aid 
in  an  instant.  Not  a  man  will  keep  back; 
not  one  of  them — I  know  it!  Now,  all  is 
understood.  The  very  moment  we  have 
him  down,  we  bind  him;  when,  having  ob- 
tained possession  of  his  keys,  we  rush  to 
that  door  which  leads  into  the  house,  and 
we  are  free,  my  friend — free!  Once  com- 
mence, we  must,  of  course,  break  through 
all  opposition." 

The  friends  shook  hands.  "  I  am  ready," 
said  Whitely.  The  keeper  approached, 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  whistling 
snatches  of  popular  tunes.  Every  eye  was 
fixed  on  Goodman.  The  keeper  passed!  and 
Goodman,  in  an  instant,  drew  the  cord  from 
his  breast,  and  having  thrown  it  over  the 
head  of  the  ruffian,  brought  him  heavily  to 
the  ground. 

^"Now!"  cried  Whitely,  "Now!"  and 
his  companions  rushed  like  lightning  to  the 
spot.  "  Help!  Murder!"  shouted  the  keep- 
er, struggling  desperately,  and  dragging 
down  several  of  his  assailants. 


"Stop  his  mouth,"  cried  Goodman, 
"  bind  his  legs!  Now  his  arms!  The  keys! 
the  keys!"  he  shouted,  holding  them  up, 
and  his  companions  gave  a  deafening  cheer. 

Such  a  cheer  had  never  before  been  heard 
within  those  walls.  The  poor  insane  peo- 
ple appeared  perfectly  electrified,  and  began 
to  laugh  and  shout,  and  to  perform  the  most 
extraordinary  antics,  dancing,  capering,  and 
rolling  about  the  garden  in  a  state  of  ecsta- 
tic delight. 

Two  keepers  rushed  out!  The  insane 
people  ran  into  a  corner;  but  Goodman's 
companions  were  firm.  **  Down  with 
them!"  cried  Whitely,  and  the  keepers 
were  dashed  to  the  ground  on  the  instant. 
Another  appeared!  "  Offer  no  opposition!" 
shouted  Goodman,  "stand  aside!"  But 
the  fellow  at  once  sprang  at  him  and  seized 
him  by  the  throat,  which  Whitely  no  sooner 
perceived,  than  with  one  well-aimed  blow 
he  struck  the  ruffian  to  the  earth;  and 
another  shout,  louder  than  the  first  re-in- 
spired them. 

"  To  the  door!"  cried  Goodman,  "  to  the 
door!— Follow  me!"— and  they  darted 
through  the  asylum  to  the  door  which  com- 
municated with  the  residence  of  the  pro- 
prietor. 

At  that  door,  a  gigantic  keeper  armed 
with  a  bludgeon,  stood  waiting  to  receive 
them.  "Stand  back!"  he  cried,  "  stand! 
I'll  dash  the  brains  out  of  the  first  man  that 
dares  to  come  near  me!" 

Goodman  sprang  at  him  on  the  instant, 
and  the  uplifted  bludgeon  descended  upon 
the  head  of  Whitely  with  so  much  force, 
that  it  brought  him  to  the  ground. 

"Villain!"  cried  Goodman,  seizing  the 
instrument,  which  he  eventually  wrenched 
from  the  ruffian's  grasp. 

"  Go  on!"  shouted  Whitely,  "  I  am  not 
hurt;  go  on! — Now!— the  keys!" 

They  were  lost!— "No  matter!"  cried 
Goodman,  and  he  dashed  in  the  door  at  one 
blow  with  the  bludgeon. 

"  Hurrah!"  again  shouted  the  prisoners. 
Another  door  had  to  be  passed.  The  pro- 
prietor on  hearing  the  shouts,  had  darted  to 
that  door,  which  he  opened  the  very  mo- 
ment it  was  about  to  be  dashed  down. 

"  Stand  aside!"  cried  Goodman;  "  stop 
us  at  your  peril!"  and  he  and  Whitely 
sprang  through  the  house  and  were  free! 

None  followed.  "  Let  us  go  back," 
cried  Goodman,  "  to  their  assistance." 

"  Not  for  your  life!" — exclaimed  White- 
ly, "  come  on!" 

On  they  went. — Still  none  followed; — 
not  one! — The  very  instant  they  had  passed, 
the  proprietor,  with  desperate  energy  forced 
to  the  door  and  locked  the  spring!  In  vain 
the  prisoners  dashed  up  against  it.  It  de- 


164 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


fied  all  their  efforts.     They  could  not  make  1 
it    yield.     They   eventually   succeeded  in  | 
kicking  in  the  weakest  portion  of  the  lower 
panel,  but  at  the  moment  three  of  the  keep- 
ers, armed   with    pitchforks,  caroe   round, 
and,  by  striking  at  the  legs  of  the  patients 
through  the  aperture,  lamed  all  who  stood  \ 
within  their  reach. 

"Back!  back!"  they  shouted,  "  back!— 
if  you  value  your  souls;1'  and  having  stuck 
their  forks  into  the  flesh  of  the  patients  un- 
til they  retreated  in  despair,  they  threw 
open  the  door,  rushed  upon  them  with  sav- 
age  desperation,  and  in  less  than  ten  mi- 
nutes they  were  in  a  state  of  the  most  abso- 
lute insensibility,  handcuffed  and  chained  ! 

"Where's  Johnson?  Where's  Johnson]" 
cried  the  proprietor,  when  this  had  been  ac- 
complished. "  WThere's  Johnson"?" 

He  was  still  in  the  garden,  where  he  lay 
bound  and  bellowing  with  rage,  while  half 
a  dozen  idiots  were  dangling  their  hands 
and  dancing  round  and  round  him  with  in- 
finite glee. 

His  brother  ruffians  now  heard  him.  He 
was  instantly  released,  and,  on  being  in- 
formed of  the  escape  of  Goodman  and 
"Whitely,  he  and  the  giant  rushed  into  the 
stable,  twisted  the  halters  into  the  mouths 
of  two  horses,  and,  taking  a  rope  with  them, 
gallopped  off  at  once  without  either  saddle 
or  bridle  towards  town. 

The  two  friends  had  got  some  considera- 
ble distance,  when,  being  exhausted,  they 
crept  behind  a  hedge.  They  heard  the 
horses  tearing  along  the  road,  and  saw  the 
keepers  urging  them  forward  with  looks  of 
desperation.  They  approached;  and  the 
two  friends  would  scarcely  allow  them- 
selves to  breathe.  They  passed! — at  full 
gallop.  "  Bravo!"  said  Whitely;  "  now, 
now  we  are  secure.  Now  let  us  be  off." 

"No,  no!"  cried  Goodman;  "not  yet, 
not  yet:  they  are  not  out  of  sight." 

"  Be  guided  by  me,"  rejoined  Whitely; 
"  I  know  every  inch  of  the  road.  Let  us 
once  get  across  this  field,  and  we  shall  be 
far  more  safe  than  we  are  here.  Come, 
come!  there's  not  a  moment  to  be  lost." 

Goodman  yielded:  they  started  off,  and 
the  keepers  saw  them  in  an  instant. 

"Quick,  quick!  we  are  perceived  !"  cried 
Whitely. 

The  keepers  turned;  leaped  their  horses 


over  the  hedge,  and  were  in  the  field  before 
Goodman  had  got  half  across  it. 

**  Come  on!"  shouted  Whitely;  "  Come 
on!" 

"They  must  catch  us,"  cried  Goodman; 
"  let  us  stop  to  take  breath,  and  meet  them 
firmly  man  to  man." 

"  Come  on!  come  on!"  reiterated  White- 
ly- 

"Turn!"  shouted  Goodman,  "we  shall 
be  exhausted:  we  shall  not  be  able  to  cope 
with  them.  Turn!" 

Whitely  did  turn.  "Be  resolute,"  he 
cried;  "  give  me  the  stick:  I  am  stronger 
than  you." 

The  next  moment  the  keepers  were  on 
the  spot.  "  As  you  value  your  lives,"  ex- 
claimed Whitely,  "keep  off!" 

The  keepers  alighted  with  an  expression 
of  contempt,  and  at  once  rushed  upon  them. 
Whitely  aimed  a  desperate  blow  at  the  head 
of  Johnson,  and  struck  him  to  the  ground, 
and,  at  the  same  instant,  Goodman  was 
felled  by  the  giant. 

"Fly  and  save  yourself!  Fly!"  shouted 
Goodman,  as  the  giant  knelt  upon  him. 

"  Never!"  cried  Whitely,  "  until  you  are 
free."  And  he  rushed  upon  the  gigantic 
ruffian,  who  caught  him  as  he  rushed,  and 
held  them  both  down  together. 

"  Now,  now!"  cried  the  giant,  "  bring 
the  ropes! — bring  the  ropes!" 

Johnson  rose  and  shook  his  head.  White- 
ly's  blow  had  confused  him.  He  did,  how- 
ever, manage  to  stagger  up  to  the  spot,  and 
the  giant,  while  kneeling  upon  Goodman's 
neck,  bound  Whitely  hand  and  foot. 

"Now  for  the  horses!  Bring  the  horses! 
— here!"  shouted  the  giant.  Johnson  stag- 
gered towards  them  and  fell. 

Goodman  could  not  be  bound.  They  had 
no  more  rope  left.  To  secure  him,  the 
giant,  therefore,  gave  him  a  blow  upon  the 
head  which  stunned  him,  and  ran  for  the 
horses  himself.  He  soon  brought  them  to 
the  spot,'  and  threw  Whitely  across  the 
back  of  one  of  them  just  as  he  would  have 
thrown  a  sack  of  oats;  and,  having  placed 
Johnson  behind,  he  threw  Goodman  in  the 
same  way  across  the  back  of  the  other  and 
mounted  himself;  and  thus  the  two  friends 
were  carried  back  to  the  asylum  as  nearly 
as  possible  dead. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


165 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


UNCLE  JOHN  ANNOUNCES    HIS  INTENTION  OF  RUNNING  UP  TO   TOWN,  AND  VALENTINE  VISITS  A 
WEALTHY  INDIVIDUAL,  TO  WHOM  HE  FAILS  TO  IMPART  MUCH  PLEASURE. 


ON  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  the 
occurrences  recorded  in  the  preceding  chap- 
ter took  place,  Valentine  received  a  long- 
expected  letter  from  Uncle  John,  which  ran 
as  follows: — 

"  MY  DEAR  BOY: — I  wish  to  know  what 
it  is  you  mean,  sir,  by  wanting  more  money1? 
Have  you  any  idea  how  much  you  have 
had?  Does  it  happen  to  strike  you  that  you 
are  living  at  a  ruinous  rate?  I  dare  say 
that  you  have  been  at  some  expense  in  en- 
deavoring to  discover  friend  Goodman;  and 
you  are  a  good  boy,  no  doubt,  for  your 
pains,  poor  fellow!  But  do  you  think  that 
I  am  made  of  money,  eh?  I  shall  send  you 
no  more,  sir! — not  another  shilling.  It  puz- 
zles me  however  you  get  rid  of  so  much. 
When  I  was  your  age,  a  hundred  a-year 
would  have  enabled  me  to  live  like  a  prince; 
and  here  you  have  been  living  away  at  the 
rate  of  four!  What  do  you  mean,  sir?  Do 
you  think  that  I  pick  money  up  in  the 
street?  An  extravagant  dog!  Why,  you'd 
beggar  the  bank  of  England,  and  so  your 
mother  says,  and  I  perfectly  agree  with 
her;  and  she  insists  upon  your  keeping  an 
account  of  every  shilling  you  spend,  and 
how  you  spend  it,  that  we  may  know  that 
you  spend  it  properly.  No  doubt  you  get 
sadly  imposed  upon,  and  living  in  London 
is  very  expensive  I  dare  say;  but  these 
extravagances  must  be  checked,  and  they 
ought  to  be  checked;  your  mother  says  that 
they  ought  to  be  checked;  and  I  am  exactly 
of  her  way  of  thinking.  Mark  my  words, 
sir,  extravagance  is  the  root  of  all  evil;  and 
I  therefore  don't  feel  myself  justified  in  en- 
couraging you  in  any  thing  of  the  sort,  by 
supplying  you  with  the  means  of  being  ex- 
travagant. But  don't  return.  I'll  not  allow 
you  to  come  back  until  you  have  found 
Goodman.  I  am  quite  of  your  opinion 
that  there  has  been  some  foul  play.  I'll  be 
bound  to  say  that  it  is  so;  but  I'm  not  at 
all  satisfied  with  your  exertions  in  the  mat- 
ter. Do  you  suppose  that  if  I  were  in  Lon- 
don I  should  not  have  discovered  him  long 
before  this?  You  don't  go  the  right  way 
to  work  about  the  business.  I'm  sure  you 
don't.  You  can't.  And  now  I  come  to 
think  of  it,  I'll  run  up  to  London  myself. 
I'll  soon  find  him  out.  It  is  all  very  well 
to  look,  and  look;  but  it  is  always  my  plan 
to  go  to  the  fountain  head  at  once.  You 
will  see  me  some  day,  about  the  week  after 


next.  I  don't  exactly  know  which  day; 
but,  as  you  have  nothing  much  to  do,  you 
can  be  at  the  inn,  where  the  coach  arrives, 
every  evening  till  you  see  me. 

"  Your  poor  mother  has  not  been  so  well 
the  last  two  or  three  days.  She  caught 
cold  the  other  evening  coming  from  the 
Beeches.  I  knew  she  would,  because  she 
always  does;  and  I  said  so,  but  she  wouldn't 
believe  me,  and  now  she  finds  out  her  mis- 
take. She  sends  her  dearest  love,  which  is 
more  than  you  deserve,  and  accept  the  same 
from, 

"  My  dear  boy, 

44  Your  most  affectionate  Uncle, 
"JOHN  LONG." 

"P.S.— I  have  said,  that  I'll  not  send 
you  up  another  shilling,  and  I'll  not  break 
my  word;  but,  if  you  should — mark!  if  you 
should — want  any  money,  before  you  see 
me,  you  can  go  to  Mr.  Fledger;  you  know 
his  address,  and  as  there  is  a  balance  be- 
tween us  of  sixty  pounds  or  so  in  my  favor, 
you  may  get  him  to  give  you  five  pounds, 
if  you  like,  but  on  no  account  draw  more 
than  twenty — mind  that. 

*4  Expect  to  see  me  about  next  Wednes- 
day se'nnight.  Be  sure,  my  dear  boy,  that 
you  meet  me  at  the  coach.  God  bless  you. 
— J.  L." 

The  portion  of  this  affectionate  epistle 
which  gave  the  greatest  pleasure  to  Valen- 
tine was  the  announcement  of  Uncle  John's 
intention  to  visit  London.  He  knew  that, 
whatever  might  be  said  about  extravagance 
in  the  body  of  the  letter,  there  would  be 
something  in  a  pecuniary  point  of  view  ra- 
ther pleasing  in  the  postscript;  but  he  did 
not  expect  that  the  old  gentleman  could 
ever  have  been  prevailed  upon  to  come  up 
to  town.  It  was  precisely  what  Valentine 
wanted  him  to  do,  and  he  was  therefore  de- 
lighted with  the  announcement;  and  having 
ascertained  from  the  widow,  Smugman,  that 
she  would,  with  much  pleasure,  and  more- 
over could,  with  great  convenience  and 
comfort,  provide  the  accommodation  re*- 
quired,  he  began  to  think  of  Fledger,  who 
resided  at  Bermondsey,  and  of  whom  he 
was  to  receive  not  more  than  twenty  pounds. 
Valentine  had  frequently  heard  of  Mr. 
Fledger.  He  had  heard  of  his  being  the 
owner  of  an  immense  number  of  houses,  and 
onsequently  a  man  of  considerable  wealth. 
He  knew  that  Uncle  John  became  acquaint- 


166 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


ed  with  the  existence  of  such  an  individual 
through  a  friend  to  whom  he  had  sold  some 
property  in  Essex,  of  which  Pledger  became 
subsequently  possessed,  in  consideration  of 
his  paying  to  Uncle  John  the  balance  of  the 
purchase-money  due,  and  this  was  all  that 
he  knew  of  Mr.  Pledger. 

He  had  however  heard,  in  addition  to 
this,  that  there  was  no  chance  of  catching 
that  gentleman  at  home  until  the  evening, 
and  having  accordingly  waited  until  the 
evening  drew  near,  he  started  off,  with  his 
heart  and  purse  equally  light. 

It  struck  him,  however,  as  he  passed 
down  Regent  street,  that  the  distance  to 
Bermondsey  was  rather  too  great  for  him  to 
walk;  and  being  anxious  on  that  particular 
•occasion  to  act  upon  the  most  approved 
principle  of  economy,  he  decided  upon  pa- 
tronising an  omnibus  as  far  as  the  Elephant 
and  Castle.  He,  therefore,  hailed  the  very 
first  that  came  up,  and  jumped  in;  but,  be- 
fore he  could  reach  a  vacant  seat,  the  con- 
ductor, who  perceived  at  that  moment  an 
opposition  omnibus  approaching,  slammed 
the  door,  when,  as  the  horses,  knowing  the 
signal,  at  once  started  off,  he  was  forcibly 
thrown  backwards  upon  the  knees  of  the 
passengers,  who  permitted  him  to  slip  very 
quietly  upon  the  straw. 

This  was  pleasant.  He  thought  it  very 
pleasant;  especially  as  the  people  at  that 
interesting  moment  began  to  laugh  very 
loudly  and  very  merrily.  He  scrambled 
up,  however,  by  no  means  disconcerted,  and 
having  at  length  reached  a  seat,  he  waited 
patiently  until  the  burst  of  merriment  had 
subsided,  when  being  determined  to  take 
his  revenge  out  of  the  conductor,  he  shouted, 
"  Ho!"  throwing  his  voice  towards  that  per- 
son, who  was  perched  upon  a  board  by  the 
side  of  the  door,  where,  with  one  of  his 
arms  hooked  in  a  strap,  and  the  other  raised 
high  in  the  air,  he  perpetually  bawled, 
"Cas-a///  El'phant  Cas-ff///  Cas-c///" 

44 //o.'"  shouted  Valentine,  louder  than 
before. 

'•Hold  hard!"  cried  the  conductor,  and 
the  vehicle  stopped.  Of  course  no  one  at- 
tempted to  move.  "  Look  alive,  sir,  please," 
he  continued,  as  the  opposition  omnibus 
passed  him.  "Any  lady  or  gentle  want  to 
get  out?" 

"The  Circus!"  cried  Valentine,  in  an  as 
sumed  voice,  of  course. 

"The  Cirkiss!  Why  couldn't  yer  say 
sol"  observed  the  conductor,  and  he  slam- 
med the  door  to  with  additional  violence. 

It  thus  became  clear,  that  this  course  ol 
proceeding  was  one  of  which  he  did  not  ex 
actly  :i|»|.Mvr.  He,  notwithstanding,  cried, 
"  1 1  old  hard,"  on  reaching  the  Circus,  and 
descended  from  his  perch  to  reopen  the 


door.  "Now  then,  sir!  The  Cirkiss!"  he 
continued,  "what  genelman  wants  to  get 
down  at  the  Cirkiss?" 

To  this  natural  question  no  answer  was 
returned,  a  fact  which  struck  the  conductor 
as  being  most  extraordinary!  he  didn't  know 
exactly  what  to  make  of  it!  he  couldn't  un- 
derstand it  at  all! 

"  You  will  not  forget  to  put  me  down  at 
the  Athenaeum  Club,"  observed  an  elderly 
gentleman  who  sat  near  the  door. 

"The  Athneem! — you  said  the  Cirkiss 
just  now!  I  wish  people  could  know  their 
own  minds!"  cried  the  conductor,  who  was 
not  perhaps  the  mildest  individual  in  exist- 
ence, and  who  had  possibly  been  prompted 
to  make  that  observation  by  the  fact,  that  at 
that  particular  instant,  another  opposition 
omnibus  passed  him. 

"It  was  not  I,"  observed  the  elderly 
gentleman,  who  evidently  prided  himself 
upon  the  strikingly  grammatical  construc- 
tion of  his  sentences.  "  It  was  not  I  who 
said  the  Circus:  it  was  the  gentleman  whom 
you  previously  addressed." 

Long  before  this  highly  appropriate 
speech,  short  as  it  was,  had  been  brought 
to  a  conclusion,  the  conductor  had  closed 
the  door,  and  the  horses  had  started  off 
again;  while  the  passengers  were  looking 
very  earnestly  at  each  other,  with  the  lau- 
dable view  of  ascertaining  who  it  was  that 
had  signified  a  wish  to  alight  at  the  Circus. 

They  were  utterly  unable,  however,  to 
get  at  the  fact  which  at  that  particular 
period  of  time  interested  them,  so  deeply. 
They  had  their  suspicions;  and  the  object 
of  those  suspicions  was  a  cadaverous  look- 
ing person,  with  black  wiry  whiskers,  who 
appeared  to  be  fast  asleep  at  the  farther  end 
of  the  vehicle;  but  that,  of  course,  according 
to  the  general  impression,  was  a  feint. 

"  Now,"  said  the  conductor,  as  he  opened 
the  door  on  arriving  at  the  corner  of  Water- 
loo-place, "p'raps  this  ere  'li  suit  yer]" 

"It  is  here  that  I  wished  to  alight," 
replied  the  Athenaeum  gentleman  emphati- 
cally. 

"  Well,  come,  that's  a  blessing  any 
how,"  rejoined  the  conductor,  who  was  by 
no  means  an  ill-tempered  man,  but  occa- 
sionally very  sarcastic. 

"  What  is  that  you  say,  sir?"  cried  the 
Athenaeum  gentleman,  whom  the  conduc- 
tor's ironical  observation  had  failed  to  pro- 
pitiate. 

44  Why,  only  that  it's  a  pomfort  you're 
suited  at  la^t." 

"  I  beg,"  said  the  gentleman  of  the  Athe- 
naeum, handing  over  his  sixpence,  "that 
y<>u  will  not  be  impertinent,  or  I  shall  be 
under  the  disagreeable  necessity  of  taking 
your  number." 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


167 


This  roused  the  indignation  of  the  con- 
ductor, who  very  promptly,  and  very  loudly 
cried,  "Take  it!  D'yer  want  to  stop  the 
buss  a  million  o'  times,  while  all  the  other 
busses  is  cuttin  past  us?" 

The  gentleman  of  the  Athenagum  looked 
perfectly  amazed,  and  was  about  to  give 
expression  to  his  sentiments  on  the  sub- 
ject; but  before  he  had  time  to  commence, 
the  conductor  having  intimated  that  that 
wouldn't  agree  with  his  complaint,  banged 
the  door,  hopped  with  infinite  alacrity 
upon  his  perch,  and  renewed  his  tl  Gas-all! 
El'phant,  Gas-all!  Cas-a///" — and  continued 
thus  to  shout  until  they  stopped  at  Charing 
Cross. 

In  front  of  the  house  before  which  the 
"buss"  stopped,  stood  a  person  enveloped 
in  a  peculiarly  constructed  great  coat,  a 
small  pocket  on  one  side  of  which  had  been 
made  for  the  reception  of  a  watch,  upon  the 
face  of  which  he  gazed,  on  the  average, 
about  twenty  times  per  minute.  He  held 
a  paper  in  his  hand,  and  a  pen  in  his  mouth, 
and  appeared  to  have  been  established  in 
that  particular  spot  for  the  express  purpose 
of  proving  to  all  whom  it  might  concern, 
that  time  would  fly  away,  despite  his  efforts 
to  keep  it. 

"  You're  behind  Bill  again,  Bob,  and  Joe 
too,  this  time,"  observed  that  individual, 
addressing  the  conductor. 

"Behind  Bill  and  Joe!"  cried  the  con- 
ductor, "and  no  wonder,  nayther.  An  old 
file  has  been  a  havin'  a  game  with  me  a 
comin'  along,  makin  me  pull  up  at  one 
place  to  tell  me  he  wanted  for  to  stop  at 
another.  I  should  ony  just  like  to  've  had 
a  fair  kick  at  him;  that's  all  the  harm  1  wish 
him.  I'll  warrant  he  wouldn't  be  able  to 
sit  in  my  buss  a  one  while  with  any  degree 
of  comfort,"  and  having  delivered  himself 
thus,  he  proceeded  into  the  house  with  the 
view  of  drowning  his  cares  in  a  pint  of 
porter. 

After  remaining  in  this  spot  for  about 
three  minutes — during  which  time  the  pas- 
sengers had  been  engaged  in  the  expression 
of  the  most  conflicting  opinions,  having 
reference  immediately  to  the  subject  which 
had  so  much  confused  them — the  individual 
with  the  watch  cried,  "All  right!"  and  the 
conductor  resumed  his  professional  posi- 
tion. 

"  Downing-street,   please,"   said  Valen 
tine,  assuming  the  voice  of  a  female. 

"Yes,  marm,"  said  the  conductor,  who 
appeared  to  have  got  over  it  a  little;  but  the 
passengers  looked  round  and  round  with 
great  curiosity.  They  had  not  perceived 
the  lips  of  either  of  the  ladies  move;  but 
that  was  attributed  to  the  fact  of  its  being 
dusk.  At  all  events,  the  suspicion  which 


attached  to  the  individual  who  sported  the 
wiry  whiskers,  was  not,  in  this  particular 
nstance,  strengthened,  and  the  omnibus 
went  on  until  it  arrived  at  the  corner  of  that 
street,  the  offices  in  which  are  considered 
so  extremely  eligible. 

The  door  was  opened.  The  conductor 
stood  holding  it  in  his  hand.  "Now, 
marm!"  said  he,  when  he  found  that  no  one 
offered  to  alight.  "  Downing-street,  marm, 
if  you  please! — Is  this  'ere  another  game]" 

"  Please  bring  a  lamp  to  find  a  purse  in 
the  straw,"  said  Valentine. 

"  Well,  this  is  pleasant!"  observed  the 
conductor,  "  we  shall  get  the  buss  along  by 
and  by,  p'raps,  no  doubt!  I  wish  people  ud 
just  keep  their  pusses  in  their  pockets.  I 
aint  got  no  lamps" — which  was  a  fact; 
although  one  of  which  Valentine  had  no 
previous  knowledge. 

"I  don't  care!"  said  he,  "I'll  not  get  out 
without  my  money." 

"Then  you  must  go  a  little  further  till 
we  gets  to  the  shops,"  cried  the  conductor; 
who,  after  having  shouted  "  All  right!"  be- 
gan to  mutter  away  desperately,  and  to  give 
indications  of  something  being,  in  his  view, 
decidedly  "all  wrong." 

Having  turned  the  corner  of  Bridge- 
street,  he  politely  procured  a  lantern,  and, 
on  opening  the  door,  cried,  "Now,  then, 
where's  this  puss?" 

"  Here,"  said  Valentine,  throwing  his 
voice  to  the  extreme  end  of  the  vehicle,  and 
the  conductor  thence  proceeded,  treading, 
of  course  accidentally,  but  not  very  lightly, 
upon  the  toes  of  the  passengers  during  his 
progress,  when  having  at  length  arrived  at 
the  spot,  he  knelt  down  and  searched  with 
great  perseverance  among  the  straw. 

"  I  can't  see  it  no  where  about.  It  isn't 
here,  marm!"  said  he,  raising  his  eyes  to 
the  lady  at  whose  feet  he  had  been  so  dili- 
gently prosecuting  the  search.  "  Are  you 
sartin  you  dropped  it!" 

"  It  does  not  belong  to  me,"  replied  the 
lady  addressed. 

"Then  it's  yours!"  inquired  the  con- 
ductor, of  the  lady  who  sat  opposite. 

"  Oh!  dear  me,  no;  it's  not  mine!" 

"  Well,  there's  no  other  lady  in  the  buss!" 
cried  the  conductor,  "  it  must  belong  to  one 
on  yer,  any  how!  Who  does  it  belong  to, 
ony  say!  Who  told  me  to  pull  up  at 
Downing  Street!" 

"  Not  I,"  said  one  of  the  ladies.  "  Nor 
did  I,"  said  the  other. 

"Well,  then,  what  d'yer  mean!"  cried 
the  conductor.  "  This  here's  a  nice  game, 
and  no  mistake!11  And  he  looked  very  fierce, 
and  grumbled  very  naturally;  and  as  ano- 
ther opposition  buss  passed  as  he  retired, 
he  gave  it  as  his  opinion,  that  in  this,  his 


168 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


extremity,  it  was  enough  to  drive  a  man  to 
make  a  hole  in  the  water. 

"  What's  in  the  wind  now,  Bob!"  shouted 
the  driver. 

"What's  in  the  wind!"  echoed  Bob. 
•'  I've  a  nice  load  this  journey,  and  no  mis- 
take about  it.  They're  only  havin'  a  lark." 

•*  A  lark!"  exclaimed  the  driver.  "  We 
can't  stop  for  larks!"  and  with  great  impar- 
tiality he  lashed  both  his  horses,  apparently 
that  one  might  not  laugh  at  the  other,  and 
they  flew  over  the  bridge  as  if  unable  to 
forget  it. 

"  Marsh  Gate!"  cried  Valentine,  "  Stop 
at  the  Marsh  Gate!" 

The  conductor  descended  from  his  emi- 
nence to  the  steps  beneath  the  door,  and 
having  introduced  his  head  into  the  omni- 
bus, in  which  he  saw  his  "  nice  load"  in  a 
convulsion  of  laughter,  said,  with  a  drollery 
of  expression  which  was  of  itself  irresisti- 
ble, "  Now,  is  this  another  game,  or  ain't 
it,  ony  say?  Does  any  body  want  to  get 
out  at  the  Mash  Gate!" 

««  Did  I  not  say  the  Marsh  Gate!"  replied 
Valentine,  assuming  a  tone  which  seemed 
to  be  indicative  of  some  slight  degree  of 
anger. 

"  Oh!  very  well,  sir,  very  well!  I  only 
asked!  There  ain't  much  harm  in  that,  I 
suppose!11 

They  reached  the  gate  in  question,  and 
the  omnibus  stopped.  "  Mash  Gate!"  cried 
the  conductor,  "Now  then, sir,  Mash  Gate! 
—What  another  dodge!"  he  continued,  on 
perceiving  that  no  one  attempted  to  move; 
"  Oh!  It's  all  very  fine,  but  1  don't  stop  no 
more,  you  know,  for  nobody:  that's  all  about 
it!— All  right!" 

The  conductor  kept  his  word.  He  would 
not  stop.  Valentine  tried  him  in  vain.  An 
individual  was  anxious  to  get  out  at  the 
Obelisk;  but  although  this  was  perfectly 
legitimate,  he  could  make  no  impression  at 
all  upon  the  conductor,  who  amused  him- 
self by  quietly  informing  that  individual 
that  he  would  take  him  right  on  to  the 
Elephant  and  Castle,  without  any  extra 
charge;  and  having  reached  his  destination, 
he  inquired  very  deliberately  if  they  were 
perfectly  satisfied  with  their  evening's  en- 
tertainment, and,  moreover,  wished  par- 
ticularly to  know  if  they  were  going  to 
return  that  same  night,  because,  as  he  ex- 
plained, if  they  were,  he  would  rather— if  it 
made  no  difference  at  all  to  them — that  they 
patronised  some  other  "  buss." 

This  sally  had  the  effect  of  inducing  him 
to  believe,  that  he  really  had  the  best  of  it 
after  all,  and  as  Valentine  was  by  no  means 
anxious  to  diminish  the  pleasure  with  which 
this  belief  very  evidently  teemed,  he  passed 
through  the  merry  group  of  passengers,  who 


continued  to  laugh  with  extraordinary  zeal, 
and  proceeded  along  the  New  Kent  Road, 
until  he  arrived  at  an  inn,  ycleped  the 
Bricklayers'  Arms. 

Not  being  well  acquainted  with  the 
locality  of  the  place,  he  entered  a  shop  to 
make  the  necessary  inquiries;  and  on  being 
informed  that  he  was  to  take  the  first  turn- 
ing to  the  left,  and  the  second  to  the  right, 
and  then  to  keep  straight  on  till  he  got  to 
the  top,  he  went  down  a  street  which  led 
to  the  bottom  of  the  Grange  Road,  and 
which  appeared  to  be  a  spot  to  which  the 
whole  of  the  laboring  poor  of  the  metropolis 
had  sent  all  their  children  to  play.  He  had 
never  before  beheld  such  a  dense  mob  of 
infants.  They  were  running  about  in 
legions,  shouting,  laughing,  crying,  fight- 
ing, pelting  each  other  with  mud,  tumbling 
into  the  gutter,  and  scraping  the  filth  off 
their  habiliments  with  oyster  shells  and 
sticks.  Some  of  the  young  gentlemen,  larger 
than  the  rest,  had,  with  bits  of  ragged  pack- 
thread, harnessed  others,  whom  they  were 
driving  in  the  imaginary  similitude  of  teams 
of  prancing  horses:  some  were  valiantly 
tucking  up  their  sleeves,  and  giving  ex- 
pression to  their  anxiety  that  certain  other 
young  gentlemen,  by  whom  they  had  been 
assaulted,  would  only  just  hit  them  again; 
some  were  squatting  near  the  base  of  a 
highly  popular  piece  of  architecture,  while 
others  whom  they  had  chosen  as  the  most 
eloquent  members  of  the  corporation  they 
had  formed,  were  importuning  every  pas- 
senger for  a  slight  contribution,  and  begging 
of  him  earnestly  to  "remember  the  grotto." 
By  far  the  most  striking  and  apparently 
pleasureable  species  of  amusement,  how- 
ever, was  the  perpetual  shaking  of  two  bits 
of  slate  or  broken  crockery,  which  by  being 
placed  ingeniously  between  the  fingers  did, 
by  dint  of  zealous  exertion,  produce  a  rat- 
tling which  might  in  the  dark  ages  have 
been  taken  for  the  soul-stirring  music  of 
the  Spanish  castanets;  but,  beyond  all  dis- 
pute, the  great  majority  of  the  young  ladies 
and  gentlemen  were  bawling,  and  running, 
and  rolling  about,  without  any  specific  ob- 
ject, apparently,  in  view,  save  that  of  pro- 
moting the  circulation  of  their  blood.  Val- 
entine had  never  in  the  course  of  his  life 
seen  so  many  little  children  together.  He 
could  scarcely  get  along  for  them!  really 
it  was  like  walking  through  a  flock  of  sheep. 

He  did,  however,  succeed  eventually  in 
wading  through  the  swarm;  and  having 
reached  a  certain  point,  \\  Inch  appeared  to 
be  their  boundary,  he  had  nothing  to  do  but 
to  walk  on  and  snift,  for  the  air  appi-an •<!  to 
have  a  scent  different  from  that  of  any  air 
he  had  ever  before  inhaled— a  remarkable 
fact  which  he  was  inclined  to  attribute  to 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


169 


the  children,  but  which  was  in  reality  at- 
tributable to  the  tan. 

On  arriving  at  the  top  of  the  Grange 
Road,  he  inquired  for  the  residence  of  Mr. 
Fledger,  and  was  directed  to  a  dirty,  old 
dilapidated  house,  which  stood  fifty  feet 
from  the  road,  and  which  appeared  to  have 
been  erected  in  a  hole.  The  gate  was  split 
in  divers  directions,  and  the  rails  which 
once  adorned  it  were  crumbling  deliberately 
away.  Nearly  the  whole  of  the  windows 
were  broken — the  apertures  being  filled  up 
with  old  rags — while  the  tiles,  the  majority 
of  which  had  already  fallen  off,  appeared  to 
threaten  to  split  the  heads  of  all  who  had 
the  boldness  to  venture  beneath  them. 

As  everything,  therefore,  indicated  penury 
and  want,  it  was  but  natural  for  Valentine 
to  suppose  that  this  could  not  be  the  resi- 
dence of  the  wealthy  Mr.  Pledger,  and 
hence,  on  perceiving  a  little  shop  almost 
immediately  opposite,  he  crossed  the  road 
at  once  to  inquire  again. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,"  said  he,  addressing 
a  person  behind  the  counter,  "  where  Mr. 
Fledger  lives?" 

"  Fledger!  over  the  way,  sir,"  replied 
that  person. 

"  I  mean  the  Mr.  Fledger,"  said  Valen- 
tine, emphatically,  "  the  rich  Mr.  Fledger." 

**  Well,  that's  it;  you  can't  make  a  mis- 
take," replied  the  man.  "There  is  only 
one  Fledger  in  Bermondsey." 

«  Oh,  indeed!— ah,  thank  you,"  said  Val- 
entine, who  began  to  be  extremely  appre- 
hensive about  the  sum  of  twenty  pounds, 
which  he  thought  it  most  unreasonable  to 
expect  that  he  should  ever  get  there;  and  it 
must  be  conceded,  that  appearances  were 
decidedly  in  favor  of  the  irrational  charac- 
ter of  such  expectation.  Across  the  road, 
however,  he  went,  and  having  opened  the 
gate  of  which  the  timber  was  particularly 
rotten,  while  the  hinges  were  remarkably 
rusty,  he  walked  over  the  space  in  front  of 
the  house  very  firmly,  and  knocked  at  the 
door  very  boldly. 

"  Who's  there!"  demanded  the  cracked 
voice  of  a  female,  after  a  pause. 

"  Is  Mr.  Fledger  within?"  inquired  Val- 
entine. 

"  Yes;  what  do  you  want?"  cried  the 
female. 

"  I  want,"  replied  Valentine,  "  to  see 
Mr.  Fledger." 

The  mild  tones  in  which  this  appropriate 
information  was  conveyed  seemed  to  allay 
the  suspicions  of  the  female  inside,  for  after 
drawing  a  few  bolts,  and  removing  a  few 
bars,  and  turning  a  few  keys  with  very 
great  apparent  difficulty,  she  opened  the 
door  as  far  as  the  chain  would  allow  it  to 
be  opened;  and  having  taken  a  survey 


through  the  aperture  thus  established,  she 
made  certain  inquiries  which  had  immediate 
reference  to  the  business  in  hand. 

"  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Fledger,"  repeated 
Valentine,  "my  business  is  with  him." 

"  Well,  so  I  suppose,"  returned  the  fe- 
male, somewhat  piqued,  and  having  again 
examined  him  minutely,  and  being  eventu- 
ally satisfied  that  there  was  nothing  very 
desperate  in  his  appearance,  she  closed  the 
door,  for  the  purpose  of  unhooking  the 
chain,  and  Valentine  was  admitted  into  a 
most  filthy  passage,  where  he  remained  in 
the  dark,  until  the  woman  had  taken  in  his 
name  and  that  of  his  uncle. 

"W7ell,"  thought  he,  "this  is  rather  a 
black  beginning,  but  there  may  be  some- 
thing a  little  more  lively  inside." 

"  You  may  come  in!"  shouted  the  misera- 
ble looking  woman,  as  she  returned  with, 
her  rushlight;  and  Valentine  was  accord- 
ingly ushered,  with  the  smallest  possible 
ceremony,  into  a  truly  wretched  den,  which 
appeared  to  be  the  kitchen,  parlor,  bed- 
chamber, scullery,  and  all. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Mr.  Fledger,  whose 
features  bore  some  slight  resemblance  to 
those  of  a  respectable  fiend,  newly  white- 
washed. "  Well,  what  is  your  business?" 

"  I  have  received,"  replied  Valentine, 
"  a  letter,  in  which  my  uncle  states,  that  on 
applying  to  you  I  shall  receive  twenty 
pounds." 

"Ah,"  said  Fledger,  pursing  his  lips, 
"I  have  no  authority  for  paying  you  that 
sum.  I  can't  do  it  without  an  order." 

"  Will  not  this  be  a  sufficient  authority?" 
said  Valentine,  producing  thv3  letter,  and 
pointing  to  the  postscript. 

Fledger  coolly  drew  his  spectacles  from 
his  forehead,  and  cocked  them  upon  his 
nose. 

"  Five  pounds,"  said  he,  having  read  the 
important  postscript. 

"  Or  not  more  than  twenty,"  added  Val- 
entine. "  Twenty  is  the  sum  that  I  want." 

"  Ah;  but  this  you  know  isn't  an  order. 
It  should  have  been  an  order  to  me  to  pay 
the  bearer,  and  so  on." 

"  But  will  not  my  acknowledgment  do  as 
well?" 

"  No.  How  do  I  know  that  you  are  the 
person  to  whom  this  letter  is  addressed?" 

"  Do  you  take  me  for  a  swindler?"  ex- 
claimed Valentine,  fiercely.  "  Do  you 
think  that  I  should  make  application  for 
this  money,  if  I  were  not  the  person  to 
whom  this  letter  is  addressed?" 

"  I  cannot  tell;"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

"You  cannot  tell!"  echoed  Valentine, 
whose  blood  began  to  boil.  "  Do  I  look 
like  a  swindler?" 

Fledger  opened  the  drawer  of  the  table 


170 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTUERS  OF 


at  which  he  sat,  and  after  searching  for 
some  considerable  time,  produced  a  coin, 
which  he  breathed  upon,  and  rubbed  very 
deliberately:  he  then  drew  forth  another 
from  his  pocket,  and  having  placed  them 
before  Valentine,  said,  "  Did  you  ever  see 
two  coins  look  more  like  each  other?" 

44  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  me!"  cried 
Valentine,  very  angrily;  "  1  came  to  you  on 
business." 

"  I  see  that  you  are  too  hot  to  answer 
this  question.  I  will  answer  it  for  you. 
They  seem  to  have  been  struck  from  the 
self-same  die — to  be  equally  valuable.  To 
all  appearance  they  are  precisely  alike;  and 
yet  one  is  a  counterfeit!  Sir,  I  took  that 
for  an  honest  shilling:  I  was  deceived. 
What  follows?  Why,  that  if  I  take  you 
for  an  honest  man,  I  may  be  equally  de- 
ceived. As  nothing  looks  so  much  like  a 
bad  coin  as  a  good  one,  so  no  man  looks  so 
much  like  an  honorable  man  as  an  accom- 
plished villain.  Were  it  not  for  the  resem- 
blance they  bear  to  each  other,  villany  could 
never,  to  any  great  extent,  succeed." 

Valentine  felt  that  he  was  correct  in  this 
particular,  and  therefore  became  more  sub- 
dued. 

**  How  then  am  I  to  know,"  continued 
Pledger,  "  that  you  are  an  honest  man — 
that  you  are  really  the  person  you  represent 
yourself  to  b«?" 

"The  possession  of  this  letter, I  should 
think,  would  be  sufficient — " 

"  Not  at  all!  not  at  all!  You  may  have 
stolen  that  letter — mark  me  well!"  he  con- 
tinued, on  perceiving  that  Valentine  was 
again  getting  up  in  his  stirrups,  "  I  say  you 
may  have  stolen  it!  How  am  I  to  tell  that 
you  have  not?" 

Valentine  indignantly  crushed  the  letter 
into  his  pocket,  and  rose. 

44  Don't  be  rash! — don't  be  rash,  young 
man! — don't  be  rash!  I  am  an  older,  a  much 
older  man  than  you.  /  have  lived  long 
enough  to  know  that  no  one  can  thrive  in 
this  world,  who  does  not  look  upon  and 
deal  with  every  man  as  a  rogue,  until  he 
has  proved  him  to  be  an  honest  man.  I 
don't  mean  to  say  that  I  believe  you  are 
one;  but  I  do  mean  to  say,  I  can't  tell  that 
you  are  not." 

**  Then,  of  course,  you  refuse,"  said 
Valentine,  with  impatience,  "  to  let  me 
have  this  money?" 

"I  did  not  say  that.  I  am  disposed  to 
believe,  in  this  instance,  that  all  is  straight- 
forward and  correct.  It  is  a  risk,  it  is  true; 
but  I  am  inclined,  notwithstanding,  to  run 
that  risk— at  least  I  should  have  been  in- 
clim-d,  but  that  it  happens  that  I  have  no 
money  by  me  just  now." 

"Had  you  told  me  that  at  first,"  said 


Valentine,  "  you  might  have  saved  yourself 
all  this  trouble;  and  he  again  rose,  and  look- 
ed very  angrily  at  Mr.  Pledger. 

"  Do  you  particularly  want  the  money?" 
inquired  that  gentleman. 

"  Of  course  I  do,  or  I  should  not  have 
come  here." 

"  Well,  if  you  want  it  particularly  now, 
you  can  draw  upon  me  if  you  like  for  three 
months." 

"Draw  upon  you!"  said  Valentine,  who 
was  ignorant  of  the  meaning  in  this  case, 
of  that  popular  term — "  Draw  upon  you?" 

"  Aye;  I've  no  objection  to  give  you  my 
bill  for  the  amount." 

"  And  of  what  use  would  that  be  to  me?" 

*'  Of  what  use!  Why  certainly  of  no 
other  use  than  this — that  you  could  get  it 
cashed  immediately." 

"  Where?"  inquired  Valentine.  "  Who 
would  do  it?" 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  are  aware  of 
it,  young  gentleman,  but  my  bill  is  as  good 
as  a  bank  note,  sir!  Any  man  in  the  habit 
of  doing  bills,  will  do  mine." 

"  But  I  know  of  no  man  who  is  in  the 
habit  of  doing  bills." 

"  Well,  in  that  case  I  tell  you  what  I'll 
do:  I  have  got,  I  think,  as  nearly  as  possible, 
twenty  pounds  in  the  house,  which  I  must  of 
necessity  pay  away  to-morrow;  but  as  I  am 
anxious  to  do  the  utmost  in  my  power  to 
oblige  your  uncle — and  I  suppose  that  by 
obliging  you,  I  shall  be  also  obliging  him, 
—draw  the  bill  for  twenty  pounds,  deduct 
the  discount,  and  I  will  give  you  the  money 
now.  It  strikes  me  very  forcibly  that  a 
friend  of  mine  will  be  able  to  get  it  done 
for  me  in  the  morning." 

"  Well,"  thought  Valentine,  "  this  is 
certainly  better,"  and  according  to  dictation 
he  drew  the  bill.  **  Now,"  said  he,  "  what 
am  I  to  deduct  for  discount?" 

"  Oh,  the  usual  business:  fifteen  per 
cent.,"  replied  Pledger. 

Valentine  knew  nothing  about  the  "  usual 
business,"  but  he  deducted  fifteen  per  cent, 
which  reduced  the  amount  to  nineteen 
pounds  five. 

44  But  you  have  only  deducted  fifteen  per 
cent,  per  annum,"  said  Fledger. 

41  I  know  it.     Is  not  that  correct?" 

44  No;  fifteen  per  cent,  upon  the  amount; 
that  is  to  say,  a  shilling  in  the  pound,  per 
month." 

44  Why  that's  sixty  per  cent.!"  returned 
Valentine;  »*  I  have  then  to  receive,  instead 
of  twenty  pounds,  only  seventeen?" 

"  Kxactly!"  replied  Fledger,  "  with  a 
villanous  prin,  44  deducting  two-and-six- 
pence  for  the  stamp,  and  a  penny  which 
they  always  charge  for  profit.  I  see  you 
understand  it." 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


171 


"  But  1  don't  understand.  I  think  it  most 
exorbitant." 

"And  so  it  is,"  rejoined  Pledger,  "  so  it 
is  most  exorbitant;  but  these  people  always 
•  are  most  exorbitant,  always.  The  question 
amounts  simply  to  this:  will  it  be  worth 
your  while  to  pay  them  for  the  accommoda- 
tion]" 

"  I  had  no  idea  that  I  should  have  all 
this  difficulty  about  the  matter,  and  I  am 
sure  that  my  uncle  had  not.  I  fancied  the 
money  was  due." 

"I  know  it's  due,"  replied  Pledger;  "  I 
don't  dispute  that.  But  then,  what's  to  be 
done1?  You  want  the  money,  and  I  have 
not  got  it;  and  a  man  without  money  can't 
pay!  The  question  therefore  is,  will  it  an- 
swer your  purpose  better  to  give  a  shilling 
in  the  pound,  per  month,  for  it  now,  or  to 
wait  until  I  can  pay,  which  will  be  in  the 
course  of  three  months,  I've  no  doubt." 

Valentine  could  not  wait  three  months, 
that  was  clear:  he  therefore  consented  to 
take  off  the  sixty  per  cent. ;  when  Pledger, 
delighted  at  having  made  so  good  a  bargain, 
proceeded  to  a  cupboard,  and  brought  forth 
an  iron-bound  box,  which  he  placed  very 
carefully  upon  the  table. 

Of  course  Valentine  knew  not  that  this 
man  had  been  a  notorious  money  lender 
himself— that  he  had  ruined  more  persons 
by  discounting  bills,  than  any  other  man 
alive — that  he  had  obtained  the  whole  of 
his  houses  by  insisting  upon  holding  the 
titles  as  collateral  security  for  dishonored 
acceptances,  and  by  goading  the  acceptors 
by  renewals,  extortion,  and  legal  expenses, 
either  to  commit  suicide,  or  to  surrender  all 
claim  to  those  titles — and  that  he  had  then 
become  an  abject,  miserable  miser,  and  had 
given  up  the  recognised  game  of  extortion, 
in  consequence  solely  of  his  having  become 
so  distrustful,  that  he  had  not  sufficient 
courage  left  to  risk  even  a  shilling.  Of  all 
this,  Valentine  was  utterly  ignorant;  but 
there  was  something  in  the  creature's  coun- 
tenance when  he  brought  out  the  box  which 
inspired  him  at  once  with  the  conviction 
that  he  was,  in  reality,  an  usurious  wretch; 
and  therefore  richly  deserved  to  be  fright- 
ened at  least. 

Well,  he  opened  the  box,  and  placed  the 
back  of  it  towards  Valentine,  who  could 
tell  in  an  instant  by  the  sound,  as  the  sove- 
reigns were  carefully  extracted  one  by  one, 
that  the  box  was  as  nearly  as  possible  full, 
and  that,  therefore,  in  stating  that  he  had 
but  twenty  pounds  in  the  house,  the  wretch 
had  told  him  an  abominable  falsehood,  with 
the  view  of  swindling  him  out  of  the  sixty 
per  cent.  He  therefore  felt  that,  as  a  matter 
of  justice,  he  ought  to  be  punished;  and 
having  imbibed  this  feeling,  which  was  not, 


under  the  circumstances,  highly  reprehen- 
sible, he  cried,  throwing  his  voice  into  the 
jassage,  just  as  ten  of  the  sovereigns  had 
)een  counted,  "  In  this  room! — now  the 
door!" 

The  effect  upon  the  miser  was  electric. 
He  instantly  leaped  up,  as  if  he  had  received 
a  pistol-shot  in  his  heart;  and  in  doing  so, 
upset  the  ricketty  table.  Down  went  the 
jox,  and  away  flew  the  sovereigns! — five 
hundred,  at  least,  were  rolling  in  all  direc- 
ions  upon  the  floor.  This  was  somewhat 
more  than  was  anticipated  by  Valentine, 
who  smiled;  but  the  miser  stood  aghast! — 
rembling  with  the  utmost  violence,  and 
rolling  his  eyes  from  the  door  to  the  gold, 
and  from  the  gold  to  the  door,  while  his 
sister,  who  was  not  quite  so  utterly  lost, 
seized  the  broom  as  the  miserable  girl 
whom  they  nominally  kept,  and  who  dis- 
played far  more  courage  than  either  of 
them,  peeped  through  the  keyhole  of  the 
door. 

In  this  position  they  remained  for  some 
considerable  time,  as  if  utterly  unable  to 
move  hand  or  foot.  Valentine,  however,  at 
length  broke  silence  by  inquiring  if  he 
should  assist  in  gathering  up  the  gold. 

14  No,  no,  no!"  cried  the  paralysed  wretch, 
whom  the  question  at  once  restored  to  a 
state  of  consciousness,  and  he  placed  his 
skinny  hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  Valentine, 
as  if  in  order  to  compel  him  to  remain  in 
his  seat.  He  then  flew  to  the  cupboard, 
and  bringing  forth  a  brace  of  pistols,  thrust 
them  hurriedly  into  the  hands  of  Valentine, 
and  implored  him  to  shoot  through  the 
heart  of  the  very  first  man  that  entered, 
when,  sinking  upon  the  ground,  he  com- 
menced at  once  picking  up  the  gold  with 
unparalleled  zeal  and  dexterity. 

His  sister  still  kept  near  the  door,  her 
fears  prompting  her  to  fancy  that  she  heard 
strange  breathings,  divers  delicate  whisper- 
ings, and  an  infinite  variety  of  footsteps 
outside;  while  Valentine  quietly  amused 
himself  with  watching  the  grasping  exer- 
tions of  the  wretch  upon  the  ground,  who 
still  trembled  as  energetically  as  if  he  had 
been  seized  with  a  violent  fit  of  the  ague. 

At  length  he  completed  his  task.  The 
whole  of  the  sovereigns — at  least  all  he 
could  find — were  restored  to  the  box,  which 
he  locked,  and  placed  securely  in  a  hole  up 
the  chimney,  when,  dropping  into  a  chair 
by  the  side  of  Valentine,  apparently  half 
dead,  he  inquired  what  was  best  to  be  done. 

"Be  silent!"  said  Valentine,  "let  us  first 
see  what  they  mean  to  do.  I  am  perfectly 
prepared  to  receive  them." 

"I  thank  you!  I  thank  you!  I  know  that 
you  are  brave! — very  brave!"  cried  the 
miser,  "you'll  be  a  match  for  them — I 


172 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


know  you'll  be  a  match  for  them.  Hark; — 
didn't  yon  hear?" 

**  No,  no!"  replied  Valentine  very  firmly, 
and  looking  very  valiant,  "  I  think  the  noise 
alarmed  them.  It  strikes  me  they  are  gone. 
If  not,  why  let  them  come! — they  will  meet 
with  a  warm  reception." 

The  unflinching  firmness  exhibited  by 
Valentine  gradually  inspired  the  wretched 
trio  with  courage.  The  females  withdrew 
from  the  door,  the  table  was  raised,  the 
miser  resumed  his  old  position,  and  Valen- 
tine began  in  an  ironical  strain  to  congratu- 
late him  on  the  sudden  acquisition  of  so 
much  wealth. 

It  is  astonishing  how  much  easier  men 
find  it  to  do  evil  than  to  bear  to  be  told  of 
the  evil  they  have  done;  and  it  is  equally 
astonishiug  that  men  who  can  utter  a  series 
of  straight-forward  falsehoods,  without  a 
blush,  find  it  difficult  to  endure  the  painful 
process  of  conviction.  Even  this  wretched 
miser,  dead  as  he  was  apparently  to  every 
feeling  which  actuates  the  human  heart, 
save  that  of  avarice,  shrank  from  the  gaze 
of  Valentine — whom  he  could  browbeat 
before — when  he  found  that  that  gaze  was 
intended  to  convey  to  his  sordid  soul  the 
impression,  that  the  falsehood  of  which  he 
had  been  guilty  was  now  too  apparent  to 
deceive. 

"  Well!"  said  Valentine,  when  the  limbs 
of  the  wretch  had  in  some  degree  resumed 
their  accustomed  tranquillity;  "  since  it 
seems  that  you  have  a  little  more  money  in 
the  house  than  you  expected,  you  will  be 
able  to  give  me  the  twenty  pounds  in  full?" 

"  No  no,"  said  the  miser,  "  at  least,  not 
now,  not  now — we'll  talk  about  it:  give  a 
look  up  in  the  morning." 

"Why,  that,"  said  Valentine,  "will  be 
very  inconvenient." 

"  I  cannot  help  it.  I'm  sorry  for  it,  but 
cannot  help  it.  I  would  not  touch  that  box 
again  now  for  the  world." 

'*  Why  you  have  nothing  to  fear,"  rejoin- 
ed Valentine,  who  now  felt  determined  to 
have  the  money;  "  I  will  still  keep  strict 
guard." 

"I  don't  care,"  said  the  miser,  "it's  safe 
where  it  is.  It  shall  not  come  out  of  that 
place  to-night,  if  1  know  it." 

"Indeed,"  thought  Valentine,  "we'll 
very  soon  sec  about  that."  And  he  rose 
from  his  seat,  saying,  "  well  then,  1 
suppose  that  I  must  call  upon  you  in  the 
morning." 

"  If  you  please,"  said  the  miser;  "  yes, 
do." 

"Have  you  got  ill"  inquired  Valentino 
throwing  his  voice  very  dexterously  into 
the  chiiiin 

"  I'm   ruined!   I'm    ruined!"    cried   the 


miser.  "I'm  ruined!"  and  he  darted,  like 
lightning,  across  the  room;  and  having 
found  the  box,  of  course,  where  he  had 
placed  it,  he  drew  it  forth,  and  hugged  it 
fondly  to  his  heart,  shouting,  "  thieves! 
fire!  murder!  thieves!  thieves!" 

His  sister  at  this  moment  followed  his 
example,  "  thieves!  thieves!"  she  cried, 
opening  the  window  which  overlooked  a 
field;  but  as  the  room  was  at  the  back  of 
the  house,  and  they  dared  not  go  in  front, 
the  wind  carried  their  voices  from  the  road, 
and  they  gradually  died  away,  unheard. 

"  Where  are  the  pistols!"  shouted  Valen- 
tine. They  were  lying  upon  the  table.  He 
seized  one  in  an  instant,  and  having  cocked 
it  with  an  air  of  invincible  valor,  let  fly  up 
the  chimney. 

Of  course  nothing  but  soot  descended; 
but  it  did  the  chimney  good,  for  it  was  pre- 
viously choked  as  nearly  as  possible  up  to 
the  pot:  it  therefore  cured  that  completely, 
and  this  was  all  the  good  it  could  do;  but 
the  bravery  involved  in  the  act  so  excited 
the  admiration  of  the  miser,  that  he  almost 
relinquished  the  box  to  embrace  him. 

"  Do  you  think  that  there  could  have  been 
any  one  there?"  inquired  Valentine,  very 
mysteriously. 

"I  heard  a  voice!"  cried  the  miser,  "I'm 
sure  I  heard  a  voice!  Didn't  you?"  he  con- 
tinued, addressing  his  sister. 

"  Of  course  1  did  !"  replied  that  respecta- 
ble female,  with  infinite  promptitude  and 
spirit;  "  Do  you  think  that  I'm  deaf?  It's 
my  belief  there's  a  man  in  there  now." 

"  If  there  be,  he's  a  dead  man,"  said  Va- 
lentine, "  if  the  pistol  I  discharged  contain- 
ed a  ball." 

"  Oh  yes!  oh  yes!"  cried  the  miser;  "  oh 
yes!  and  a  capital  ball  it  was  too.  It's  a 
pity  it  was  fired  off  for  nothing." 

"  It  is  a  pity,  when  you  come  to  think  of 
it,"  said  Valentine. 

"  That  powder  too:  powder  costs  a  deal 
of  money;  its  very  expensive — very." 

"  Well,"  said  Valentine,  apparently  in 
the  act  of  departing — an  act  which  he  had 
really  no  intention  to  perform,  without  hav- 
ing the  sum  of  twenty  pounds  in  his  pocket 
— "  1  suppose  that  I  can  be  of  no  more  ser- 
vice now!" 

"Stay,  stay!"  cried  the  miser.  "Pray 
do  not  ffo  yet.,  Stay  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
longer;  but  a  quarter  of  an  hour!" 

"  I  really  cannot,"  returned  Valentine, 
4k  if  I'm  to  come  up  here  again  in  the  morn- 

••  Well— stay!—  I'll  give  it  you  now— I'll 
give  it  you  now.  Only  stop." 

Of  course  Valentine  stopped  !  He  had 
not  the  least  intention  of  going,  until  he  had 
gained  possession  of  that  which  he  came 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


173 


for.  He  therefore  sat  down  again,  without 
a  second  invitation,  and  displayed  a  very 
laudable  anxiety  to  come  to  the  point  at 
once.  "  You  mean,  of  course,"  said  he, 
"  to  pay  me  now  in  full." 

"  Well,  well;  but  you  must  take  me  off 
discount." 

44  What,  sixty  per  cent!"  exclaimed  Va- 
lentine. 

«  No — no!"  said  the  miser;  I'll  be  satis- 
fied with  ten.  You  must  take  me  off  ten?" 

44  As  the  money  is  due,  I  don't  feel  my- 
self justified  in  consenting  even  to  that.  But 
perhaps,"  he  added,  rising  again,  «*  I  had 
better  look  up  in  the  morning." 

««No — no,"  said  the  miser,  still  dread- 
fully alarmed;  "  I'll  not  trouble  you;  no,  I'll 
not  trouble  you.  But  really  you  must  take 
me  off  five!  It's  a  regular  thing,  you  know, 
quite — quite  a  regular  thing." 

"Well,  you'd  better  settle  that  with  my 
Uncle,  when  you  see  him.  He  understands 
more  about  the  business  than  I  do." 

"Well,  well;  I  suppose  I  must. — Hush!" 
he  exclaimed,  and,  having  listened  most  at- 
tentively for  several  seconds,  he  opened  the 
box. 

All  was  silent.  He  would  not  suffer  one 
of  the  sovereigns  to  click  against  another. 
He  drew  them  out  one  by  one,  very  care- 
fully and  very  reluctantly ;  and,  having 
counted  them  over  again  and  again,  lock- 
ed his  box  and  said: — "There,  there  are 
twenty." 

Valentine  had  been  in  the  habit  of  count- 
ing money  only  when  he  paid  it  away;  but 
in  this  particular  instance  he  felt  that,  as  a 
matter  of  common  justice  to  himself,  he 
ought  to  adopt  the  same  plan  when  he  re- 
ceived it.  He  therefore  did  count  it:  he 
counted  it  twice  as  the  sovereigns  were 
lying  on  the  table,  and  the  result  was  a 
natural  result,  under  the  circumstances,  see- 
ing that  there  were  but  nineteen. 

44  There's  one  short,"  said  he,  eyeing  the 
miserable  dog:  "  only  one." 

44  Dear  rne,  I  thought  I  counted  twenty, 
I'm  sure!"  cried  the  wretch,  with  a  villan- 
ous  smirk,  and  he  counted  them  again  and 
again,  for  the  show  of  the  thing,  and  then 
added,  "  Why  there  are  but  nineteen!  How 
singular!" 


"Very!"  said  Valentine,  sarcastically, 
"  F~ery!"  and  he  looked  at  the  wretch  as  he 
reluctantly  drew  forth  the  twentieth,  with, 
an  expression  which  seemed  to  confuse  him 
a  little.  He  nevertheless  counted  them 
over  again,  being  firmly  determined  not  to 
suffer  him  to  reap,  even  from  sleight-of-hand 
villany,  the  smallest  advantage;  and  having 
satisfied  himself  as  to  the  correctness  of  the 
sum,  he  surveyed  the  wretched  group  with 
a  feeling  of  disgust. 

There  sat  the  miser,  whose  soul  seemed 
to  have  sunk  beneath  the  weight  of  his  ini- 
quities, trembling  and  groaning  under  the 
lively  apprehension  of  losing  that  which, 
to  him,  was  intrinsically  valueless,  seeing 
that,  with  the  means  of  procuring  all  the 
luxuries,  he  denied  himself  even  the  com- 
mon necessaries  of  life;  and  while  his  sister, 
the  very  type  of  sordid  wretchedness,  sat, 
with  her  elbows  upon  her  knees,  and  her 
chin  upon  her  hands,  in  a  chair,  the  ragged 
horse-hair  of  which,  that  once  formed  its 
plump  bottom,  hanging  down  to  the  floor, 
the  poor  girl,  whom  fate  had  doomed  to  live 
beneath  the  same  roof,  lay  miserably  hud- 
dled up  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  starving, 
absolutely  starving  in  the  midst  of  wealth! 

Valentine  sickened  at  the  sight,  and  there- 
fore put  on  his  hat. 

"  Must  you  go?"  said  the  miser. 

41 1  must,"  replied  Valentine. 

44 Well,  well!"  said  the  miser,  seizing 
the  pistol  that  was  loaded,  "  do  carry  this 
for  me  till  you  get  to  the  door.  My  hand 
trembles.  I'm  sure  I  can't  take  a  true 
aim." 

Valentine  carried  the  pistol  accordingly, 
and  after  an  infinite  deal  of  listening,  they 
reached  the  outer  door,  which  was  no  sooner 
opened  than  he  fired  the  pistol  off,  which 
so  alarmed  the  trembling  wretch,  that  he 
closed  the  door  instantly,  shutting  his  un- 
suspected tormentor  outside. 

44  What  shall  I  do  with  the  pistol!" 
thought  Valentine. 

He  had  not  to  think  long.  He  dashed  it 
at  once  through  the  window,  and  departed; 
while  the  feelings  with  which  the  inmates 
were  inspired  by  the  rattling  of  the  glass, 
were  questionless  very  lively,  but  not  very 

gay- 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE  FIRST  CONCERT  GIVEN  BY  THE  NATIVE  TALENT  ASSOCIATION. 


VALENTINE  had   from  childhood  been  ex- 
tremely fond  of  music.     He  was  unable  to 
play  upon  any  instrument;  he  knew  no- 
16 


thing  of  the  technicalities  of  the  science, 
nor  had  he  the  slightest  wish  to  know. 
The  enchanting  effects  were  sufficient  for 


174 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


him;  he  cared  not  to  study  the  minutiae  of 
the  cause.  Having  iiad,  however;  an  ardent 
desire  at  one  period  to  become  acquainted 
with  musical  men,  that  desire  had  been 
gratified  to  no  inconsiderable  extent,  and 
he  for  some  time  enjoyed  their  society, 
being  delighted  with  their  apparent  simpli- 
city of  soul;  but  the  charm  which  their 
companionship  primarily  imparted  was 
quickly  broken,  when  their  prevailing  cha- 
racteristics were  laid  open  to  his  view.  He 
found  them  reckless,  gay,  improvident, 
polite,  but  not  one  was  he  able  to  point  to 
as  being  a  really  virtuous  man.  He  was 
aware  of  course  that  virtue  in  classes  was 
difficult  to  be  found,  but  although  in  every 
other  class  he  had  perceived  it  shining 
brightly  in  the  actions  of  individuals,  he 
had  never  had  the  pleasure  to  meet  a  pro- 
fessionally musical  man,  whose  private  cha- 
racter would  bear  even  a  superficial  in- 
vestigation. As  men  they  were  indolent 
and  dishonorable;  as  husbands  they  were 
faithless;  as  fathers  they  were  heartless;  as 
friends  they  were  envious  and  insincere. 

Valentine  had  in  all  probability  been  un- 
fortunate in  his  introductions  to  these  musi- 
cal people,  seeing,  that  doubtless  he  might 
have  been  introduced  to  some  who  were 
really  good  men;  but  having  been  in  a  po- 
sition to  analyse  the  characters  of  many 
from  the  highest  to  the  lowest  in  the  pro- 
fession, it  was  but  natural  for  him  to  infer 
from  the  result  of  his  experience,  that  how- 
ever kind,  generous,  and  amiable  they  might 
appear,  they  were  all  at  heart  equally  hol- 
low. 

This  consideration,  however,  by  no  means 
subdued  the  ardor  of  his  passion  for  music, 
and  he  was  anxious  to  do  all  in  his  power 
to  promote  its  cause,  by  the  cultivation  of 
a  musical  taste  among  the  people,  it  being, 
to  him  at  least,  manifest,  that  nothing  could 
have  a  more  powerful  tendency  to  soften 
their  tone,  to  counteract  their  bad  passions, 
or  to  induce  that  refinement  in  popular  plea- 
sures which  is  so  absolutely  essential  to  a 
high  state  of  civilisation.  It  is  true,  that 
when  this  was  placed  in  juxtaposition  with 
the  view  which  he  entertained  of  the  pri- 
vate characters  of  professionally  musical 
men,  kthey  at  first  appeared  inimical;  but 
when  he  looked  at  the  mode  of  life  so  pecu- 
liar to  those  creatures,  when  he  saw  the 
temptations  to  vice  and  dishonor  with  which 
they  were  perpetually  assailed,  and  per- 
ceived that  if  their  minds  were  not  indeed 
too  weak  to  make  any  resistance  to  those 
temptations,  they  exhibited  no  inclination 
to  resist  them;  when  he  found  that  every 
thing  bearing  even  the  semblance  of  domes- 
tic happiness  was  their  abhorrence,  and  that 
all  they  had  to  talk  about,  or  cared  to  talk 


about,  or  even  seemed  to  have  the  ability  to 
talk  about,  was  music  mixed  up  with  in- 
trigue, he  very  soon  became  convinced  that 
their  characters  were  not  formed  by  music, 
but  in  spite  of  its  softening  influence,  by 
their  pernicious  communication  with  those 
by  whom  vice  and  dishonor  in  every  shape 
are  applauded. 

Now,  it  happened,  that  at  this  particular 
period  of  our  history,  a  great  outcry  was 
raised  about  what  was  then  yclept  NATIVE 
TALENT.  The  court  was  denounced;  the 
aristocracy  was  denounced;  the  whole . 
country  was  denounced  because  native  ta- 
lent failed  to  be  patronised  with  commen- 
surate liberality.  Cargoes  of  foreign  ar- 
tistes were  imported  from  time  to  time,  and 
exported  with  wreaths  of  laurel  and  purses 
crammed  with  British  gold,  to  the  great 
discouragement  of  native  talent.  At  the 
Royal  Concerts  none  but  foreigners  were 
engaged;  at  the  soirees  of  the  nobility  none 
but  foreigners  were  engaged,  while  every 
theatre  in  which  foreigners  were  not  engag- 
ed was  empty:  in  fact,  native  talent  ap- 
peared to  be  in  such  a  dreadful  state,  that 
they  who  possessed  the  real  and  recognised 
ability  to  snatch  it  from  contempt,  crossed 
the  Atlantic — it  being  well  understood  that 
the  Americans  upheld  native  talent,  which 
was  certainly  much  to  their  credit — while 
our  citizens  gloried  in  being  jammed  in  the 
pit,  or  stewed  to  rags  in  the  gallery  of  the 
Opera,  to  hear  that  which  they  could  by  no 
means  understand,  with  the  view  of  hav- 
ing it  in  their  power  to  speak  with  enthusi- 
asm of  the  brilliancy  of  the  prima  donna, 
and  the  surpassing  richness  of  the  primo 
buffo,  and  to  explain  how  the  adored — You 
know  wochee  poke  afar;  and  how  deeply 
they  were  enamored  of  Dye  pitch  her  my 
balsam  core. 

Such  being  the  lamentable  state  of  the 
case  then,  certain  highly  influential  and  re- 
markably   staunch,    musical     individuals, 
entertaining  an  extremely  laudable  anxiety 
to  rescue  native  talent  from  the  impending 
doom  of  extinction,  conceived  the  idea  of  r 
establishing  a  Native  Talent  Association,  /__ 
with  the  view  of  getting  up  a  series  of  na-/ 
tive  talent  concerts,  at  which  nothing  of' 
course   but  native  talent  should  be  deve-  • 
loped;  and  having  perfected  their  project,  \ 
they  proceeded  to  carry  it  at  once  into  exe- 
cution, in  order  to  prove  that,  although  fo- 
reign talent  might  then  be  the  rage,  native 
talent  was  of  an  infinitely  superior  caste,  and, 
therefore,  ought  to  be  more  liberally  p;itr<  - 
nised  by  a  truly  enlightened  British  public. 

Accordingly,  the  first  of  the  series  was 
announced,  and  Valentine  having  purchased 
a  ticket,  attended.  , The  room  was  crowded. 
He  at  first  saw  no  prospect  at  all  of  obtain- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


175 


ing  a  seat;  but  having  secured  one  at  length 
near  the  orchestra,  he  commenced  a  perusal 
of  the  programme  which  had  been  given  to 
him  at  the  door.  It  began  with  a  prospec- 
tus, and  that  prospectus  read  well;  very 
well; — it  promised  much,  it  is  true;  but 
it  promised  no  more  than  might  with 
ease  have  been  performed.  He  was  there- 
fore delighted  with  the  prospectus;  but  how 
great  was  his  astonishment,  when,  on  look- 
ing below  he  found  that  nothing  but  Ger- 
man and  Italian  pieces  were  to  be  sung! 
"  Is  this,"  thought  he,  "  intended  to  deve- 
lope  native  talent!  Why,  at  best,  it  can  be 
but  the  native  talent  of  imitation!  Here 
we  have  a  selection  of  Italian  and  German 
music  to  be  sung  by  English  singers,  after 
the  fashion  of  the  Italians  and  the  Germans 
and  that  with  the  view  of  inspiring  an  ap- 
preciation of  native  talent!"  He  of  course, 
and  very  naturally,  felt  that  this  ought  not 
to  be;  and  as  he  -wished  most  sincerely  to 
promote  the  cause  which  its  more  active 
advocates,  doubtless  with  the  best  possible 
intentions,  had  labored  with  so  much  zeal 
to  injure,  he  felt  himself  bound,  as  one  who 
possessed  the  power  to  warn  them  with 
effect  against  the  course  they  were  pursu- 
ing, to  impress  upon  their  minds  that  the 
act  of  imitating  the  singing  of  foreigners, 
however  excellent  that  imitation  might  be, 
developed  native  talent  no  more  than  the  act 
of  imitating  the  language  of  foreigners,  and 
that  instead  of  inducing  a  higher  apprecia- 
tion of  native  talent,  its  tendency  was  to 
depreciate  it,  seeing  that  it  raised  foreign 
talent  in  public  estimation. 

This  to  Valentine  appeared  to  be  indis- 
putable; and  while  he  was  endeavoring  to 
decide  upon  the  course,  which,  under  the 
circumstances,  he  ought  to  pursue,  the  band 
commenced  the  overture  to  Zauberflote,  and 
certainly  went  through  it  very  well.  The 
audience  applauded  vehemently,  and  de- 
manded an  encore,  which  was  of  course  ex- 
tremely grateful  to  the  feelings  of  the  per- 
formers in  the  aggregate;  and  while  they 
were  taking  snuff  with  due  gusto  and  effect, 
the  conductor  very  quietly  winked  at  the 
leader,  who  as  quietly  winked  at  the  con- 
ductor in  return. 

Having  inquired  of  a  polite  old  gentleman 
who  sat  in  his  immediate  vicinity,  Valen- 
tine ascertained  that  the  projector  of  the 
scheme  was  the  identical  individual  who  on 
this  occasion  wielded  the  baton,  and  as  he 
felt  that  he  was,  therefore,  the  man  whom 
he  ought  to  address,  he  fixed  his  eyes  very 
intently  upon  him. 

Now  the  visage  of  this  individual  was 
extremely  long,  and  strongly  marked,  and 
pale  in  proportion.  His  hair  was  black; 
and  while  it  was  parted  in  front  with  the 


utmost  nicety,  it  hung  in  wild  ringlets  upon 
his  shoulders.  He  had  on  an  undeniable 
black  satin  stock,  figured  delicately  with 
very  little  lilies,  and  studded  with  three 
remarkably  suspicious-looking  Brobdigna- 
gian  brilliants.  An  eye-glass  attached  to 
a  piece  of  black  ribbon  was  stuck  with  con- 
summate ingenuity  between  his  left  cheek 
bone  and  brow:  and  a  gold  colored  chain  of 
surpassing  circumference  was  really  very 
tastefully  arranged  over  a  white  satin  vest. 
His  coat  was  of  course  a  full  dress  coat,  an 
indigo  blue  coat,  with  black  velvet  collar, 
silk  facings,  and  figured  silk  buttons,  and 
while  his  left  hand  was  adorned  with  a 
delicate  French  white  kid  glove,  the  taper 
fingers  of  his  right  were  embellished  with 
a  variety  of  rings,  which  he  positively  felt 
himself  bound  to  display  as  much  as  pos- 
sible. 

Valentine  could  not  avoid  smiling  as  he 
inspected  this  elegant,  fantastic,  and  really 
fascinating  creature;  but  as  the  overture  was 
now  again  brought  to  a  conclusion  amidst 
thunders  of  applause,  he  was  on  the  qui  vive. 
A  rattling  Italian  buffo  song  stood  first 
upon  the  list,  and  as  he  perceived  a  profes- 
sional genius  stepping  forward  to  do  execu- 
tion on  the  same,  he  very  naturally  con- 
ceived that  it  was  then  the  time  for  action. 

Well!  the  symphony  commenced;  and  as 
the  professional  gentleman  whose  uvula 
appeared  to  be  down,  was  a-heming  with 
unprecedented  violence,  Valentine  throwing 
his  voice  behind  the  exquisite  conductor, 
who  was  then  at  the  piano-foite,  ran  up  and 
down  the  scale  in  such  a  singularly  unpro- 
fessional fashion,  that  all  eyes  were  directed 
towards  the  spot  in  an  instant. 

44  Hist!  hist!"  hissed  the  conductor,  look- 
ing very  sharply  round,  "Hish!  hish!" 
But  Valentine  kept  on — changing  the  key 
for  the  express  accommodation  of  each  par- 
ticular roulade — with  a  perseverance,  which 
under  any  other  circumstances  certainly 
would  have  been  highly  reprehensible. 

The  conductor  became  indignant,  and 
cried  "hish!  hish!"  with  greater  vehemence 
than  before.  It  seemed  perfectly  clear  to 
him,  that  there  was  some  one  very  near  him 
in  a  truly  provoking  state  of  inebriety.  But 
who  was  it?  He  could  not  tell.  He  took 
the  glass  from  his  eye,  for  as  he  could  see 
better  without  it,  he  thought  it  highly  pro- 
bable that  that  might  have  theretofore  pre- 
vented the  discovery  upon  which  he  had 
set  his  soul.  But  no,  he  saw  the  instru- 
mental people  looking  with  amazement  at 
each  other,  and  the  bosoms  of  the  vocalists 
swelling  with  scorn;  but  he  could  see  no- 
thing more:  nothing  more.  He  tried  back: 
he  recommenced  the  brilliant  symphony, 
and  the  stout  vocal  genius,  who  felt  much. 


176 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


confused,  for  he  could  not  at  all  understand 
it,  again  plucked  up  his  courage  and  his 
collar  to  begin,  when  Valentine  introduced 
a  very  admirable  imitation  of  the  French- 
horn.  In  an  instant  every  eye  was  upon 
the  French-horn  players,  who  were  zealous- 
ly engaged  in  amputating  their  instruments, 
with  the  laudable  view  of  pouring  out  the 
concentered  perspiration,  which  the  per- 
formance of  the  overture  had  induced.  It 
could  not  have  been  them.  That  was  clear. 
The  conductor  looked  at  them!— No:  their 
instruments  were  in  bits.  This  was  held 
to  be  most  extraordinary;  but  Valentine  did 
not  stop  to  wonder  much  at  it,  but  proceeded 
to  give  excellent  imitations  of  a  variety  of 
little  instruments  until  the  conductor  became 
so  enraged,  that  he  started  from  his  seat, 
and  looked  round  with  an  expression  of  in- 
dignation, the  most  powerful  his  strongly 
marked  features  could  portray. 

The  harmony  produced  by  Valentine 
ceased,  and  all  was  silent.  The  audience 
were  amazed,  they  were  utterly  unable  to 
make  it  out;  but  as  anon  they  begun  to  hiss 
with  unequivocal  zeal,  the  conductor,  who 
looked  as  if  he  couldn't  really  stand  it  much 
longer,  bounced  down  upon  his  stool,  and 
struck  the  chord  with  an  energy  altogether 
unparalleled  in  musical  annals. 

The  vocal  genius  became  nervous.  The 
truth  flashed  across  his  mind,  that  in  this 
world  men  have  not  the  choice  of  their  own 
positions.  He  would  clearly  not  have 
chosen  that  in  which  he  then  stood,  for  it 
certainly  was  a  most  unpleasant  position. 
He  slightly  trembled:  Valentine  saw  that 
he  trembled,  and  pitied  him — nay  he  was 
eventually  so  far  melted  as  to  suffer  him  to 
go  through  his  Largo  Factotum. 

The  style,  however,  in  which  he  accom- 
plished this  song  was  particularly  droll.  It 
was  abundantly  manifest  that  the  genius 
did  not  know  the  meaning  of  a  word  he  had 
to  utter,  and  equally  manifest  was  it  that  he 
didn't  want  to  know:  all  he  cared  a  single 
straw  about,  was  an  imitation  of  the  voice 
and  gestures  of  the  particular  primo  buffo, 
whom  at  the  opera  he  had  heard  sing  the 
piece  with  great  applause,  and  as  the  ges- 
tures which  he  labored  to  imitate  were  re- 
markably extravagant,  the  whole  exhibition 
was  a  caricature  of  the  most  gross  and  ri- 
diculous caste. 

This  Valentine  held  to  be  monstrous,  and 
felt  it  to  be  incumbent  upon  him  to  express 
his  extreme  dissatisfaction,  when  the 
features  of  the  genius — who  during  the  ap- 
plause had  smiled  blandly  as  he  bowed — 
underwent  a  most  extraordinary  change  as 
be  retired. 

"  Native  talent!"  cried  Valentine,  throw- 
ing his  voice  into  the  middle  of  the  room, 


"  Is  this  the  development  of  native  talent?" 

The  conductor  stared  wildly,  and  so  did 
the  whole  of  the  gentlemen  in  the  orchestra; 
but  although  two  or  three  individuals  cried 
"  silence!"  in  a  very  authoritative  tone,  the 
majority  of  the  audience  were  so  powerfully 
struck  with  the  novelty  of  the  question,  that 
they  glanced  at  the  programme,  and  looked 
at  each  other  very  mysteriously,  and  really 
began  to  consider  it  an  extremely  proper 
question,  and  one  which  ought  therefore  to 
be  answered. 

"  English  music!  English  music!"  again 
shouted  Valentine,  and  the  audience  now 
responded  to  the  shout  with  loud  cheers, 
which  caused  the  conductor  to  shrug  his 
shoulders  and  pass  his  taper  fingers  through 
his  curls,  and  to  open  his  eyes  very  widely, 
and  to  look  altogether  remarkably  odd.  He, 
however,  said  nothing;  but  began  to  play 
the  symphony  of  an  Italian  scenes,  as  Val- 
entine repeated  his  demand  for  English 
music,  the  propriety  of  which  was  acknow- 
ledged by  the  audience  again. 

Several  gentlemen  who  were  stationed 
near  the  orchestra,  and  who  appeared  to  be 
members  of  the  native  talent  committee, 
now  conferred  with  the  conductor,  who 
after  the  conference  came  forward  and  said 
with  due  emphasis,  "Ladies  and  gentle- 
men: if  there  be  any  person  in  the  room  at 
all  dissatisfied  with  the  performances,  his 
money  will  be  returned  on  application  being 
made  at  the  doors." 

This  was  fair,  very  fair:  nothing  in  fact 
could  have  been  fairer,  but  this  was  not  at 
all  what  Valentine  desired:  he  wished  to 
make  them  understand  that  mere  imitations 
of  the  Italians  could  not  tend  to  the  de- 
velopment of  native  talent,  and  therefore 
cried  "No:  the  money  is  not  what  we  want: 
we  simply  want  English  music!"  and  as 
this  was  again  hailed  with  loud  cheers,  the 
conductor  again  conferred  with  the  gentle- 
men of  the  committee,  and  during  the  con- 
ference, Valentine  was  occupied  in  assum- 
ing various  voices,  and  sending  them  in 
various  parts  of  the  room  expressive  of  an 
anxiety  to  open  the  eyes  of  those  gentle- 
men, that  they  might  clearly  see  the  course 
which  they  ought  to  pursue;  and  eventually 
their  eyes  became  opened:  they  appeared 
to  be  enlightened  on  the  subject  as  if  by 
manic!  — but  what  was  to  be  done? — the 
singing  people  had  studied  those  pieces  for 
the  occasion,  and  although  they  had  ques- 
tionless the  ability  to  sing  others,  it  was 
held  to  be  unsafe  for  the  experiment,  with- 
out notice,  to  be  tried.  They  therefore  pro- 
tended to  bo  still  completely  blind  to  the 
propriety  of  the  suggestion,  a  course  which 
Valentine  held  to  oe  remarkably  stupid, 
inasmuch  as  they  had  but  to  announce  that 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


177 


the  error  would  in  future  be  rectified,  and 
the  concert  might  have  gone  on  without  any 
further  interruption;  but  as  it  was,  as  the 
committee  were  still  stubborn,  and  as  the 
conductor,  who  didn't  like  it,  as  the  selec- 
tion had  been  left  to  him — began  to  look 
extremely  big,  and  to  shake  his  head 
angrily,  and  to  purse  his  lips  contemptu- 
ously, and  to  frown  and  pitch  the  music 
about  the  orchestra,  and  knock  down  the 
stands  in  the  fulness  of  his  rank  official 
pride,  of  course  Valentine  felt  determined  to 
bring  him  to  his  senses,  and  therefore  again 
loudly  demanded  a  display  of  native  talent. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen!"  said  the  con- 
ductor, stepping  again  in  front  of  the  orches- 
tra, 'after  indulging  in  an  additional  series 
of  really  unbecoming  airs — "  If  any  rival 
society  has  employed  noisy  persons  to  in- 
terrupt the  performances  of  the  evening — " 

"No,  no!"  shouted  Valentine,  "no,  no! 
We  are  simply  anxious  to  promote  the  cul- 
tivation of  native  talent!"  And  as  loud 
cheers  followed  this  appropriate  explana- 
tion, the  conductor  felt  it  to  be  a  duty  in- 
cumbent upon  him  to  be  signally  savage, 
and  he  retired  to  the  piano  forte,  and  struck 
a  variety  of  chords  with  unprofessional 
violence;  and  after  amusing  himself  in  this 
way  for  several  seconds,  he  commanded  a 
female  to  come  forward  in  order  to  sing  the 
next  scena.  The  lady  did  not  much  ap- 
prove of  the  tone  which  the  conductor  had 
assumed  in  this  particular  instance,  but  she 
nevertheless  glided  very  gracefully  forward 
with  a  dirty  piece  of  music  in  one  hand, 
and  in  the  other  a  lace-edged  handkerchief 
pinched  precisely  in  the  middle;  but  she 
had  no  sooner  reached  the  front  rail  of  the 
orchestra,  than  Valentine  introduced  a  highly 
correct  imitation  of  the  trombone. 

This  the  conductor  very  naturally  con- 
ceived to  be  dreadful,  and  he  therefore  began 
to  perspire  with  rage.  He  thought  it  quite 
enough — and  so  it  was  quite  enough — that 
the  audience  was  against  him;  but  the  idea 
of  his  own  instrumental  performers  having 
joined  in  the  opposition  made  his  blood 
bubble  up!  He  therefore  instantly  turned 
towards  the  professional  individuals  who 
performed  on  the  delicate  instrument  in 
question,  and  discovered  them  in  the  very 
act  of  enjoying  a  quiet  pinch  of  snuff 
together  in  the  utmost  amity.  The  trom- 
bone nevertheless  did  apparently  continue 
to  sound.  This  he  thought  more  extraor- 
dinary still!  He  couldn't  tell,  he  didn't 
know,  what  to  make  of  it  at  all.  It  was 
clearly  not  the  men  whom  he  had  suspected, 
and  yet — well:  the  trombone  ceased,  but  at 
that  particular  moment  another  most  un- 
pleasant sound  broke  upon  his  ear!  The 
majority  of  the  audience  were  roaring  with 


laughter! — and  that  too  at  him!  This  he 
held  to  be  extremely  inconsistent  with  the 
character  of  a  British  audience,  and  he  con- 
sequently felt  quite  confused. 

"  Go  on!  Go  on!"  exclaimed  several 
voices  in  the  distance;  but  albeit  these 
highly  appropriate  exclamations  were  be- 
nevolently intended  for  his  especial  solace, 
they  in  reality  did  not  console  him  at  all. 

The  professional  lady  whose  plume  waved 
proudly  about  a  foot  and  a  half  above  her 
forehead,  now  became  extremely  fidgetty, 
and  felt  very  awkward  and  very  warm,  and 
was  about  to  retreat,  when  the  conductor 
struck  a  chord  with  unexampled  desperation. 

"Retire!"  said  ^Valentine,  throwing  a 
whisper  just  behind  the  fair  artiste;  and  the 
lady,  to  whom  the  whisper  appeared  to  be 
most  welcome,  bowed  and  blushed,  and  re- 
tired accordingly. 

"  Madam!"  cried  the  conductor,  as  she 
passed  him,  "  remain." 

"  You  requested  me  to  retire,"  said  the 
lady. 

"  No  such  thing!  No  such  thing1,  madam. 
No  such  thing!"  But  the  lady,"  who  felt 
much  confused,  without  appearing  to  notice 
these  hasty  observations,  passed  on. 

The  conductor  now  imagined — and  per- 
haps it  was  but  rational  for  him  to  imagine 
— that  it  was  a  regularly  planned  thing — 
that  all  in  the  room  had  conspired  against 
his  peace.  He  therefore  bounced  up  again 
with  the  view  of  conferring  with  the  com- 
mittee, who  saw  plainly  that  a  very  wrong 
course  had  been  pursued;  but  then  he  didn't 
see  it,  and  couldn't  see  it,  and  wouldn't  see 
it!  The  committee,  however,  at  length  in- 
sisted upon  his  expressing  their  sentiments 
on  the  subject,  when  he  accordingly,  but 
with  infinite  reluctance,  came  forward  and 
said: — "Ladies  and  gentlemen:  it  appears 
to  be  the  opinion  of  the  committee  of  man- 
agement, that  the  fact  of  English  artists 
singing  nothing  but  foreign  music,  tends 
rather  to  create  a  morbid  taste  for  such 
music,  and  to  enhance  it  in  the  estimation 
of  the  public,  than  to  promote  the  cultiva- 
tion of  native  talent,  which  is  of  course 
their  chief  aim.  I  am,  therefore,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  directed  to  state  that  as  this  ap- 
pears to  be  also  your  impression,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  if  you  will  be  kind  enough  to 
permit  the  performances  chosen  for  this 
evening  to  proceed,  as  we  are  not  exactly 
prepared  on  so  short  a  notice  to  change 
them,  especial  care,  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
will  be  taken,  that  in  future,  at  these  con- 
certs, English  music  alone  shall  be  sung." 

The  audience  cheered  this  announcement. 

It  was  all  they  required,  and  as  Valentine 

wished  for  nothing  more,  the  performances 

proceeded  without  the  slightest  additional 

16* 


178 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


interruption;  although  every  piece  tended  to 
convince  him  and  them  more  and  more  that 
the  view  he  had  taken  of  the  subject  was 
correct,  inasmuch  as  if  it  even  were  ad- 
mitted that  those  pieces  were  well  sung1,  it 
must  also  be  admitted  that  the  Italians  sang 
them  better,  which  alone  had  the  effect  of 
inspiring  the  conviction  of  their  superiority, 
instead  of  a  due  appreciation  of  that  style 
in  which  the  English  excel. 


Valentine  was  therefore  quite  satisfied. 
He  felt  that  he  had  inflicted  some  pain  by 
the  confusion  he  had  created;  but  he  also 
felt  that  he  had  thus  succeeded  in  accom- 
plishing an  excellent  object;  namely,  that  of 
promoting  the  cultivation  of  native  talent, 
by  inducing  Englishmen,  instead  of  imitat- 
ing, and  thereby  enhancing  the  value  of 
foreign  singers,  to  leave  foreign  talent  to 
itself. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 


IN   WHICH    WALTER   AND    HIS    AMIABLE   FAMILY    HAVE    A   HIGHLY  CHARACTERISTIC  CONVER- 
SATION  ON   THE    SUBJECT    OF    GOODMAN'S    RELEASE. 


ALTHOUGH  Walter  had  been  gradually  re- 
covering from  the  effects  of  the  fire,  he  was 
still  extremely  weak,  and  continued  to  be 
occupied  night  and  day  by  Nature,  whose 
efforts  to  restore  him  to  his  pristine  com- 
plexion were  accompanied  by  a  certain 
cutaneous  excitement  which  he  held  to  be 
particularly  disagreeable.  His  appearance 
at  this  time  was  indeed  very  singular:  the  [ 
skin  on  one  side  of  his  face  being  black,  ! 
while  on  the  other  it  was  as  sanguine  and 
shiny  as  that  of  a  fair-haired  boy.  This 
rendered  it  natural,  perhaps,  for  him  to 
amuse  himself  by  prematurely  peeling  off 
the  dead  skin  by  inches,  in  order  to  re-esta- 
blish a  facial  uniformity.  This  was  not, 
however,  the  most  interesting  part  of  his 
active  occupation:  by  no  means.  While 
under  the  regimen  originally  prescribed  by 
the  physician,  his  mind  was  comparatively 
at  ease;  but  no  sooner  was  he  permitted  to 
take  somewhat  more  generous  food,  and  a 
glass  or  two  of  wine  every  day,  with  a  view 
to  the  restoration  of  his  physical  strength, 
than  this  vivid  imagination  began  to  revel 
again  in  the  creation  of  the  most  extraordi- 
nary phantasms  which  failed  not  to  afford 
him  perpetual  entertainment.  Nor  were 
the  minds  of  his  amiable  family  at  this 
time  unoccupied:  their  nights  were  spent  in 
dreaming,  and  their  days  in  relating  those 
dreams  to  each  other,  for  the  purpose  of 
ascertaining  and  establishing  the  most  ap- 
proved interpretation  thereof.  The  house 
of  Walter  was  therefore  a  very  busy  house; 
but  the  business  of  its  inmates  was  unhap- 
pily not  of  a  character  calculated  to  increase 
their  joy.  On  the  contrary,  their  spirits 
were  dreadfully  depressed:  even  those  of 
the  volatile  Horace — albeit  ho  still  retained 
bis  vulgarity — sank  several  degrees  below 
par;  for  while  confinement  did  not  meet  his 
views,  three  somewhat  severe  attacks  of 


fever,  induced  by  his  going  out  too  early, 
and  drinking  too  freely,  had  convinced  him 
that  such  confinement,  how  unpleasing  so- 
ever it  might  be,  was  absolutely  essential 
to  his  perfect  restoration. 

Of  course  every  member  of  the  family 
was  now  acquainted  with  the  manner  in 
which  Walter  had  disposed  of  poor  Good- 
man, and  the  female  portion  failed  not  to 
ascribe  the  whole  of  their  recent  misfortunes 
to  that. 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Horace,  one 
evening  when  the  family,  for  the  first  time 
since  the  accident,  were  having  tea  in  the 
parlor,  "  I  am  perfectly  sure  that  we  shall 
never  have  a  moment's  peace  of  mind  until 
uncle  is  released  from  confinement." 

'*  I  am  quite  of  your  opinion,  dear,"  ob- 
served Mrs.  Goodman,  "for  we  really  have 
had  nothing  but  misfortune  and  misery" 
since;  and  1  am  fully  persuaded  by  the  truly 
frightful  dreams  I  have  had  of  late,  that  \ve 
can  expect  no  comfort,  no  happiness,  no 
peace,  so  long  as  he  remains  where  he  is." 

"  Then  I  deserve  all  I've  got,  1  suppose! 
— You  regard  it  as  a  species  of  retributive 
justice,"  cried  Walter  with  a  scowl. 

"  No,  no,  my  love!  1  did  not  say  that." 

"  Didn't  say  it!  I  know  you  didn't  say 
it;  but  you  mean  it  nevertheless." 

"  All  I  mean  to  say  is  this,"  rejoined  his 
wife  with  unusual  firmness,  "  that  the  hor- 
rible dreams  I  have  had  of  late  convince  me 
that  until  he  is  released,  we  shall  have 
nothing  but  misfortune;  and  it  really  is 
very  dreadful  that  he  should  be  thus  im- 
prisoned, you  know,  when  you  come  to 
think  of  it/' 

41  The  only  question  at  issue,"  said 
Horace,  "is  this — will  thn  old  boy's  re- 
lease tend  to  improve  our  position?  That's 
the  only  point  now  to  be  considrn-d.  Never 
mind  about  dreams,  because  they  arc  all 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


179 


rubbish,  and  may  be  produced  by  pickled 
salmon  or  stewed  cheese;  let  us  look  at  the 
thing  as  it  stands,  thus:— what  will  be  the 
effect  of  his  release  upon  us?" 

"  Why  this!"  replied  Walter,  "  we  shall 
be  at  once  reduced  to  a  state  of  absolute 
beggary." 

"  Well,  in  that  case,  you  know,"  rejoined 
Horace,  "  there  can't  be  two  rational  opin- 
ions about  the  conclusion  at  which  we 
ought,  as  reasonable  beings,  to  arrive." 

"  Well,  I'm  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Horace, 
"  that  for  my  part  I  had  rather  be  poor  and 
happy,  than  live  in  such  continual  misery 
as  this." 

"Poor  and  happy!"  cried  Horace,  "  It's 
all  very  fine.  I  might  say  the  same  thing: 
/might  say,  oh,  I'd  much  rather  live  poor 
and  happy:  O  yes! — but  who's  to  do  itl 
Had  we  been  reared  with  the  heavy  hand 
of  poverty  upon  us,  we  should  probably  not 
be  much  startled  by  her  slaps,  because  a 
thing,  you  know,  is  nothing  when  you  are 
used  to  it;  but  fancy  yourself  now  in  a  state 
of  destitution!  I  know  that  I  should  be 
walking  into  the  jugular,  or  perpetrating 
some  other  sanguinary  business;  while  you 
would  be  flying  off  the  Monument,  or  pitch- 
ing head  first  over  Westminster  bridge;  and 
then  how  would  you  bring  it  in? — not, 
'poor  and  happy!'  " 

"  But  I'd  work  the  very  flesh  off  my 
bones,  rather  than  continue  to  live  as  we  do 
now." 

"  Work  the  flesh  off  your  bones!"  echoed 
Horace  contemptuously.  "  How  could  you 
get  it  to  do;  and  if  you  did  get  it,  how  could 
you  do  it?  and  what  do  you  fancy  you  are 
fit  for?  I  might  say  that  I'd  work  the  very 
flesh  off  my  bones;  but  who'd  employ  me! 
Chat's  the  point;  and  then  what  could  I  do? 
While  thousands  upon  thousands,  who  are 
capable  of  performing  the  various  jolly  little 
offices  of  life  are  unemployed,  how  can  I, 
who  know  nothing  at  all  about  anything, 
hope  to  walk  over  their  heads?  I  know  bet 
ter,  you  know;  it's  all  stuff." 

"It  certainly  would,  I  must  confess," 
said  Mrs.  Goodman,  "  be  a  very  dreadful 
thing  to  be  reduced;  but  do  you  really  think 
we  should  be  so  utterly  destitute?" 

"Nobody  can  doubt  it  for  a  moment," 
replied  Horace;  "for  what  resource  have 
we?  What  have  we  got  to  fly  to?  The 
governor  has  given  up  his  berth,  which  I 
have  said  all  along  he  ought  not  to  have 
done;  and  then  what  are  my  prospects?  I 
have  no  profession! — we  have  nothing  to 
look  to." 

"  But  don't  you  really  think,"  said  Mrs. 
Goodman,  addressing  her  husband,  "  that 
we  might  manage  it  so  as  to  set  him  free, 
and  yet  be  as  well  off  at  least  as  we  were?" 


"  How  absurdly  you  talk!"  replied  Wal- 
ter. "  Why  any  one  would  think  you  were 
an  idiot!  What  on  earth  have  I  to  hope 
for  from  him?  Suppose,  for  a  moment,  that 
I  were  to  release  him;  what  would  be  the 
consequence?  He  knows  that  I  placed  him 
where  he  is;  the  house  in  which  he  lived 
of  course  is  clean  gone,  and  I  have  sold  all 
his  furniture.  Well!  he  comes  out.  I  am 
the  first  man  to  whom  he  applies.  He  can- 
not proceed  crimirrally  against  me,  because 
the  certificate  of  the  doctors  had  the  effect 
of  taking  from  me  the  whole  of  the  respon- 
sibility of  the  seizure ;  but  he  demands 
the  restitution  of  his  property,  and  how  is 
it  possible  for  me  to  meet  that  demand?  A 
great  portion  of  that  property  is  not  now  in 
my  possession;  he  has,  therefore,  but  to 
bring  an  action  against  me,  and  rny  ruin  is 
complete.  But  let  us  take  the  most  favor- 
able view  of  the  case.  Suppose  he  insists 
only  on  the  restoration  of  his  papers.  They 
are  restored;  and  he,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
instantly  discards  us.  What  then  are  we 
to  do?  I  have  no  property,  no  income.  We 
must  starve.  Any  assistance  from  him 
were  altogether  out  of  the  question.  He 
would  have,  of  course,  nothing  whatever  to 
do  with  vis.  How  should  we  act  in  that 
case?  We  could  not  act  at  all;  we  should 
go  to  the  dogs." 

"  Of  course!"  cried  Horace.  "  And  that's 
the  very  bottom  of  it.  We  can't  be  such 
fools  as  to  believe  that  he  wouldn't  at  once 
cut  us  dead.  He  might  not,  as  the  governor 
says,  proceed  you  know  legally,  but — blis- 
ter this  itching!" — he  added  rubbing  his 
back  against  the  chair  very  violently,  and 
making  up  a  very  extraordinary  face.  "  I 
shall  rub  all  the  flesh  off  my  bones:  I  know 
I  shall;  and  now  the  old  governor's  at  it! — 
Well,  what  was  I  saying? — Come,  come! 
I  must  rub  if  you  do.  If  it  were  not  for 
you,  I  shouldn't  do  it  at  all.  You  put  me 
in  mind  of  it.  Come,  I  say,  governor! 
Give  it  up,  come!  I  cannot  think  of  any- 
thing while  you  keep  rubbing  away  thus." 
And  really  the  process  of  itching  is  a  very 
extraordinary  process.  It  amounts  to  a 
contagion.  Mankind  itch  by  virtue  of  sym- 
pathy; and  it  is  highly  probable  that  most 
living  philosophers  have  observed  that  the 
power  of  sympathy  is  extremely  compre- 
hensive; but  whether  the  profound  observa- 
tions of  those  philosophers  have  extended 
to  this  interesting  particular  or  not,  it  is 
nevertheless  true,  that  of  this  most  extra- 
ordinary power  men  are  absolute  slaves. 

"  But  do  you  not  think  now,"  observed 
Mrs.  Goodman,  "  that  if  you  were  to  ac- 
knowledge that  you  have  acted  very  wrong, 
and  were  to  throw  yourself  as  it  were  at 
once  upon  his  generosity,  that — " 


180 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"  Pooh!"  exclaimed  Horace.     "  G.enero-  j  now 
sity!    Fancy  the  governor  throwing  himself  is." 
upon  any  thing  like  the  old  boy's  generosity! 
How  would  he  have  to  go  to  work?     I'll 


retreat:    he  must    remain  where  he 


As  a  natural  matter  of  course!"  cried 
Horace.     "  It  would  never  do  now.     Let 

just  tell  you,  and  then  you'll  know  how  it  j  him  be.  The  old  boy,  I've  no  doubt,  is  as 
would  sound: — '  My  brother' — he  would  j  happy  as  a  Hottentot,  and  what  can  he  want 
have  to  say,  pulling  the  longest  possible  j  more?  The  idea  of  his  being  locked  up 
phiz,  '  my  dear  brother,  I  cocked  you  into  there  as  an  old  lunatic  is  rather  of  the  ra- 
a  madhouse,  in  order  of  course  to  swindle  ,  therest,  certainly;  but  he'll  soon  get  over 
you  out  of  your  property.  You  are  not  that.  And  then  they  shouldn't  have  such 
mad,  my  brother;  you  never  were  mad — I  laws.  Blister  the  laws!  they  make  it  posi- 
know  that  remarkably  well;  but  notwith-  lively  dangerous  for  a  man  to  be  safe.  There- 
standing  into  the  lunatic  den  you  were  fore,  henceforth,  lay  all  the  blame  upon  the 
thrust,  as  indeed  you  are  in  all  probability  laws,  and  let  him  remain.  I  don't  suppose 
aware.  Now,  I  really  am  sorry,  particu-  j  — I  can't  suppose  he  wants  for  any  comfort: 
larly  sorry;  I  have  sold  the  house,  sold  the  1 1  dare  say  they  treat  him  as  a  friend  of  the 
whole  of  the  furniture,  pocketed  the  pecuni-  I  family:  at  all  events  we  must  not  bring 
ary  chips  they  produced,  and  as  a  matter  of  upon  ourselves  an  uncomfortable  load  of 
course,  spent  those  chips  liberally.  My  j  starvation,  that's  clear." 


conscience,  however,  told  me  that  I  had 


Well, 


I   cannot  but  feel,"    said  Mrs. 

done  extremely  wrong,  and  that  I  ought  to  Goodman,  "  that  \\e  shall  never  be  happy 
release  you.  I  acted  upon  the  suggestions  •  again — that  we  shall  never  have  anything 
of  that  unhappy  wretch  of  a  conscience,  j  but  misery  and  ill  luck." 
and  released  you  accordingly;  and  now,  j  "And  what  sort  of  luck  would  that  be 
my  dear  brother,  having  acknowledged  my  i  which  reduced  us  to  a  state  of  destitution?" 
error,  I  throw  myself  upon  your  generosity.'  rejoined  Horace.  "  It  strikes  me  that  such 
Now  I  know  the  old  boy  pretty  well:  I  luck  would  be  extremely  rotten:  it  would 
know  him  to  be  occasionally  rather  of  the  not,  at  all  events,  be  particularly  brilliant; 
warmest;  but  leaving  what  he  would  be  ,  and  as  for  your  miseries!  compare  them 
likely  to  do  for  a  moment  out  of  the  ques-  with  the  miseries  with  which  abject  poverty 
tion,  I'll  just  explain  to  you  how  /should  teems,  and  then  say  no  more  about  it.  We 
act  in  a  case  of  the  kind  myself: — In  the  j  of  course  have  no  practical  knowledge  of 
first  place,  then,  I  should  secure  all  the  j  those  miseries;  but  it  occurs  to  me  that  they 
papers,  and  having  secured  them,  I  should  must  be  unpleasant  in  the  extreme.  It  is 
say,  '  Now  I  tell  you  what  it  is:  you're  my  j  true  that  if  we  were  thus  reduced,  the  old 

my  brother 
prospects  in 
room  before 

my  best  to  kick  you  into  the  autumn  of  next  bread  and  che'ese;  but  when  I  take  into  calm 

year;  and  if  ever  I  catch  you  near  my  house  consideration  all  the  rotten  ramifications  of 

again,  I  shall  consider  it  my  duty  on  purely  the   business,  I   really  don't  think  that  it 

public  grounds,  to  hunt  you  at  once  from  would  answer  our  purpose  so  well." 

society.'     'But  I  throw  myself  upon  your !  "No,  no,  no!"  cried  Walter,    "it  will 

generosity!'   you   would   exclaim,    '  I   am  not  bear  a  thought.     Come  what  may,  he 

sorry  for  what  I  have  done,  dear  brother:  I  must  remain  where  he  is." 

cannot  say  more!'     'Be  off!'  I  should  cry  And  to  this  opinion,  all   of  them  even- 

•with   certain  highly  appropriate   epithets,  tually  subscribed;  for,  although  their  dread- 

4  and  never,  by  any  chance,  let  me  see  you  ful  dreams  were  recounted,  and  interpreted 
again!'     That  I  should  hold,  without  any  j  according   to  the  best  book  of  fate,  when 

disguise,  to  be  about  the  most  generous  act  the  miseries  which  they  had  to  endure  then, 
of  my  life."                                                      |  were    fairly    weighed    with    those   \\liicli 

"  You   are   right;  you   are  right,"  said  Goodman's   release   would   entail,  it  was 

Walter,    "  quite   right.      No,   no,   no;    it  found  that  the  former  at  once  kicked  the 

won't  do.     I  am  sorry,  and  that's  a  fact,  beam,  and  were  therefore,  of  course,  to  be 

sincerely  sorry  I  went  so  far;  but  I  cannot  preferred. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


181 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


UNCLE  JOHN  ARRIVES  IN  TOWN,  AND  WITH    VALENTINE    ATTENDS   THE    CIVIC 
PAGEANT    AND    FEAST. 


ON  the  evening  appointed  for  Uncle  John's 
arrival,  Valentine  went  to  the  inn,  and 
the  very  first  man  whom  he  recognised 
there  was  the  waiter  who  had  exhibited  so 
laudable  an  anxiety  to  expel  the  invisible 
burglars.  Of  this  person  he  inquired  how 
they  eventually  acted  on  that  remarkable 
occasion;  and  from  him  he  ascertained  that 
it  was  generally  deemed  the  most  extraor- 
dinary thing  in  nature,  inasmuch  as,  not- 
withstanding one  policeman  paraded  the 
leads,  while  another  was  stationed  at  the 
coffee-room  door  throughout  the  night,  those 
burglarious  individuals  could  not  be  cap- 
tured. "  In  the  morning,"  continued  the 
waiter,  "  we  all  thought  they  were  still  in 
the  chimbley,  you  know,  and  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  you  know.,  I  had  a  hidea  that,  having 
been  smothered  in  smoke,  we  should  have 
found  'em  a  couple  of  corpses,  you  know; 
so  what  did  we  do,  but  we  sent  for  a  chim- 
bley sweeper's  boy,  who  went  up  for  to  see 
into  the  merits  of  the  case;  but  no,  not  a 
bit  of  it! — they  were  not  there — they  were 
nowhere!  However  they  managed  to  cut 
away,  you  know,  as  they  must  have  done 
some  how  or  another,  is  a  mystery  which 
can't  be  exploded." 

Valentine  smiled  at  the  recollection  of 
the  scene;  but  as  the  waiter  was  about  to 
give  additional  particulars,  the  coach  rattled 
into  the  yard.  There  sat  Uncle  John  upon 
the  box  by  the  side  of  Tooler,  and  Valen- 
tine, without  waiting  for  him  to  alight,  at 
once  leaped  upon  the  wheel  and  grasped 
his  hand. 

Uncle  John  was  for  a  moment  unable  to 
speak.  His  heart  was  far  too  full  of  joy; 
and  as  he  pressed  the  hand  of  his  nephew 
with  the  warmth  of  affection,  his  eyes  swam 
in  tears. 

"  I  am  so  pleased  to  see  you!"  said  Va- 
lentine. 

"  My  boy! — my  boy!"  cried  the  affec- 
tionate old  gentleman,  gazing  upon  him  as 
well  as  he  could  through  his  tears  with  an 
expression  of  ecstasy — "  God  bless  you! 
God  bless  you! — Why  how  you  have 
grown!"  he  continued  after  a  pause.  "Your 
poor  mother  would  scarcely  believe  her  own 
eyes!" 

"  She  is  well,  I  hope?" 

"  Oh,  yes:  quite  well!— quite  well!" — 
and  while  he  answered,  he  continued  to 
gaze  upon  his  "  boy"  in  the  fulness  of  af- 
fectionate pride.  He  was  then  so  happy 


that  it  singularly  enough  did  not  occur  to 
him  that  he  was  still  on  the  box:  nor  would 
it  in  all  probability  have  occurred  to  him 
for  the  next  half  hour,  had  not  Tooler  ad- 
dressed him  on  the  subject  of  his  lug- 
gage. 

"  Well,"  said  Valentine,  when  his  uncle 
had  alighted, ."  what  sort  of  a  journey  have 
you  had?" 

"  You  young  dog,  sir!"  exclaimed  Uncle 
John,  "  I  never  had  such  a  journey!  My 
life  has  been  in  jeopardy  all  the  way.  I 
have  as  nearly  as  possible  fallen  off  that 
box  twenty  times!  How  dare  you  serve  a 
man  as  you  served  poor  old  Tooler  the  day 
you  came  up,  sir?  He  has  told  me  all  about 
it.  I  know  that  it  was  you!  He  has  kept 
me  for  the  last  forty  miles  in  one  continual 
roar.  The  idea! — and  then  for  him  to  fancy" 
— here  he  again  began  to  laugh  with  so 
much  energy  and  spirit,  that  it  was  with 
difficulty  he  managed  to  point  out  his  an- 
cient portmanteau  and  trunk.  This  feat 
was,  however,  eventually  accomplished, 
and  the  coachman  came  up  ostensibly  with 
the  view  of  expressing  his  most  anxious 
solicitude,  having  reference  to  its  being  all 
right. 

"  Well,  Tooler,"  said  Valentine,  "how 
is  the  witch?" 

"  Oh! — Ah! — Yow  were  the  young  gen- 
elman  as  were  wi'  me  sir.  How  d'ye  due"? 
We  were  puty  nigh  makin  a  muddle  on't 
that  time,  sir,  warn't  we? — the  baggage!" 

"  Have  you  seen  her  of  late?" 

"  Oh  blarm  her  no,  not  very  lately;  nor 
don't  seems  to  want.  She  out  to  be  swum, 
sir! — that  ud  cule  her!" 

"  Get  away,  you  young  dog!"  said  Uncle 
John,  as  he  placed  a  half-crown  in  Tooler's 
hand;  when  as  Valentine  smiled,  and  as 
Uncle  John  laughed,  Tooler  stared  precise- 
ly as  if  he  was  unable  to  tell  the  meaning 
of  it  exactly,  while  Valentine  who  had  no 
disposition  to  enlighten  him  on  the  subject, 
directed  one  of  the  porters  to  call  a  coach, 
into  which  he  and  his  uncle  got  with  the 
luggage  without  any  unnecessary  delay. 

On  arriving  at  Valentine's  lodgings,  they 
found  that  everything  required  had  been 
duly  prepared  by  the  attentive  little  widow; 
the  fire  was  blazing  brightly;  the  tea  was 
quite  ready,  and  a  ham  which  had  been 
cooked  for  that  particular  occasion,  stood 
prominently  forward  embellished  with  an 
infinite  variety  of  devices  which  had  been 


182 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


cut  out  of  carrots  and  turnips  with  surpassing1 
ingenuity,  and  truly  artistical  taste.  Uncle 
John  looked  carefully  round  the  room,  and 
having  expressed  himself  satisfied  with  the 
whole  of  the  arrangements,  drew  the  sofa 
near  the  fire,  and  sat  deliberately  down  with 
the  air  of  a  man  having  no  other  object  in 
view  than  that  of  making  himself  quite  at 
home. 

After  tea,  Valentine  presented  him  with 
a  meerschaum,  which  he  had  purchased  ex- 
pressly for  that  occasion,  and  which  Uncle 
John  examined  and  appeared  to  prize  more 
highly  than  any  other  thing  in  his  possession. 
But  before  he  commenced  smoking,  he  in- 
sisted that  Valentine  should  enter  into  a 
compact  of  a  serious  character,  the  spirit  of 
which  was,  that  the  conversation  should  be 
confined  that  evening  to  the  extraordinary 
case  of  Goodman,  for  as  he  had  already 
laughed  enough  for  one  day,  he  contended 
that  he  could  not  endure  the  relation  of  any 
reprehensible  tricks.  This  was  accordingly 
understood  and  agreed  to,  and  on  the  subject 
of  Goodman's  absence,  they  therefore  con- 
versed. Uncle  John  felt  quite  sure  that  he 
should  be  able  to  find  him,  being  determined 
as  he  explained,  to  go  at  once  to  head-quar- 
ters, and  with  this  conviction  strongly  im- 
pressed upon  his  mind,  he  eventually  retired 
for  the  night. 

Now  it  happened  that  on  the  following 
morning  he  had  occasion  to  go  into  the  city, 
and  it  also  happened  that  that  very  morning 
was  the  morning  of  the  8th  of  November.  For 
the  city,  therefore,  immediately  after  break- 
fast, he  and  Valentine  started,  and  on 
reaching  Cheapside,  they  heard  Bow  church 
bells  ringing  very  merrily  and  firing  very 
fiercely,  and  hence  naturally  imagined  that 
some  civic  business  of  importance  was 
about  to  take  place.  They  had  not  pro- 
ceeded far  before  they  heard  a  lively  flourish 
of  trumpets,  and  saw  a  long  line  of  private 
carriages  approaching,  some  of  which  were 
extremely  gay,  preceded  by  certain  official 
individuals  on  horseback,  having  under 
their  immediate  surveillance  a  little  legion 
of  constables,  of  whom  the  majority  were 
zealously  occupied  in  striking  the  noses  of 
horses  attached  to  vulgar  vehicles  with 
their  staves,  and  commanding  their  drivers, 
in  a  duly  authoritative  tone,  to  get  out  of 
the  way  down  the  back  streets  at  once,  if 
they  wished  to  avoid  the  consequences  of 
their  official  displeasure. 

Of  course  Valentine  inquired  into  the 
meaning  of  all  this,  and  was  informed  thai 
the  newly  elected  lord  mayor  was  about  to 
be  sworn  into  office:  he  also  ascertained 
that  none  were  admitted  into  tin-  Guildhall 
to  witness  the  solemn  ceremony,  but  those 
who  had  orders.  "1  should  like  to  be  pre- 


sent exceedingly,"  said  he,  **  but  then  where 
are  these  orders  to  be  procured!" 

"  Probably,"  suggested  Uncle  John, 
"  we  shall  be  able  to  get  them  of  Clarkson, 
upon  whom  we  are  now  about  to  call." 

To  Clakson's  they  therefore  hastened, 
and  after  the  business  in  hand  had  been 
transacted,  Mr.  Clarkson  sent  out  for  an  or- 
der at  once. 

"  But  you  should  go  to  the  Lord  Mayor's 
dinner,"  said  that  gentleman,  when  the 
messenger  had  departed.  "  That  indeed 
would  be  a  treat  if  you  never  were  there." 

"  Is  it  possible,"  said  Uncle  John,  "  for 
any  but  members  of  the  corporation  to  be 
admitted  without  a  special  invitation?" 

"  Oh  dear  me,  yes!  You  have  but  to 
procure  a  ticket  of  an  alderman,  or  one  of 
the  common-council." 

"It  unfortunately  happens,  that  I  have 
not  the  honor  to  be  acquainted  with  any 
one  of  those  gentlemen,"  rejoined  Uncle 
John;  "  but  could  I  not  purchase  two,  for 
me  and  my  nephew,  by  applying  at  head 
quarters'?" 

"  They  are  not  to  be  purchased  there." 

"  I'd  give  ten  pounds  for  two  of  them  to 
any  man  with  pleasure." 

"  In  that  case,"  observed  Mr.  Clarkson, 
"  you  have  only  to  put  an  advertisement  to 
that  effect  into  one  of  the  morning  papers, 
to  be  gratified.  The  common-councilmen 
frequently  dispose  of  them  in  that  way. 
But,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  it  strikes  me 
that  there  is  a  chance  of  my  being  able  to 
get  them  without  any  such  expense.  It  is 
certainly  rather  late;  but  I'll  try — I'll  do  my 
utmost.  Leave  your  address.  I  think  that 
I  may  almost  venture  to  promise." 

"  My  dear  sir!"  cried  Uncle  John,  "you 
can't  conceive  how  much  obliged  to  you  I 
should  feel.  Why,  it  would  be  to  us  the 
highest  treat  in  nature!  Val,  write  the  ad- 
dress." 

This  was  accomplished  of  course  with 
great  alacrity,  and  the  messenger  having 
returned  with  the  order,  Uncle  John  again 
explained  how  highly  he  should  esteem  the 
promised  favor,  and  proceeded  with  Valen- 
tine at  once  to  Guildhall,  descanting  with 
due  eloquence  on  the  politeness  of  Mr. 
Clarkson. 

On  reaching  the  entrance,  they  found  it 
surrounded  by  a  number  of  constables,  who 
were  watching,  with  apparently  intense  in- 
terest, certain  groups  of  rather  suspicious- 
looking  young  gentlemen,  who  wore  their 
hats  over  their  eyes,  that  the  back  of  tlu-ir 
heads  might  be  sufficiently  well  aired,  and 
one  tastefully  inverted  curl  immediately 
over  each  templo.  \Yitlmut  riitrrinir.  how- 
ever, into  the  spirit  of  the  interest  thus 
created,  Uncle  John  submitted  the  order  to 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


183 


a  person  in  attendance,  and  they  proceeded 
at  once  into  the  body  of  the  Hall,  which 
then  assumed  an  appearance  very  different 
from  that  which  distinguished  it  when  Va- 
lentine imparted  apparently  speech  to  the 
civic  giants.  On  this  occasion,  a  great 
variety  of  banners,  shields,  and  other  insig- 
nia were  displayed  with  appropriate  taste 
in  all  directions;  and  while  on  the  left  a 
number  of  workmen  were  engaged,  some  in 
making  all  the  noise  they  deemed  essential 
to  the  manufacture  of  tables  and  forms,  and 
others  on  taking  the  mock  men  in  armor 
out  of  blankets,  with  the  view  of  placing 
them  in  the  various  niches  of  the  Hall;  on 
the  right  stood  between  three  and  four  hun- 
dred persons,  who  were  occupied  in  look- 
ing, with  great  apparent  curiosity,  at  about 
fifty  solemn  individuals,  in  gowns  trimmed 
with  fur,  who  were  sitting  with  appropriate 
grace  and  gravity  on  either  side  of  an  open 
space,  at  the  upper  end  of  which  stood  a 
large  arm  chair,  behind  an  ancient  and  dirty 
little  table. 

"  Who  are  those  gentlemen]"  inquired 
Valentine,  of  a  person  who  stood  near  him. 

^'The  common-councilmen,"  replied  that 
person;  "  they  are  waiting  for  the  Lord 
Mayor  and  aldermen,  who  are  now  in  the 
council  chamber  up  them  there  steps." 

At  this  interesting  moment,  sundry  high 
official  personages  ran  down  those  steps, 
and  after  bustling  backwarks  and  forwards, 
and  looking  very  mysterious,  ran  up  them 
again  with  great  presence  of  mind.  This 
proceeding  appeared  to  be  indicative  of 
something,  for  it  instantly  caused  many 
others'  to  bustle,  with  equal  dexterity  and 
tact,  and,  doubtless,  with  an  equally  high 
object  in  view. 

At  length  an  extremely  important  person- 
age made  his  appearance,  and  every  eye 
was  in  an  instant  directed  to  the  steps  down 
which  he  had  majestically  glided.  The 
noise  of  the  workmen  ceased — a  procession 
approached.  A  death-like  silence  pervaded 
the  hall:  the  suspense  was  truly  awful. 
The  style  in  which  the  mighty  individuals 
who  composed  this  procession  stepped  out, 
was  inconceivably  grand !  Solemnity  was 
the  chief  characteristic  of  each  look— im- 
portance was  perched  upon  each  ample 
brow.  Their  air  was  noble!  They  seemed 
to  feel  the  weight  of  their  respective  re- 
sponsibilities, albeit  they  bore  them  with 
dignity  and  ease.  Some  were  adorned  with 
violet  gowns,  richly  embellished  with  mas- 
sive chains  of  virgin  gold;  but  although 
some  had  gowns  without  any  such  embel- 
lishment, and  others  had  no  gowns  at  all, 
all  who  formed  the  procession  looked  equal- 
ly immense,  and  equally  resolved  to  inspire 
spectators  with  awe. 


Well !  on  arriving  at  that  part  of  the 
Hall,  in  which  the  grave  common-council- 
men  were  sitting  in  all  their  glory,  the  civic 
king,  who  was  about  to  abdicate,  proceeded 
majestically  to  the  chair.  He  really  ap- 
peared to  know  that  it  was  for  the  last  time, 
but  he  nevertheless  kept  up  his  spirits,  and 
absolutely  smiled  upon  all  around  with  sur- 
passing grace,  although  it  was,  beyond  dis- 
pute, an  extremely  trying  moment. 

It  may  have  been  in  all  probability  ob- 
served, that  when  mortals  do  any  thing  for 
the  last  time — conscious  of  its  being  for  the 
last  time — they  feel  it;  but  who  that  hath 
not  been  a  Lord  Mayor  himself,  can  appre- 
ciate the  feelings  which  rack  a  lord  mayor 
on  his  resigning  in  toto,  that  which  had 
for  years  been  placed  upon  the  pinnacle  of 
his  ambition]  It  was  suggested,  some  few 
years  ago,  that  it  was  hard  that  the  Mayor 
should  lose  his  title  with  his  office;  and  it 
is  hard,  very  hard,  particularly  hard! — the 
title  ought  to  be  retained.  To  be  addressed 
as  "my  lord,"  for  twelve  calendar  months, 
and  as  "  sir"  for  ever  after,  is  monstrous! 
But  this  matter  will  be  seen  in  the  right 
light  by-and-bye,  and  posterity  will  hold 
the  age  in  which  we  now  live,  to  be  one  of 
the  dark  ones  in  consequence.  However, 
be  this  as  it  may,  there  is  one  thing  quite 
clear,  and  that  is  this — that  the  Lord  Mayor, 
in  this  instance,  sat  for  the  last  time  in  the 
state  chair,  with  truly  admirable  resigna- 
tion, and  that  the  Lord  Mayor  elect,  who 
was  a  much  stouter  man,  sat  beside  him. 

Such,  therefore,  being  the  state  of  the 
case  then,  an  individual,  who  was  at  that 
time  yclept  the  common  crier,  walked  so- 
lemnly in  front  of  the  state  chair,  and  made 
an  extremely  profound  reverence,  with  the 
mace  upon  his  shoulder.  He  then  took 
three  very  graceful  steps,  and  made  an- 
other low  reverence,  and  then  three  steps 
more,  when,  having  made  another  reverence 
of  a  character  still  more  profound,  he  inge- 
niously made  the  mace  stand  upright  before 
the  table.  On  this  highly  appropriate  piece 
of  unspeakable  solemnity,  being  accom- 
plished to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  all  con- 
cerned, a  grave  personage,  who  rejoiced 
in  the  extraordinary  title  of  Town  Clerk, 
marched  in  front  of  the  state  chair,  and  after 
taking  nine  well-measured  steps,  halting 
three  times,  of  course,  to  make  three  very 
distinctly  marked  reverences  which  were 
quite  as  low  as  those  that  had  been  made 
by  the  Town  Crier — he  happily  arrived  at 
the  table,  when  the  Lord  Mayor  elect  most 
majesticaly  rose  with  a  view  to  the  recep- 
tion of  the  oaths. 

Those  oaths  were  administered;  and  when 
the  Lord  Mayor  elect  had  placed  his  signa- 
ture in  a  journal  expressly  provided  for  that 


1S4 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


purpose,  the  old  Lord  Mayor  left  the  chair, 
and  after  solemnly  approaching  the  new 
Lord  Mayor  and  taking  him  affectionately 
by  the  hand,  he  smiled  a  peculiarly  gracious 
smile,  said  an  encouraging  something,  hand- 
ed him,  with  unexampled  elegance  to  that 
seat  which  he  had  for  twelve  months  occu- 
pied with  honor  to  himself  and  advantage 
to  the  city,  and  sat  beside  him  amidst  a  loud 
clapping  of  hands,  which  was  at  once  very 
solemn  and  very  enthusiastic.  The  worthy 
aldermen  then  rose  with  all  the  dignity  at 
their  command,  for  the  purpose  of  congratu- 
lating the  new  civic  king,  and  shaking 
hands  with  his  lordship  individually,  and 
warmly,  and  when  this  had  been  gracefully 
and  satisfactorily  accomplished,  the  Cham- 
berlain—a person,  on  the  subject  of  whose 
solemnity  of  aspect  two  rational  opinions 
could  not  be  entertained,  stood  in  front  of 
the  new  Lord  Mayor  and  made  a  reverence, 
and  having  measured  the  distance  with  his 
eye,  took  four  steps — in  consequence  of  his 
steps  being  shorter,  although  his  legs  were 
longer  than  those  of  the  common  crier  and 
the  town  clerk,  who,  in  three  steps  got  over 
the  same  space  of  ground — and  made  another 
low  reverence;  and  then  he  took  four  steps 
more,  and  having  made  a  third  reverence, 
equally  profound,  he  presented  the  late 
Lord  Mayor  with  a  sceptre,  and  the  late 
Lord  Mayor  having  nothing  then  to  do  with 
it,  handed  it  over  to  the  new  Lord  Mayor, 
when  the  new  Lord  Mayor  returned  it  to 
the  Chamberlain,  who  placed  it  upon  the 
table  and  made  a  fourth  low  reverence,  and 
took  four  steps  backwards  to  make  a  fifth  low 
reverence,  and  then  four  steps  more  to  make 
a  sixth  low  reverence,  when  he  held  out  his 
hand  for  the  seal,  and  having  advanced  and 
retired  in  like  manner,  taking  the  same  num- 
ber of  steps,  and  making  the  same  number 
of  reverences,  he  gracefully  held  forth  his 
hand  for  the  purse,  with  which  the  same 
solemn  ceremony  was  performed,  with  this 
addition,  that  the  new  Lord  Mayor  did  shake 
the  purse  with  the  view  of  ascertaining  what 
was  in  it — a  proceeding  which  shocked  the 
grave  personages  present,  who  obviously 
held  it  to  be  a  species  of  levity  which  was, 
under  the  awful  circumstances  of  the  case, 
reprehensible  in  the  extreme. 

This  feeling,  however,  lasted  but  for  a 
moment,  and  the  Chamberlain  had  no  sooner 
finished  his  task,  which  ho  appeared  to  hold 
in  high  admiration,  than  the  junior  clerk  ad- 
vanced in  the  self-same  fashion,  but  with 
somewhat  less  grace  than  the  Chamberlain 
had  displayed,  and  having  taken  the  sceptre, 
seal,  and  purse  from  the  table,  retired,  step- 
ping backwards  as  a  matter  of  course,  and 
nr.iking  six  profound  reverences  altogether, 
when  another  individual  bearing  a  sword, 


which  seemed  to  be  within  an  inch  or  two 
as  long  as  himself,  advanced  and  presented 
it  to  the  late  Lord  Mayor,  who  presented  it 
to  the  new  Lord  Mayor,  who  returned  it  to 
the  individual  who  had  submitted  it  to  their 
notice,  and  who  retired  with  it  backwards, 
having  made  the  prescribed  number  of  re- 
verences with  a  tact  which  the  junior  clerk 
must  have  envied. 

This  was  all  very  solemn  and  very  inte- 
resting; but  Uncle  John  could  not  appreciate 
its  importance!  "What,"  said  he  in  a 
whisper,  "  what  in  the  name  of  reason  is 
the  use  of  it?  What  does  it  all  mean"!" 

Valentine  was  not  then  prepared  to  ex- 
plain either  its  use  or  its  connection  with. 
the  name  of  reason,  but  he  suggested  that 
the  probability  was  that  it  meant  something, 
and  hinted  at  the  possibility  of  those  rever- 
ences being  absolutely  essential  to  the  pre- 
servation of  the  city's  charter.  It  struck 
him,  however,  at  the  same  time  forcibly 
that  a  sufficient  number  of  reverences  had 
not  been  made,  for  he  remembered  that  at 
the  House  of  Commons  they  made  eighteen 
bows — that  is  to  say  three  to  every  four 
steps — whereas  here  they  had  made  but  six, 
which  amounted  to  a  clear  taking  off  of  two- 
thirds  of  the  solemnity. 

Thus,  however,  this  part  of  the  ceremony 
was  accomplished,  and  the  late  Lord  Mayor, 
when  the  bearer  of  the  sword  had  retired, 
rose  again  to  shake  hands  with  the  new 
Lord  Mayor,  when  the  aldermen  rose  for 
the  same  solemn  purpose,  then  the  whole 
of  the  common  councilmen,  and  then  the 
great  officers  of  the  various  companies,  and 
then  all  the  rest  of  the  functionaries  attach- 
ed to  the  corporation:  in  fine,  his  lordship 
was  shaken  by  the  hand  by  about  three  hun- 
dred individuals,  and  as  they  all  shook  as  if 
they  were  anxious  to  shake  his  hand  off,  his 
lordship,  immediately  after  the  operation, 
very  carefully  placed  his  right  hand  in  his 
bosom  with  a  view  to  the  eventual  restora- 
tion of  his  wrist,  when  the  whole  of  the 
ceremony  being  thus  completed,  he  and  the 
late  Lord  Mayor,  preceded  by  the  officers, 
and  followed  by  the  aldermen,  left  the  hall 
in  the  same  solemn  style  as  that  in  which 
they  had  entered. 

Uncle  John,  however,  still  thought  the 
whole  of  the  ceremony — with  the  exception 
of  the  process  of  administering  the  oaths — 
most  absurd.  He  did  not  approve  of  it:  he 
could  not  approve  of  it:  he  held  it  to  be  the 
most  foolishly  ridiculous  piece  of  mummery 
he  had  ever  beheld;  but  Valentine  suggested 
that  men  should  not  denounce  or  even  <1»  cm 
that  absurd,  the  utility  and  meaning  of 
which  they  could  not  understand.  "In 
those  reverences,"  said  he,  "  for  example, 
there  may  be  more,  much  more  than  meets 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


185 


the  eye.  Upon  them  the  rights  and  privi- 
leges of  the  citizens  may  for  aught  we  know 
entirely  depend.  But  independently  of  this, 
it  is  abundantly  clear  that  in  denouncing 
these  proceedings  as  mere  foolery,  we  de- 
nounce by  implication  as  fools,  all  by  whom 
these  proceedings  are  upheld,  and  we  must 
not  allow  it  to  escape  us,  that  we  are  now 
in  the  very  first  city  in  the  world,  the  most 
enlightened  spot  upon  the  face  of  the  globe, 
the  very  centre  of  civilisation.  We  there- 
fore ought  not  to  suppose  it  to  be  likely 
that  these  ceremonies,  however  ridiculous 
they  may  appear,  would  be  upheld  if  there 
were  not  something  in  them  of  a  solemn  and 
useful  character." 

Uncle  John  was  by  no  means  convinced 
of  the  soundness  of  this  argument  which  he 
fancied  at  the  time  had  been  seriously  ad- 
duced. He  felt  still  that  the  ceremony  was 
foolish,  and  although  he  would  not  go  so 
far  as  to  say  that  those  grave  and  enlight- 
ened looking  personages  whom  he  had  seen 
were  really  fools,  he  contended  that  they 
ought  to  repudiate  those  absurdities  as 
things  which  were  utterly  beneath  them. 

"But,"  said  Valentine,  although  he  quite 
agreed  with  Uncle  John,  "  if  we  even  ad- 
mit that  these  ceremonies  are  in  the  abstract 
absurd,  are  we  sure  that  it  is  not  expedient 
to  uphold  them?  Authority  must  not  be 
stripped  of  its  trappings;  and  as  the  world 
still  consents  to  be  deceived  by  ornament, 
the  universality  of  the  deception  forbids  the 
supposition  of  its  maintenance  being  utterly 
vain." 

"There  is  certainly  a  little  more  in  that," 
said  Uncle  John,  *'  and  I  suppose  we  should 
find  it  the  same  at  head-quarters;  but  I  must 
say  that  in  this  case  the  thing  has  been 
carried  a  little  beyond  bounds,  for  instead 
of  those  ceremonies  having  the  effect  of  in- 
spiring the  people  with  awe,  they  have  a 
tendency  only  to  excite  their  contempt;  and 
so  that  question's  settled."  And  as  Valen- 
tine permitted  it  to  be  thus  settled,  they  at 
once  left  the  hall;  but  as  Uncle  John  on 
reaching  Cheapside,  would  stop  to  inspect, 
minutely,  the  contents  of  almost  every 
shop-window,  their  progress  was  indeed 
but  slow.  They  did,  however,  eventually 
arrive  at  St.  Paul's  Church  Yard,  and  as 
they  perceived,  on  passing  the  north  door 
of  the  Cathedral,  that  it  was  about  half 
open,  Uncle  John  expressed  an  anxious 
wish  to  enter  the  noble  edifice,  and  having 
ascended  the  steps,  they  saw  the  door- 
keeper just  inside,  with  a  piece  of  cold 
meat  on  a  thick  slice  of  bread  in  one  hand, 
and  a  clasp  knife  of  really  assassinating 
dimensions  in  the  other. 

"Can  we  be  admitted]"  inquired  Valen- 
tine of  this  person. 
17 


"  Tuppence  each!"  said  the  fellow,  as  he 
unhooked  the  chain  which  held  the  door. 

"Two-pence  each!"  cried  Uncle  John, 
with  an  expression  of  indignation.  "  What 
do  you  mean,  sir1?  Here  is  my  card,  I 
demand  admittance!" 

"  It's  tuppence  each!"  repeated  the  door- 
keeper emphatically;  and  Valentine  drew 
out  his  purse. 

•'  By  no  means!"  said  Uncle  John,  re- 
straining him,  "  by  no  means.  It  is  not 
the  money  but  the  principle  at  which  I 
look.  It  is  a  monstrous  principle — a  princi- 
ple that  I  never  will  encourage;  it  being 
neither  more  nor  less  than  that  of  convert- 
ing the  House  of  God  into  a  twopenny 
exhibition.  It  is  perfectly  disgraceful," 
he  continued,  addressing  the  door-keeper. 
"Your  conduct  shall  be  known,  sir,  at 
head-quarters!" 

The  fellow  replaced  the  chain,  laughed, 
and  took  another  mouthful  of  bread  and 
meat,  as  Uncle  John  descended  the  steps 
with  Valentine,  descanting  with  due  elo- 
quence upon  the  monstrous  character  of  this 
truly  impious  species  of  extortion. 

They  now  proceeded  home,  where  they 
found  that  Mr.  Clarkson  had  already  sent 
the  tickets,  with  a  most  polite  note,  in 
which  he  strongly  recommended  them  to 
see  the  procession.  This  they  thought  ex- 
tremely kind.  Uncle  John  at  once  declared 
that  he  should  never  forget  it,  and  a  very 
considerable  portion  of  the  evening  was  in 
consequence  occupied  with  a  discussion, 
the  object  of  which  was  to  decide  which 
had  the  preponderance  in  the  world — good 
or  evil. 

In  the  morning,  immediately  after  break- 
fast, they  started  for  Guildhall,  and  London 
seemed  to  have  poured  the  whole  of  her 
artizans  into  the  city.  It  was  then,  and 
had  been  for  the  three  preceding  centuries 
at  least,  a  grand  day  for  the  sight-seers  of 
the  metropolis.  The  streets  through  which 
the  glorious  pageant  had  to  pass,  were 
densely  thronged  with  men,  women,  and 
children,  splashed  up  to  their  very  necks, 
while  the  windows  of  the  houses  on  either 
side  were  filled  with  gaily  dressed  persons, 
who  amused  themselves  by  making  the 
most  pleasing  observations  upon  those  who 
were  moving  below  them  in  the  mud. 

The  nearer  they  got  to  Guildhall,  the 
more  dense  the  crowd  became,  but  as  Uncle 
John  insisted  upon  going  to  "head-quar- 
ters,"  they  turned  into  King  Street,  and 
tried  with  desperation  to  thread  the  mortal 
labyrinth  there  established.  Uncle  John 
was,  however,  very  soon  out  of  breath,  for 
he  met  with  all  sorts  of  obstructions;  and  as 
those  obstructions  increased,  and  were  like- 
ly to  increase  as  he  proceeded,  he  wisely 


186 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


resolved  upon  seeking  some  spot,  in  which 
he  might  stand  comparatively  free  from 
annoyance. 

"  What  a  shame  it  is,  that  women  should 
bring  children  in  arms,"  said  he,  on  hearing 
a  female,  who  had  an  infant  at  her  breast, 
scolding  two  men  for  "  squeedging  her 
babby."  On  looking  round,  however,  he 
saw  that  by  far  the  greater  portion  of  the 
women  were  similarly  circumstanced,  and 
hence,  assuming  that  the  fact  might  have 
some  direct,  or  indirect,  connection  with  the 
privileges  peculiar  to  the  city,  he  said  no 
more  on  the  subject;  but  passed  on  at  once 
to  a  place,  in  which  they  felt  the  mighty 
pageant  might  be  viewed  without  any  seri- 
ous pressure. 

"The  sight  must,  I  should  say,  be  mag- 
nificent to  draw  such  a  multitude  together," 
observed  Valentine. 

44  Magnificent!"  exclaimed  Uncle  John, 
"  I  have  always  understood  it  to  be  the 
most  gorgeous  affair  the  imagination  of  man 
can  conceive!  But  we  shall  see.  I  don't 
pretend  to  understand  the  utility  of  it  exact- 
ly; but  I  expect  it  will  be  splendid.  We 
shall  see." 

The  crowd  now  increased  about  the  spot 
in  which  they  stood,  aud  all  were  naturally 
anxious  to  get  in  front.  "  Vill  you  be  so 
obleeging  as  to  let  my  little  boy  stand  afore 
you,  if  you  please,"  said  a  woman  address- 
ing Uncle  John. 

"By  all  means,  my  good  woman,"  and 
he  immediately  made  way  for  the  little  boy; 
but  the  moment  the  space  was  opened,  the 
good  woman  herself,  duly  followed  by  a 
knot  of  tall  coal-heaving  creatures,  rushed 
in,  and  thus  placed  Uncle  John  in  a  position 
in  which  he  could  not  see  at  all.  He,  there- 
fore, made  an  observation,  of  which  the 
purport  was,  that  such  a  proceeding  was  by 
no  means  polite:  and  the  coal-heavers  heard 
this  remarkable  observation;  and  it  struck 
them  as  being  so  novel  and  so  good,  thai 
they  enjoyed  it  exceedingly,  and  laughed 
very  loudly. 

Valentine,  there  fore,  drew  Uncle  John  to 
another  choice  spot,  in  which  they  waited 
with  due  patience  for  some  considerable 
time,  making  other  observations  of  an 
equally  remarkable  caste,  and  being  occa- 
sionally enlivened  by  sundry  loud  cries  ol 
"  Here  they  come!"  ' 

At  length  they  saw  a  mighty  rush,  and 
heard  the  trembling  trumpets  sound!  The 
effect  was  electric!  The  crowd  was  seized 
with  an  universal  thrill!  The  glorious 
pageant  was  on  the  move!  The  band  ap 
preached! — the  drums  rolled! — the  earth 
seemed  in  convulsions! 

An  immense  individual  on  horseback  now 
darted  about,  spurring  his  proud  steed  so 


lard  that  already  had  he  fretted  him  into 
such  a  dreadful  state  of  perspiration,  that 
lis  neck,  back,  and  haunches  were  covered 
with  white  steaming  foam. 

'That's  a  fool!  said  Uncle  John,  as  this 
person  galloped  backwards  and  forwards 
with  the  view  of  making  himself  as  con- 
spicuous as  possible.  "  He  ought  to  blush. 
That  horse  is  not  his  own;  or  if  it  be,  it's 
the  first  he  ever  had,  and  he  hasn't  had  it 
long.  He  seems  to  me  to  be  quite  new  in 
office:  hence  he  thus  frets  and  stews  that 
poor  animal  in  order  to  show  his  official 
assiduity." 

"  It's  essential  to  the  progress  of  the 
pageant,  no  doubt,"  observed  Valentine. — 
"  Depend  upon  it,  the  procession  couldn't 
get  along  without  him.  Behold  with  what 
elegance  he  bows! — and  see  those  respecta- 
ble coal-heavers  there,  how  gracefully,  with 
a  nod  of  recognition,  they  wave  their  lily 
hands.  He  has,  doubtless,  the  honor  of 
being  extremely  intimate  with  those  gentle- 
men."— And  away  the  great  officer  galloped 
again,  as  Uncle  John  boldly  declared  it  to 
be  his  unbought  and  unbiassed  opinion  that 
the  animal  must  very  soon  drop  down  dead. 

A  mounted  military  band  now  passed 
playing  fiercely;  then  came  a  mighty  host 
of  distinguished  individuals  in  blue  and 
yellow  caps,  and  pink  calico  gowns,  most 
appropriately  headed  by  an  extremely  dirty 
streamer,  the  arms  magnificently  emblazon- 
ed upon  which  might,  in  ancient  times,  in 
all  probability,  have  been  sensible  to  sight. 
The  first  of  these  warlike  creatures  groaned 
beneath  the  weight  of  a  mighty  scaffold  - 
pole,  of  which  the  circumference  at  its  base 
was  about  twenty  inches,  and  to  which 
were  attached  three  other  long  poles,  borne 
by  three  other  creatures  for  the  purpose  of 
keeping  the  mighty  one  steady;  but  despite 
all  their  efforts — which  were  really  very 
desperate,  ard  very  laudable — every  slight 
gust  of  wind  which  caught  the  glorious 
streamer,  made  them  stagger  like  warriors 
in  the  last  stage  of  lively  intoxication. 

"  What  do  they  make  those  poor  men 
carry  such  an  enormous  thing  as  that  for?" 
inquired  Uncle  John. 

"Doubtless,"  replied  Valentine,  "with 
a  view  to  the  maintenance  of  the  peculiar 
rights  and  privileges  of  the  city." — And 
other  hosts  passed  with  other  long  stream- 
ers, looking  equally  ancient  and  equally 
glorious;  and  after  a  line  of  glass-coaches 
— the  drivers  of  which  were  adorned  \\ith 
cockades  of  extraordinary  dimensions — 
there  came  a  mighty  warrior  clad  in  com- 
plete steel,  with  a  countenance  which,  while 
it  expressed  true  nobility  of  soul,  was  em- 
bellished with  whitening,  burnt  cork,  and 
vermilion.  He  was  mounted,  of  course,  on 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


187 


a  warlike  charger,  which  appeared  to  be 
endeavoring  to  understand  the  precise  mean- 
ing of  a  piece  of  steel  which  had  been  strap- 
ped in  front  of  his  head,  with  the  view  of 
imparting  to  him  the  semblance  of  an  uni- 
corn; but  the  warrior  himself  really  looked 
very  fierce,  very  noble,  and  very  uncom- 
fortable. 

"  What  is  that  fellow  for?"  inquired 
Uncle  John,  with  really  reprehensible  irre- 
verence. 

41  In  all  probability,"  replied  Valentine, 
"  to  fight  for  the  peculiar  rights  and  privi- 
leges of  the  city." 

"  To  fight! — and  there's  another  in  brass! 
Do  they  look  like  fighting  men]  A  cane 
would  be  sufficient  to  unhorse  them,  and 
what  would  they  have  it  in  their  power  to 
do  then?" 

This  was  clearly  a  very  ungracious  ob- 
servation, for  the  noble  warriors  tried  to 
look  as  desperate  as  possible  as  they  pass- 
ed, with  the  yeomen  of  the  guard — with 
remarkably  low  crowned  hats,  and  equally 
remarkably  high  plaited  frills — on  either 
side. 

The  late  Lord  Mayor  followed,  leaning 
back  in  his  carriage,  and  looking  very  grave 
and  very  gloomy.  His  chief  object  was  to 
conceal  himself  from  the  crowd  as  much  as 
possible,  and  this  is  acknowledged  univer- 
sally to  be  a  development  of  sound  discre- 
tion. Late  Lord  Mayors  are  seldom  popular 
with  the  mob.  In  the  performance  of  their 
high  functions,  they  are  called  upon  to 
punish  so  many,  that  were  they  to  make 
themselves  at  all  conspicuous,  they  would 
be  sure  to  be  popularly  recognised,  and  re- 
cognitions of  that  kind  are  at  all  times,  and 
on  both  sides  extremely  disagreeable. 

The  late  Lord  Mayor,  therefore,  passed 
in  solemn  silence,  without  apparently  wish- 
ing to  provoke  any  unpleasant  recollections, 
and  was  followed  by  six  individuals  who 
sported  very  highly  polished  pumps,  and 
very  delicate  French-white  silk  stockings, 
and  who,  as  they  walked  on  the  tips  of 
their  toes,  appeared  to  be  in  a  dreadful  state 
of  mind,  although  the  tact  and  dexterity 
with  which  they  all  hopped  from  stone  to 
stone,  were  truly  amazing.  They  took  no 
sort  of  notice  of  the  admiration  they  inspir- 
ed; and  as  for  raising  their  eyes  from  the 
mud!— they  wouldn't  have  looked  at  their 
own  mothers.  Their  whole  souls  seemed 
centered  in  the  one  great  and  glorious  object 
of  avoiding  the  innumerable  little  puddles 
in  the  road,  and  to  this  all  their  moral  and 
physical  energies  were  exclusively  devoted, 
while  they  bore  unbrellas — expecting  rain 
as  a  purely  natural  matter  of  course — with 
the  view  of  imparting  to  all  around,  the 
conviction,  that  a  smart  shower  only  was 


required  to  render  their  happiness  complete. 
On  that  great  occasion,  however,  this 
was  denied  them.  They,  nevertheless, 
passed  on  in  peace,  and  were  immediately 
followed  by  the  chief  object  of  attraction, 

THE    RIGHT    HONORABLE    THE    LORD    MAYOR! 

There  sat  his  Right  Honorable  Lordship,  in 
that  extremely  unique  and  notorious  ma- 
chine, yclept  by  the  vulgar  the  "civic state 
carriage,"  scarcely  knowing  what  to  make 
of  it,  and  looking  as  fascinating,  and  bow- 
ing as  grotesquely  as  possible,  while  two 
important  personages  sat  looking  out  of  the 
windows,  apparently  with  the  view  of  ex- 
citing loud  laughter,  their  prominent  cha- 
racteristics being  really  so  droll. 

"  Hooray!"  exclaimed  a  mob  of  very  dirty 
individuals  on  the  left  of  Uncle  John. 
"  Hooray!"  His  Right  Honorable  Lord- 
ship smiled  graciousiy,  and  bowed  with 
excessive  dignity,  and  looked  very  happy, 
and  very  healthy.  The  sight  was  glorious! 
— but  as  this  machine  wound  up  the  pageant, 
it  had  no  sooner  passed  than  Uncle  John 
began  to  swell  with  indignation.  "Is  it- 
can  it  be  possible?"  he  exclaimed,  "  that 
this  trumpery,  pitiful,  gingerbread  business, 
should  have  induced  so  many  thousands  of 
persons  to  leave  their  homes  to  be  knocked 
about,  insulted,  and  covered  with  rnud! 
Why,  it  is  beyond  dispute,  the  most  vile 
and  contemptible  piece  of  mummery  I  ever 
witnessed.  Is  this,  forsooth,  your  most 
enlightened  city  in  the  world?  What  is  the 
object  of  it — what  does  it  all  mean?  As 
true  as  I'm  alive  it's  the  most  paltry,  the 
most  absurd,  unmeaning,  tin-pot  piece  of 
foolery,  the  most  ridiculous,  disgraceful — 
I've  been  robbed!"  he  continued,  thrusting 
his  hand  into  his  pockets.  *•  I've  been 
plundered! — they've  stolen  my  handker- 
chief." 

"  Nothing  else?"  inquired  Valentine. 

Uncle  John  felt  in  the  whole  of  his  pockets 
at  once,  and  then  searched  them  seriatim, 
and  then  said:  "  No — no — nothing  else. 
But  then  what  could  I  expect?  If  the 
object  were  to  draw  together  multitudes  of 
thieves,  it  were  utterly  impossible  to  con- 
ceive a  better  plan.  Nothing  in  life  could 
be  more  directly  calculated  to  give  the  pick- 
pocketting  scoundrels  full  swing.  It  is  fit 
for  nothing  else  in  the  world.  The  au- 
thorities, and  those  who  uphold  or  even 
fail  to  denounce  it,  ought  to  blush." 

"  But  how  can  you  conceive  it  to  be  pos- 
sible," urged  Valentine,  "  for  the  dignity 
of  the  city  to  be  upheld  without  it?" 

"The  dignity  of  the  city!"  echoed  Uncle 
John  contemptuously,  "Don't  tell  me  that 
the  dignity  of  the  city  can  be  upheld  by 


188 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


such  an  atrocious  and  trumpery  mockery  as 
this.  It  is  an  absolute  disgrace  to  the  city. 
Jt  tends  to  bring  every  thing  bearing  the 
semblance  of  dignity  into  contempt.  It  is 
amazing,  that  the  people  at  head-quarters 
should  sanction  so  childish  an  exhibition. 
There  is  not  a  spark  of  reason  in  it— nothing 
to  save  it  from  ridicule,  or  to  qualify  con- 
tempt. It  is  pardonable  certainly  under 
the  circumstances  that  we  came;  but  if  it 
were  possible  for  any  man  living  to  prevail 
upon  me  to  witness  such  a  display  of  tom- 
foolery twice,  I  should  never  forgive  myself 
— never!  If  they  must  go  to  Westminster, 
let  them  go  like  men — but  come  along  my 
boy,  come  along." 

"  But  you'll  go  and  see  the  pageant  on 
the  water?"  said  Valentine. 

"  /  see  the  pageant  on  the  water!"  ex- 
claimed Uncle  John,  "  No,  no;  I've  had 
enough  of  it,  more  than  enough;"  and  having 
called  the  first  coach  that  came  in  sight, 
they  at  once  proceeded  home. 

Valentine  was  highly  amused  at  the  in- 
dignation displayed  by  Uncle  John.  He 
regarded  it  as  a  sort  of  compensation  for 
the  disappointment  he  had  experienced,  and 
he  could  not  disguise  from  himself  that  he 
had  been  disappointed,  for  instead  of  the 
procession  being  magnificent,  as  he  cer- 
tainly expected  it  would  have  been,  he  held 
it  to  he  a  most  senseless  affair,  and  won- 
dered quite  as  much  as  Uncle  John,  how 
the  grave  authorities  of  the  City  of  London 
could  uphold  a  species  of  mummery  so 
wretched. 

"•  Well!"  said  Uncle  John,  on  reaching 
home,  "  we  will  go  at  all  events  and  see  the 
end  of  this  business;  but  if  the  banquet  be 
conducted  in  asmilarstyle,  I  shall  set  down 
the  great  corporation  of  London  at  once  as 
a  great  corporation  of  fools."  And  having 
thus  expressed  his  sentiments  on  the  sub- 
ject, he  began  to  bustle  about,  and  con- 
tinued to  be  particularly  busy  until  the  time 
for  starting  had  arrived,  when  they  sent  for 
a  coach,  and  set  off  for  Guildhall,  with  no 
very  magnificent  anticipations. 

On  entering  the  hall,  Uncle  John  was, 
however,  so  struck  with  the  dazzling 
splendor  of  the  scene,  that  Valentine  could 
scarcely  get  him  along.  "  Well,"  said  ho, 
"  this  is  indeed  very  brilliant.  It  makes  up 
for  all.  They  could  produce  nothing  better 
than  this  at  head-quarters." 

Valentine  assented  at  once  to  this  opinion, 
but  urged  him  again  to  proceed,  and  after 
an  immense  deal  of  pulling  and  persuasion, 
he  succeeded  in  seating  him  at  one  <>l  the 
tables,  when  he  explained  that  ho  was  at 
that  moment  perfectly  happy. 

This  was  pleasant;  and  when  the  cere- 


mony of  receiving  the  distinguished  guests 
had  been  duly  accomplished,  the  tables 
began  to  crack  beneath  the  weight  of  im- 
mense tureens:  and  when  grace  had  been 
said  with  due  solemnity  and  force,  the 
guests  commenced  operations  in  the  twink- 
ling of  an  eye. 

Uncle  John,  however,  at  first  felt  quite 
nervous.  The  scene  had  so  excited  him, 
that  jt  was  not  until  he  had  been  challenged 
by  several  gentlemen,  with  extraordinary 
politeness  and  grace,  that  he  was  able  to 
enjoy  himself  at  all.  The  wine,  however, 
very  soon  braced  up  his  nerves  by  placing 
him  on  somewhat  better  terms  with  himself, 
and  he  began  to  feel  perfectly  at  home,  and 
succeeded  in  eating  an  excellent  dinner,  and 
freely  expressed  his  sentiments  on  the  chief 
characteristics  of  the  banquet,  and  conversed 
with  much  eloquence  and  warmth  with 
several  exceedingly  communicative  persons, 
who  politely  pointed  out  the  most  distin- 
guished of  the  guests — an  operation  in  the 
performance  of  which,  most  men  experience 
peculiar  pleasure. 

Well!  in  due  lime  the  Lord  Mayor  com- 
menced the  list  of  toasts,  and  the  speeches, 
cheers,  and  glees  which  succeeded  were  sa 
enlivening  and  appropriate,  that  they  seemed 
to  impart  universal  delight. 

But  it  happened  that  at  that  particulur 
period  of  British  history,  the  Ministers  of 
the  Crown  were  extremely  unpopular  with 
!  the  party  to  which  their  immediate  official 
predecessors  belonged — a  fact  which  is  of 
so  striking  and  extraordinary  a  character, 
that  it  becomes  highly  correct  to  record  it 
in  these  adventures.  They  were  remarka- 
bly unpopular  with  that  particular  party; 
but  as  it  was  usual  on  such  occasions  for 
the  Ministers  of  the  Crown  to  be  invited, 
all  who  happened  at  the  time  to  be  in  Lon- 
don, notwithstanding  their  extreme  unpopu- 
larity, came,  and  moreover  the  health  of 
those  Ministers  of  the  Crown,  was  placed 
on  the  list  of  toasts. 

Now  Valentine  knew  something  of  the 
power  of  party  spirit.  He  knew  that  prin- 
ciple and  honor  were  perpetually  sacrificed 
at  its  shrine.  In  the  town  in  which  he  was 
born,  he  had  witnessed  it  rising  upon  the 
ruins  of  friendship  and  affection;  and  had 
found  it  in  the  metropolis  to  be  equally 
powerful,  and  equally  pernicious.  The  little 
experience  he  had  had  of  its  effects,  had 
hence  inspired  him  with  the  conviction  of 
its  being  alone  sufficiently  powerful  to  sub- 
vert almost  every  generous  fueling  by  which 
men  are  actuated;  but  he  wondered  if  it 
were  possible  for  its  dovelopement  to  be  in- 
due, d  then-,  where  so  many  of  the  first  men 
of  the  age — men  distinguished  fur  wealth, 
probity,  and  wisdom— had  assembled,  and 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


189 


where  joy  and  good  fellowship  seemed  to 
be  in  the  ascendant. 

He  looked  round:  they  all  appeared  hap- 
py. The  dark  passions  were  subdued. 
Envy,  hatred,  malice,  and  all  uncharitable- 
ness  seemed,  for  the  time  being,  by  common 
consent,  to  be  extinguished.  They  had  as- 
sembled for  no  party  purpose;  but  with  a 
view  to  the  cultivation  of  those  feelings 
which  impart  a  zest  to  life,  and  which  bind 
man  to  man.  Every  heart  seemed  open — 
every  hand  seemed  ready  to  give  and  to 
receive  the  warm  pressure  of  friendship. 
It  appeared  to  be  a  moment  peculiarly 
adapted  for  the  reconciliation  of  friends  who 
had  become  enemies,  their  hearts  seemed 
so  ardent — their  feelings  so  pure. 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  however,  Va- 
lentine determined,  for  his  own  satisfaction, 
on  trying  the  experiment.  He  inclined  to 
the  opinion,  that  the  slightest  manifestation 
of  party-spirit  would,  at  such  a  time,  be 
treated  as  so  great  an  indignity,  that  it 
would  instantly  be  drowned  in  enthusiastic 
cheers,  in  which  men  of  all  parties  would 
readily  join;  but  in  order  to  test  the  sound- 
ness of  this  opinion  he  resolved,  neverthe- 
less, when  the  time  came,  to  manifest  some 
slight  disapprobation,  just  sufficient  to  make 
it  understood,  and  no  more. 

Accordingly,  when  in  due  course  the 
Lord  Mayor  rose  with  the  view  of  propos- 
ing the  health  of  the  Ministers,  Valentine, 
the  very  moment  their  names  were  an- 
nounced, sent  a  sound  along  the  table, 
which  amounted  to  no  more  than  a  mur- 
muring buzz.  In  an  instant  the  demon  of 
party  arose!  That  sound,  slight  as  it  was, 
was  hailed  as  the  signal  for  confusion. 
Every  countenance  changed  as  if  by  magic. 
They  of  the  Ministerial  party  applauded 
with  unparalleled  vehemence;  while  they 
of  the  opposition  hissed  and  groaned  like 
tortured  fiends. 

The  Lord  Mayor  knit  his  brows  and 
pursed  his  lips,  and  looked  very  indignant. 
His  exertions  to  restore  order  were  despe- 
rate but  ineffectual.  In  vain  he  denounced 
it  as  an  irregular  proceeding.  Innumerable 
were  his  efforts  to  convince  them  of  its 
being  one  of  which  he  did  not,  and  could 
not,  and  ought  not  to  approve.  The  oppo- 
sition would  not  hear  him.  The  party 
tocsin  had  been  sounded,  and  it  proved  the 
knell  of  peace.  They  who  a  moment  be- 
fore seemed  so  happy  and  so  joyous,  were 
now  in  fierce  contention,  their  bosoms 
swelling  with  party  spite. 

At  length,  however,  the  action  of  the 
Mayor  was  so  extremely  energetic,  that  it 
produced  an  effect  which  enabled  him  to 
make  a  few  additional  observations,  which 
were  really  very  just  and  very  much  to  the 


purpose;  but  the  moment  the  Premier  rose 
with  his  colleagues,  with  a  view  to  the 
simple  acknowledgment  of  the  toast,  the 
frantic  sounds  which  assailed  them  were 
comparable  only  with  those  which  Valen- 
tine had  heard  in  the  House  of  Commons. 
Had  the  Ministers  been  fiends,  the  oppo- 
sition could  not  have  expressed  a  greater 
amount  of  indignation:  had  they  been  gods, 
the  ministerialists  could  not  with  greater 
enthusiasm  have  cheered  them. 

They  nevertheless  still  kept  their  ground 
and  that  with  just  as  much  cahnness  as  if 

Premier 
and  his 


they  had   been   used  to  it.     The 
slightly  smiled  at  his  colleagues 


colleagues  smiled  slightly  at  him.  This 
seemed  to  enrage  the  opposition  still  more; 
but  the  louder  they  manifested  their  senti- 
ments on  the  subject,  the  louder  were  the 
sentiments  of  the  Ministerialists  expressed. 
The  Lord  Mayor  again  rose,  and  the  oppo- 
sition seemed  to  groan  even  at  him,  when 
Uncle  John  deeming  that  most  atrocious, 
started  up  and  cried  *•  shame!"  with  an  ex- 
pression of  indignation  which  nothing  else 
could  match. 

Valentine,  however,  immediately  drew 
him  down,  and  begged  of  him  earnestly  not 
to  interfere;  but  Uncle  John  could  not  en- 
dure it.  "  The  ingrates!"  he  cried,  "  thus 
to  groan  at  head -quarters  after  having  been 
swelled  out  as  they  have  been,  and  that 
with  all  the  delicacies  of  life!  It's  really 
monstrous!" 

"  It  is,  it  is,  I  know  it  is,"  said  Valen- 
tine, "  but  don't  interfere." 

Uncle  John  shook  his  head  very  fiercely; 
he  was  very  indignant;  and  the  Lord  Mayor 
said  something  which  could  not  be  heard; 
but  which  appeared  to  be  generally  under- 
stood to  be  very  severe,  for  it  had  the  effect 
of  somewhat  subduing  the  most  noisy;  but 
the  moment  the  Premier  opened  his  lips  to 
address  them,  the  opposition  recommenced 
operations,  and  the  conflict  between  them 
and  the  ministerialists  became  far  more 
desperate  than  ever. 

**  Silence!  You  wretches!19  exclaimed 
Uncle  John. 

"Uncle!  Uncle!"  cried  Valentine,  pull- 
ing him  down,  "  they'll  take  you  for  one  of 
the  opposition!" 

"  Let  them!"  returned  Uncle  John.  "  Let 
them  take  me  for  one  of  the  opposition;  I  am 
one  of  the  opposition;  but  I'd  scorn  to 


opposition; 
pose  men  in  this  cowardly  way." 


op- 


The  Lord  Mayor  a^ain  rose,  and  with 
most  indignant  emphasis  said,  "  really;"— 
but  as  this  was  all  the  opposition  suffered 
him  to  say,  he  at  once  resumed  his  seat 
with  a  look  very  strongly  indicative  of 
anger. 

It  became  quite  impossible  now  for  Uncle 

17* 


190 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


John  to  remain  quiet.  He  kept  fidgetting 
about,  grinding  his  teeth,  and  biting  his 
lips,  and  exclaiming  as  he  clenched  his 
fists,  "  oh!  I  should  like  to  be  at  some  of 
them  dearly!"  He  put  it  to  those  around 
him,  whether  it  were  not  most  disgraceful, 
and  their  affirmative  replies  made  him  in- 
finitely worse.  Had  they  wisely  dissented, 
they  might  have  calmed  him  at  least  in  so 
far  as  to  induce  him  to  argue  the  point,  but 
as  the  case  stood,  Valentine  found  it  impos- 
sible to  restrain  him. 

"If,"  said  the  Premier,  with  really  ad- 
mirable coolness  and  self-possession,  taking 
advantage  of  a  temporary  lull:  "  If  the  gen- 
tlemen will  only  be  silent  for  one  moment — " 
No! — They  would  not  be  for  one  moment 
silent:  they  recommenced  groaning  like 
furies,  and  this  of  course  again  induced 
thunders  of  applause. 

"Where  are  these  groaners1?"  thought 
Valentine.  He  could  hear  them  distinctly 
enough,  but  couldn't  see  them.  "  Are  they 
all  Ventriloquists'?" 

His  attention  was  at  this  particular  mo- 
ment directed  to  an  elderly  individual  whose 
mouth  was  apparently  closed.  He  watched 
him  narrowly.  He  was  straining  at  some- 
thing. His  face  was  remarkably  red,  and 
while  his  eyes  appeared  to  be  in  the  act  of 
starting  from  their  sockets,  he  was  obvi- 
ously perspiring  with  infinite  freedom. 
Could  he  be  a  groaner?  He  was!  He  was 
then  hard  at  work:  no  man  could  have  been 
more  zealous  although  he  kept  his  eyes 
fixed  wilh  surpassing  firmness  upon  the 
table  as  if  watching  the  evolutions  of  some 
very  minute  natural  curiosity,  and  apparent- 
ly noticing  no  other  thing. 

"Shame!"  cried  Valentine,  throwing  his 
voice  dexterously  behind  this  indefatigable 
person,  who  turned  sharply  round,  bein<r 
duly  apprehensive  of  detection,  but  as,  con- 
trary to  his  lively  anticipations,  he  saw  no 
one  there,  he  very  wisely  returned  to  his 
interesting  task,  which  really  seemed  to  af- 
ford him  unspeakable  pleasure. 

"  I  see  you,"  said  Valentine,  throwing  his 
voice  again  just  behind  the  individual  in 
question,  and  again  he  looked  round  with 
an  expression  of  intense  interest;  but  as  of 
course  he  could  see  no  one  near  him,  he 
a p p< -;i rod  to  regard  it  as  by  far  the  most 
astonishing  circumstance  that  ever  occur- 
red to  him  during  the  whole  cours-e  of  his 
life.  "I  see  you!"  repeated  Valentine, 
which  was  really  the  fact:  he  saw  him  in  a 
State  of  amazement  the  most  remarkable  he 
ever  beheld.  The  individual  seemed  not  to 
know  at  all  what  to  make  of  it.  He  d  It 
that  surely  he  could  not  be  mistaken,  th.it 
surely  he  had  heard  some  one  speak,  and 
that  surely  he  was  at  that  moment  under  no 


direct  or  indirect  supernatural  influence! — 
and  yet,  where  was  the  man  who  had  ad- 
dressed him?  This  was  a  mystery  which 
he  had  by  no  means  the  ability  to  solve, 
but  it  had  the  effect  of  inducing  him  to  be 
silent,  although  the  groaning  in  other  quar- 
ters was  as  fierce  as  before. 

The  opposition,  however,  were  not  alone 
to  be  blamed.  The  ministerialists  them- 
selves were  highly  culpable.  Had  they 
left  the  groaning  people  to  pursue  that  great 
course,  which  appeared  to  inspire  them 
with  so  much  delight,  unmolested;  had 
they  been  content  with  giving,  at  the  com- 
mencement, three  glorious  rounds  of  en- 
thusiastic cheers,  and  then  leaving  the 
groaners  to  themselves,  the  confusion  might 
thus  have  been  avoided.  But  this  they 
would  not  do.  They  would  have  a  battle. 
They  seemed  to  be  prompted  by  some  eter- 
nal, and  essentially  cabalistic  principle,  to 
beat  them.  They  would  make  more  noise: 
and  they  did  make  more  noise:  they  made 
ten  times  more  noise  than  the  groaners.  It 
was  they  who  would  not  let  the  Premier 
speak:  it  was  they  who  drowned  the  voice 
of  the  Lord  Mayor.  The  groaners  could 
never  have  stopped  the  speeches  them- 
selves, and  of  this,  the  ministerialists  ap- 
peared to  be  conscious,  for  they  lent  them 
throughout  their  most  powerful  aid. 

It  is  a  fact,  which  may  in  all  probability 
be  held  to  be  extraordinary,  that  the  slight- 
est sound  of  disapprobation,  if  persevered 
in,  is  sufficient  to  create  in  an  assembly, 
however  honorable  and  enlightened,  univer- 
sal confusion;  but  there  is  yet  another  fact, 
which  is  not  perhaps  of  quite  so  extraordi- 
nary a  character,  but  which  is  this — that 
Constant  straining,  to  state  it  shortly,  will 
in  fulness  of  time  produce  exhaustion;  and 
the  moment  a  practical  illustration  of  that 
fact  was  in  this  particular  instance  afforded, 
the  Lord  Mayor,  who  was  a  manly  and 
rather  a  handsome  individual,  again  rose, 
and  said  very  properly,  and  very  energeti- 
cally, "  that  he  and  the  sheriffs  had  not 
been  treated  as  they  expected." 

"Of  course  not!"  exclaimed  Uncle  John, 
who  very  seriously  thought,  that  as  every 
thing  had  been  provided  in  a  style  the  most 
delicate,  and  the  most  sumptuous,  from  the 
two  hundred  and  lifiy  tureens  of  real  turtle 
to  the  several  hundred  thousand  plates  of 
pippins,  such  treatment  was  monstrous  in 
tin-  extreme. 

The  Lord  Mayor  said  no  more:  lie  re- 
sumed his  seat  with  dignity,  hut  still  with 
an  expression  of  noble  indignation,  and  that 
expression  was  hailed  \\itli  loud  ei 
but  the  moment  the  Premier — win)  with  his 
colleagues  still  manfully  maintained  his 
position— re-opened  his  lips,  the  opposi- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


191 


tion,  who  felt  themselves  bound  to  produce 
the  next  harmony,  favored  the  company 
with  a  little  more  groaning.  The  minis- 
terialists again  knew  their  cue,  and  they 
again  set  to  work  as  one  man,  and  did  real- 
ly succeed  in  the  production  of  the  greatest 
amount  of  noise  that  ever  issued  from  a  cor- 
responding number  of  human  throats.  Nor 
were  they  content  with  vocal  music.  By 
no  means.  They  beat  the  tables  with  all 
the  energy  of  young  drummers,  while  Uncle 
John  was  striking  that  at  which  he  was  sit- 
ting with  the  force  of  a  Cyclops. 

The  glasses  danced  with  peculiar  anima- 
tion, and  shook  out  the  wine  that  was  in 
them  that  they  might  do  it  with  all  possible 
effect;  and  while  the  pippins  seomed  to 
fancy,  that  they  had  been  magically  meta- 
morphosed into  marbles,  the  dishes  they 
had  deserted  rattled  after  them  fiercely, 
with  the  apparent  view  of  convincing  them 
that  such  was  not  the  fact. 

The  Lord  Mayor  now  appeared  to  be  some- 
what more  tranquil.  It  seemed  to  have  struck 
him  with  peculiar  force,  that  it  was  perfectly 
useless  to  manifest  anger.  There  the  belli- 
gerents were:  some  were  hissing,  some  were 
groaning,  some  were  shouting,  and  some 
were  laughing,  while  others  were  indig- 
nantly fidgetting  about  and  explaining  what 
they  thought  of  the  matter  on  the  whole. 
It  was  impossible  therefore  for  his  lordship 
to  do  any  good  by  being  angry.  He  could 
not  by  such  means  quell  the  riot.  He 
seemed  to  feel  this  forcibly,  and  hence, 
quite  conscious  of  having  done  all  he  had 
the  power  to  do,  he  very  wisely  made  up 
his  mind  that  it  was  a  duty  incumbent  upon 
him  as  a  magistrate,  as  a  mayor,  and  as  a 
man,  to  endure  it  all  with  the  most  perfect 
resignation. 

The  Premier  stood  like  a  smiling  statue. 
He  was  anxious  to  have  it  distinctly  un- 
derstood, that  if  they  conceived  him  to  be 
the  man  to  sit  down,  before  he  had  said 
what  he  had  to  say,  they  were  dreadfully 
mistaken.  He,  there/ore,  stopd  as  firmly  as 
a  rock,  and  continued  thus  to  stand,  until 
the  majority  of  those  who  were  engaged  in 
the  conflict,  displayed  unequivocal  symp- 
toms of  exhaustion,  when  taking  advantage 
of  that  interesting  moment,  he  managed  to 
say  something,  which  appeared  to  have 
some  slight  reference  to  the  army  and  navy, 
and  resumed  his  seat  boldly  and  instanta- 
neously, amidst  an  unexampled  burst,  com- 
posed of  hisses,  cheers,  and  groans. 

This,  however,  m  a  very  few  minutes 
subsided,  and  the  glorious  conflict  was  over. 
The  opposition  party  prided  themselves  on 
having  produced  it,  and  the  ministerialists, 
with  equal  pride,  felt  that  they  had  had 
the  best  of  it  on  the  whole.  The  Lord 


Mayor  expressed  his  sentiments  on  the  sub- 
ject to  those  around  him,  and  those  around 
him  expressed  theirs,  with  due  eloquence 
and  point:  in  fact,  every  man  present — not 
excluding  the  professional  individuals  in  the 
orchestra — was  on  this  subject  warmly  con- 
tributing to  the  universal  buzz,  which  for  a 
long  time  pervaded  the  Hall. 

Valentine  really  was  very  much  annoyed 
at  having  tried  the  experiment.  He  con- 
tended within  himself,  that  he  ought  to 
have  known  that  party  spirit  was  sure  to 
develop  itself,  whenever  an  opportunity 
arose;  it  mattered  not,  whether  it  were  in 
the  senate,  the  banqueting  hall,  or  the 
church.  He  was,  therefore,  by  no  means 
content:  for  although  he  was  perfectly  con- 
scious, that  they  who  had  permitted  them- 
selves to  be  so  powerfully  influenced  by 
party  feelings  at  such  a  time,  and  on  such 
an  occasion,  ought  to  blush;  he  felt,  never- 
theless, that  he  had  awakened  those  feel- 
ings; that— although  it  had  all  been  accom- 
plished by  a  murmur — he  had  converted  a 
joyous  happy  scene  into  one  of  malicious 
confusion. 

The  mischief,  however,  had  been  done, 
and  as  he  thought  that  it  was,  therefore,  ex- 
tremely impolitic  to  vex  himself  any  more 
about  the  matter  then,  he  turned,  with  the 
view  of  diverting  the  current  of  his  thoughts 
to  some  more  agreeable  subject,  and  found 
Uncle  John  fast  asleep!  He  had  been  beat- 
ing the  table  with  so  much  energy,  and 
shouting— order!  silence!  and  shame! — with 
such  extraordinary  zeal,  that  he  had  become 
quite  exhausted;  and  there  he  sat  with  folded 
arms,  his  soul  sealed  to  the  consciousness 
of  care,  and  his  lips  pouting  perfect  content- 
ment, while,  as  he  nodded,  nature  gave  him 
an  occasional  jerk,  with  the  sublime  view 
of  keeping  him  up. 

"  Uncle!"  said  Valentine,  shaking  the 
sleeper,  who  murmured  and  nodded,  and 
went  to  sleep  again.  "  Uncle!"  he  con- 
tinued, "  Do  you  know  where  you  are?" 

The  sleeper  was  unable,  at  that  precise 
moment,  to  tell  whether  he  really  did  or  not, 
but  he  opened  his  eyes  in  order  to  satisfy 
himself  on  the  subject,  and  then  said: — 
"  Why,  bless  me!  I'd  no  idea  that  1  was 
asleep!  not  the  slightest!  I  hope  no  one 
noticed  it]  Dear  me!  it's  highly  incorrect; 
very  wrong — very  wrong.  But  I'm  all 
right  now — as  wide  awake  as  I  was  in  the 
morning.  Well !  they  have  settled  it  I  see: 
you  have  had  no  more  disturbance!" 

"  No,"  replied  Valentine;  "  but  look  at 
the  people:  how  dull  they  all  are!  The 
Lord  Mayor  has  been  laboring  very  hard  to 
restore  them  to  good  humor,  but  without 
any  sensible  effect.  They  have  made  up 
their  minds  now  not  to  be  pleased."  And 


192 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


this  really  appeared  to  be  the  case.  They 
seemed  to  be  dissatisfied  with  every  thing. 
Toasts  were  proposed,  and  speeches  were 
made;  but  neither  speeches  nor  toasts  could 
re-inspire  them. 

Of  course  the  Lord  Mayor  could  not,  un- 
der these  circumstances,  feel  very  happy. 
He  did  all  of  which  he  was  capable  with  a 
view  to  the  restoration  of  those  harmonious 
feelings  which  existed  before  the  disturb- 
ance commenced;  but  as  he  failed  in  this — 
signally  failed — he  left  the  chair  as  soon  as 
he  could  with  due  regard  to  his  dignity, 
and,  before  twelve  o'clock,  every  guest  had 
departed. 

The  matter  was,  however,  by  no  means 
allowed  to  rest  here.  The  effects  of  the  dis- 
turbance were  terrific! — it  induced  a  paper 
war  of  the  most  desperate  character — a  war 
which  raged  with  really  unparalleled  fierce- 
ness for  weeks.  The  opposition  journals 
hailed  it  as  a  glorious  and  indisputable 
proof  of  the  surpassing  unpopularity  of 
those  Ministers  whom  they  had  with  extra- 
ordinary acuteness  discovered  to  be  totally 
unfit  to  rule  the  destinies  of  this  mighty 
empire. 

44  How,"  they  exclaimed,  "  can  those 
atrocious,  and  disgusting  political  anthro- 
pophagi dare  to  drag  on  their  disreputable, 
dirty,  and  degraded  official  existence  after 
this  unexampled — this  mighty  demonstra- 
tion of  universal  scorn?  It  is  an  insult  to 
the  whole  British  nation! — a  gross,  com- 
prehensive, unmitigated  insult!— an  insult 
which  cannot,  and  shall  not  be  endured ! 
What  can  be  in  reality  more  contemptibly 
atrocious  than  the  conduct  of  men  who  have 
the  brazen  audacity— the  unblushing  impu- 
dence— to  pretend  to  rule  a  deeply  reflecting 
people  who  cannot  regard  them  but  with 
loathing  and  disgust?  Can  any  thing  re- 
flect more  disgrace  upon  a  mighty  and  highly 
enlightened  nation,  than  the  existence  of 
men  as  ministers,  so  utterly  contemptible, 
BO  justly  abhorredT  How,  then,  with  any 
show  of  decency,  can  they  for  a  moment  re- 
tain office  after  such  an  universal  burst  of 
popular  execration?  Yet  are  they  in  office 
stil  I !  Conscious  of  the  whole  country  being 
against  them; — conscious  of  being  the  laugh- 
ing-stock of  Europe; — conscious — they  can- 
not but  be  conscious — of  being  despised 
aad  contemned  by  all  the  intelligence,  all 
the  wisdom,  all  the  wealth,  respectability, 
and  virtue  of  this  great  nation;  these  abhor- 
rent, these  imbecile,  shabby,  contemptible, 
political  jugglers  still  cling,  with  the  tena- 
city of  polypi,  to  power,  that  they  may  dip 
their  unhallowed  fingers  into  tho  public 
purse  to  enrich  themselves  and  their  exe- 
crable satellites!  Englishmen!  will  you 
Buffer  this  humiliating  state  of  things  any 


longer  to  exist?  Britons!  are  you  prepared 
to  become  the  slaves — the  vile,  crawling, 
abject  slaves — of  that  detestable  clique,  of 
which  the  members  now  bid  you  defiance? 
If  there  be  a  single  drop  of  the  patriotic 
blood  of  your  forefathers  thrilling  through 
your  veins,  you  will  arise,  and,  with  one 
universal  and  simultaneous  burst  of  indig- 
nation, denounce  these  degraded  political 
reptiles — as  they  were  denounced  at  Guild- 
hall— and  hurl  them  at  once  from  that  posi- 
tion in  which  they  now  have  the  impudence 
to  stand!" 

While  the  opposition  journalists  were  en- 
gaged in  the  manufacture  of  these  highly 
appropriate  philippics,  they  on  the  ministe- 
rial side  were  contending  with  extraordinary 
force  and  ingenuity,  that  the  disturbance 
in  question,  instead  of  being  as  pretended, 
a  striking  proof  of  the  unpopularity  of  the 
ministers,  in  reality  proved  that  they  never 
were  so  popular,  seeing  that  whereas  it  all 
originated  with  a  disappointed  alderman 
who  had  under  his  immediate  surveillance 
just  forty  individuals,  about  twenty  years 
of  age,  from  whom  the  whole  of  the  groan- 
ing proceeded,  it  would  not  have  been  worth 
any  disappointed  alderman's  while  to  have 
organised  those  groaning  individuals,  if  the 
popularity  of  the  ministers  had  been  on  the 
wane,  or  if  it  had  not  in  fact  been  increasing. 

And  this  was  held  to  be  an  extremely 
strong  argument— one  which  absolutely  car- 
ried conviction  on  the  face  of  it;  and  as  the 
opposition  journalists,  in  their  presumptuous 
efforts  to  answer  it,  tried  desperately  to 
shake  it  to  its  base,  it  was  again  and  again 
repeated  with  additional  tropes,  and  here- 
upon the  fierce  journalists  fell  foul  of  each 
other. 

The  ministerialists  commenced  the  at- 
tack; they  undertook  to  prove,  with  mathe- 
matical precision,  that  they  of  the  oppo- 
sition were  blackguards;  and  the  opposition 
journalists  being  equally  chivalrous,  as- 
sumed to  themselves  the  province  of  reduc- 
ing to  a  dead  certainty,  that  they  on  the 
ministerial  side  were  natural  fools.  And 
strange  to  say,  they  both  eventually  suc- 
ceeded to  their  own  most  entire  satisfaction, 
but — which  is  still  more  strange— they  were 
utterly  unable  to  obtain  acknowledgments 
of  success  from  each  other! — honor,  at  the 
happy  termination  ef  the  struggle,  they  os- 
tensibly held  the  same  views  on  the  subject 
as  those  which  they  held  when  the  struggle 
began. 

It  is  a  duty,  however,  which  the  historian 
owes  as  well  to  himself  as  to  the  public,  to 
state  that  these  amiable  and  truly  ferocious 
journalists  in  all  their  contention!  for  the 
one  grand  point  were  sincere.  They  who 
were  on  the  opposition  side  of  the  question, 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


193 


did  most  sincerely  think  that  the  statesmen 
who  were  at  that  particular  period  in  office, 
ought  not  to  retain  it — that  they  ought  to 
make  way  for  the  statesmen  whom  they  had 
supplanted,  and  who — with  a  species  of 
patriotism  not  often  to  be  met  with,  but  as 
admirable  as  it  is  rare— were  absolutely 
ready  again  to  take  upon  themselves  the 
cares  of  office,  and  thus  to  sacrifice,  to  an 
extent  altogether  unknown,  their  private 
comforts  and  conveniences  to  the  public 
good:  they  did  most  sincerely  feel  that  this 
glorious  opportunity  was  one  which  ought 
not  to  be  lost — that  the  country  owed  those 
patriots  a  debt  of  gratitude  amounting  to 
something  very  considerable,  for  offering 
without  the  slightest  solicitation,  to  come 
forward  at  that  truly  awful  crisis,  to  snatch 
the  British  empire  from  the  jaws  of  de- 
struction, and  thereby  to  save  those  insti- 
tutions which  were  crumbling  into  one  un- 
distinoruishable  mass  of  revolutionary  dust. 
And  equally  sincere  were  the  ministerial 
journalists,  when  they  declared  it  to  be  their 
decided  opinion  that  the  ministers  ought  by 
no  means  to  resign — that  the  government  of 
the  country  could  not  by  possibility  be  con- 
fided to  men  of  whose  principles  and  gene- 
ral conduct  they  could  so  highly  approve — 
that  they  were  just  the  very  men  whom  the 
people  should  support  through  thick  and  thin 
as  the  only  men  capable  of  meeting  the  exi- 
gencies peculiar  to  that  period — and  that 
they  could  have  no  manner  of  confidence 
in  those  who  then  formed  the  corrupt  and 
purely  factious  opposition.  Hence  they  la- 
bored night  and  day  to  inspire  the  people 
with  a  due  appreciation  of  the  importance 
of  sustaining  the  ministers,  as  the  only 
chance  left  of  averting  a  most  sanguinary 
revolution,  and  hence  they  were  indefati- 
gable in  their  eflbrts  to  disseminate  the  be- 
lief that  every  act  of  the  ministers  developed 


surpassing  soundness  of  judgment,  and  per- 
fectly unexampled  intellectual  vigor — while 
every  act  of  the  opposition  displayed  an  ex- 
treme narrowness  of  soul  and  a  dearth  of 
judgment  really  pitiable. 

The  sincerity  of  those  journalists  being 
then  so  conspicuous  and  extensive,  it  can 
scarcely  be  deemed  marvellous,  that  the 
contest  on  that  occasion  should  have  been 
so  extremely  desperate  as  it  was;  but  that 
which  in  all  probability  will,  in  the  present 
day,  appear  more  extraordinary  than  all,  is 
the  fact,  that  notwithstanding  the  choicest 
epithets  were  culled  on  both  sides,  with  due 
care,  and  applied  with  due  ferocity,  the  con- 
test failed  to  affect  in  any  way  the  stability 
of  the  government,  for  while  the  zealous  ex- 
ertions of  the  opposition  did  weaken  it  by 
no  means,  it  derived  from  those  of  the  min- 
isterialists no  additional  strength;  and  the 
result  of  the  glorious  war  was,  that  while 
on  the  one  hand,  the  ministers  were  recom- 
mended never  again  to  accept  an  invitation 
to  the  grand  civic  feast;  on  the  other,  it  was 
boldly  and  powerfully  urged,  that  as  minis- 
ters they  surely  never  would. 

From  this  struggle  Valentine  certainly 
did  derive  much  amusement,  and  when  he 
had  explained  to  Uncle  John,  that  the  whole 
affair  originated  with  his  own  slight  mur- 
muring buzz,  that  gentleman — albeit  he 
very  properly  condemned  the  thing  at  first 
— viewed  the  progress  of  the  battle  with 
feelings  of  delight.  Morning  after  morning, 
and  evening  after  evening  did  he  study  the 
various  modes  of  attack  and  defence,  but 
although  he  laughed  heartily  and  constantly 
at  the  arguments  based  upon  arguments 
that  were  themselves  based  upon  nothing, 
the  contest  failed  to  increase  his  admiration 
of  that  uncompromising  zeal,  which  forms 
so  peculiarly  the  characteristic  of  the  fourth 
estate  of  the  realm. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


VALENTINE  RECOVERS  THE  HIGHLY  VALUED  CARD,  AND  PROCEEDS  WITH  UNCLE  JOHN  TO  THE 
EXHIBITION    OT    FAT    CATTLE. 


ALBEIT  Uncle  John  had  corne  to  London  i 
expressly    to  go  at  once  to  head-quarters,  j 
with  a  view  to  the  discovery  of  Goodman;  j 
he  was  in  town  more  than  a  month  before 
he  managed  to  find  time  to  take  even  the  ' 
preliminary  step.     He  had  formed  highly  i 
laudable  resolutions  every  evening,  with  a  • 
species  of  regularity  which  was  really  of 
itself  truly    striking;    but  every   morning 
with    precisely     corresponding    regularity  j 


there  had  arisen  fresh  temptations  suffi- 
ciently powerful  to  set  those  highly  lauda- 
ble resolutions  at  defiance.  "  I  never  saw 
such  a  place  as  this  London,"  he  would 
observe;  "  upon  my  life  I  don't  appear  to 
have  time  to  do  a  thing:  I  keep  going  on 
and  on  in  a  perpetual  state  of  fever,  driving 
here,  there,  and  everywhere,  racing  and 
chasing,  and  bobbing  in  and  out,  and  really 
seem  to  do  nothing  after  all.  I  can't  unr 


194 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


derstand  it.  It's  a  mystery  to  me.  The 
place  seems  to  have  been  designed  express- 
ly to  worry  men  to  death."  And  it  really 
is  an  absolute  fact  that  he  did  feel  occasion- 
ally very  much  confused — nay  it  would 
sometimes  happen  that  a  temporary  derange- 
ment of  his  intellects  would  develope  itself 
— and  hence  it  will  not  be  deemed  in  the 
long  run  extraordinary  that  every  day  after 
dinner  he  should  fall  fast  asleep  with  his 
highly-prized  meerschaum  in  his  mouth. 

Now  as  it  is  not  very  generally  known, 
it  cannot  be  very  incorrect  to  observe  that 
Uncle  John  was  one  of  those  remarkable 
men  who  invariably  make  a  dead  stop  in 
the  street  when  they  have  anything  striking 
to  communicate,  to  look  at,  or  to  learn. — 
This  practice  at  first  annoyed  Valentine 
exceedingly,  for  although  his  uncle  never 
stopped  dead  in  the  road,  but  flew  over 
every  crossing  with  as  much  of  the  facility 
of  a  greyhound  as  he  comfortably  could, 
whether  carriages  were  or  were  not 
within  view;  he  would  frequently  do  so  in 
the  midst  of  a  mortal  stream,  when  they 
who  happened  to  be  behind  could  not  avoid 
running  forcibly  against  him.  Sometimes 
a  butcher's  boy  would  poke  his  hat  off  with 
his  'tray,  and  then  a  heavily  laden  porter 
would  send  him  staggering  a  dozen  yards 
or  so,  and  then  a  carpenter  shouting  politely 
44  by'r  leave,"  would  cut  a  piece  out  of  his 
coat  with  the  end  of  a  saw,  which  invaria- 
bly disdains  to  be  wholly  smothered  in  a 
basket;  but  even  these  natural  results  failed 
to  cure  him  of  the  practice:  he  would  ad- 
here to  it  in  spite  of  them;  but  certainly  the 
most  remarkable  stop  he  ever  made  was 
precisely  at  the  bottom  of  Holborn  Hill. 

44  Now  there's  a  place!"  said  he  on  that 
memorable  occasion.  "  Did  you  ever? — 
How  people  can  breathe  in  such  holes 
puzzles  me!  Let's  go  and  have  a  look  at 
them;  come;  I  dare  say  the  poor  creatures 
are  all  fit  to  drop;  pale,  emaciated,  spirit- 
less, and  wretched.  Shall  we  go?" 

44  Oh!  with  all  my  heart,"  said  Valentine; 
and  they  entered  the  hole  which  bore  the 
semblance  of  a  great  commercial  alley,  the 
ancient  houses  on  either  side  of  which 
seemed  as  if  they  had  been  striving  for  u 
century  at  least  to  lean  against  their  neigh- 
bors opposite  for  support,  and  had  still  a 
trembling  hope  of  accomplishing  that  ob- 
ject before  their  tottering  frames  had  <[uitu 
crumbled  into  dust.  Instead  of  being  spirit- 
less and  wretched,  however,  the  inhabitants 
were  all  life  and  jollity — laughing,  singing, 
joking,  and  chatting  as  gaily  as  if  they  had 
been  in  the  Klysian  fields.  Some  were 
vending  old  shoes,  some  fried  fish,  and 
some  tenth  or  eleventh-hand  garments;  but 
the  real  aristocracy  of  the  place  were  those 


|  who  exhibited  an  infinite  variety  of  hand- 
kerchiefs pinned  upon  sticks,  and  so  arrang- 
ed that  each  windowless  shop  formed  a  most 
attractive  picture.  Into  these  shops  from 
time  to  time  sundry  young  gentlemen  darted, 
and  taking  off  their  hats  as  became  them, 
produced  from  the  interior  in  some  cases 
three,  and  in  some  half-a-dozen  bandannas 
which  they  seemed  to  have  been  fortunate 
enough  to  pick  up  in  the  street  just  before. 

44  Can't  I  sell  you  one  to-day]"  said  a 
black-eyed  Jewess,  whose  tightly  twisted 
ringlets,  like  well  tarred  cords,  lashed  her 
bosom.  "  I  should  like  to  deal  with  you," 
she  continued,  addressing  Uncle  John  with 
a  perfectly  heart-winning  smile. 

44  They  don't  appear  to  me  to  be  new," 
observed  that  really  unsophisticated  gentle- 
man. 

The  Jewess  turned  her  black  eyes  full 
upon  him,  and  seemed  in  an  instant  to  have 
read  the  whole  history  of  the  man.  4'  I 
think  we  can  do  a  little  business  together," 
she  observed.  "Just  step  inside  here. — 
There's  no  harm  done,  you  know:  1  have 
something  particular  to  show  you." 

44  Uncle  John  looked  at  Valentine  as  if 
he  did  not  understand  it  exactly;  but  as 
Valentine  who  did  understand  it  but  smiled, 
Uncle  John  at  once  followed  the  fascinating 
Jewess,  who  proceeded  at  once  to  a  drawer, 
and  producing  a  bundle,  said,  "Now  I've 
something  here  that'll  do  your  eyes  a  world 
of  good  to  look  at." 

The  bundle  was  opened,  and  the  first 
thing  which  struck  Uncle  John  was  the 
handkerchief  he  lost  in  Cheapside  while 
looking  at  the  Lord  Mayor's  pageant. — 
"  Why,"  said  he,  "  what's  this?  Why 
that's  mine!" 

44  That's  what  every  gentleman  says  when 
he  sees  a  hankecher  at  all  like  his'n,"  re- 
plied the  Jewess. 

44  But  how  did  you  come  by  it?"  inquired 
Uncle  John. 

44  Oh,  I  took  it  in  the  regular  way  of 
business,  of  course." 

44  But  it's  mine,"  exclaimed  Uncle  John. 

44  Now  what  a  mistake  that  is  when  its 

i  mine,"   said  the  Jewess.     44  But   how  do 

'  you  know  it  ever  did  belong  to  you?     Do 

you  think  they  never  make  two  hankechers 

alike!" 

"  ril  soon  convince  you:  mine  are  all 
marked,"  said  Uncle  John;  and  while  he 
looked  at  each  corner  with  very  great  mi- 
nuteness, the  Jewess  smiled,  and  eventually 
asked  him  if  he  were  satisfied. 

44  No,  I  am  not,"  said  ho;  "  I  am  not  by 

any  means.    Although  I  can't  find  tin-  murk, 

I  still  believe  it  to  be  mine."     And  as  he 

;  looked  round,  it  absolutely  struck  him  that 

,  the  whole  of  those  handkerchiefs  which  then 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


195 


met  his  view  had  been  stolen! — an  extraor- 
dinary idea,  which  at  that  moment  made 
him  so  indignant,  that  he  prepared  to  leave 
the  shop. 

44  But  come,  we  can  deal  for  all  that," 
said  the  Jewess.  "  Here  take  it  for  three- 
and-six,  and  say  you've  got  a  good  bargain." 

4i  What,  compound  a  felony!"  exclaimed 
Uncle  John. 

"  Well,  here  take  it  for  three,"  said  the 
Jewess,  "  and  I  shan't  get  a  ha'penny  by 
you." 

Uncle  John  looked  remarkably  fierce,  and 
said  very  severely,  "It's  my  firm  belief  that 
these  things  you  have  here  were  not  honestly 
come  by,"  and  having  pointedly  delivered 
himself  to  this  effect,  he  turned  his  back 
upon  the  Jewess,  who  was  laughing  very 
loudly,  and  quitted  the  shop.  "  It  is  really 
my  opinion,"  he  continued,  addressing  Val- 
entine, "  that  the  whole  of  those  things  have 
been  stolen." 

"  Why,  of  course.  That  is  well  under- 
stood." 

"  Indeed!"  cried  Uncle  John,  and  as  he 
stopped  short  to  wonder  that  things  which 
were  well  understood  to  have  been  stolen, 
should  be  unblushingly  exposed  in  open 
day,  the  attention  of  Valentine  was  fixed 
upon  a  jacket  which  hung  at  an  old  clothes 
shop  opposite.  "It  must  be  the  same," 
thought  he,  "  surely! — but  then  there's  no 
chance  of  the  card  being  in  it." 

"  Any  things  in  ma  vay  to-day1?"  said  a 
Jew  who  had  been  watching  his  counte- 
nance. "  Any  things  to  puy  or  to  shell1?" 

"  Let  me  look  at  that  jacket,"  said  Val- 
entine. 

"  What  are  you  about1?"  cried  Uncle  John. 

"  I  merely  wish  to  see  that  jacket." 

"  What,  are  you  going  to  set  up  on  your 
own  account,  Val,  as  a  barber?" 

Uncle  John  smiled  and  felt  much  amused; 
but  Valentine  smiled  not  at  all:  he  took  the 
jacket  with  great  eagerness  from  the  hands 
of  the  Jew,  and  searched  the  pockets.  They 
were  empty!  His  hopes  were  again  blasted. 
He  searched  them  again,  and  again;  and 
at  length  found— a  hole!  He  revived.  The 
card  might  have  worked  its  way  through  it. 
He  extended  his  search  zealously  between 
the  striped  material  and  the  lining,  and 
eventually  in  the  corner  he  felt  something 
closely  doubled  up.  He  drew  it  forth;  it 
was  the  card  of  him  whom  he  had  rescued! 
— the  father  of  her  in  whom  his  dearest 
hopes  had  been  centred.  He  saw  the  name 
of  Raven  distinctly:  he  could  also  make  out 
the  greater  part  of  the  address.  At  that 
moment  how  pure  was  his  happiness!  He 
felt  so  delighted,  so  joyous!  Uncle  John 
looked  amazed,  and  the  Jew,  whose  first 
impression  was  that  the  card  was  at  the 


very  least  a  fifty  pound  note,  looked  quite 
as  much  amazed  at  Uncle  John. 

14  What  is  the  price  of  this  jacket]"  in- 
quired Valentine. 

44  Vy,"  said  the  Jew,  "  it  shan't  be  tear 
at  a  crown.  The  card  sheems  to  pe  vorth 
arl  the  moneesh." 

44 1  want  but  the  card,"  said  Valentine, 
giving  the  sum  demanded.  "  I'll  make  you 
a  present  of  the  jacket." 

44  Nothing  elsh  in  ma  vay?"  said  the 
Jew  who  felt  very  much  dissatisfied  with 
himself  for  having  asked  so  small  a  sum. 

44  No,  nothing,"  replied  Valentine.  " No- 
thing," and  he  hurried  his  uncle  out  of  the 
lane  as  soon  as  possible. 

44  Now  what's  all  this— what's  all  this 
business1?"  demanded  Uncle  John,  having 
made  a  dead  stop  at  the  corner. 

44 1  am  happy,"  cried  Valentine,  "  per- 
fectly happy,"  and  he  entered  at  once  into 
a  minute  explanation  of  the  circumstances 
connected  with  the  much  valued  card. 

44  Well,  and  what  do  you  want  to  see  the 
girl  again  for1?"  inquired  Uncle  John.  "  You 
can  do  nothing  more  for  her  now." 

44  But  she  wished  me  to  call,"  observed 
Valentine;  "and  so  did  her  father,  and  there- 
fore I  must,  as  a  matter  of  mere  courtesy." 

44  Courtesy!  Fiddlesticks!"  rejoined 
Uncle  John.  "It's  my  opinion  that  you'd 
not  be  so  anxious  about  the  business  if  it 
were  but  a  matter  of  mere  courtesy.  Did 
you  ever  see  the  girl  before1?" 

44  No,  never!" 

44  Then  its  my  firm  belief  that  you  had 
better  not  see  her  again.  You'll  only  make 
a  fool  of  yourself.  I  don't  at  all  like  these 
romantic  affairs — they  never  come  to  any 
good.  It  was  all  very  well  for  you  to  save 
a  fellow -creature.  1  admire  your  spirit  and 
your  motive;  but,  take  my  advice,  and  don't 
go." 

44  But  she  is  so  sweet  a  girl,"  observed 
Valentine. 

44  Sweet!  pooh!  so  they  are  all:  I  never 
heard  of  a  girl  being  saved  who  was  not. 
Besides,  how  do  you  know  who  she  is,  or 
what  she  is1?  that's  the  point." 

44 1  don't  know — of  course  I  can't  tell.  I 
am  hence  the  more  anxious  to  ascertain." 

44  Well,  I  know  how  it  will  be — I  see  it  all 
plain  enough.  But  you  can't  go  to-day, 
that's  quite  clear." 

"  But,  why  can  I  not1?" 

44  What!  have  you  forgotten  that  this  is 
the  last  day  of  the  cattle  show1?  I  wouldn't 
miss  that  for  fifty  pounds." 

44  But  it  surely  is  not  necessary  for  me  to 
go  with  you?" 

44  Not  necessary!  How  do  you  think  it 
possible  for  me  to  find  my  way  about  in 
this  wilderness  alone?  Besides,  I  may  be 


196 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


fun  over.  A  thousand  things  may  occur. 
How  can  you  or  I,  or  any  body  tell  what 
may  happen!" 

Of  course  Valentine  could  not  pretend  to 
any  knowledge  of  what  might  occur;  but 
he  nevertheless  wished  the  fat  cattle  were 
drowned  in  the  Dead  Sea.  He,  had,  how- 
ever, one  great  consolation — he  had  recover- 
ed the  card;  and  as  they  rode  towards  the 
place  at  which  the  cattle  were  exhibited, 
he  felt  twenty  times  to  ascertain  if  it  were 
secure,  and  eventually  determined  to  wait, 
with  all  the  patience  at  his  command,  till 
the  following  morning. 

"  Now,"  said  Uncle  John,  on  arriving  at 
the  place  of  exhibition,  «*  I  expect  to  have 
a  treat,  Val — a  glorious  treat!"  and  having 
entered,  they  found  the  place  crowded  with 
all  sorts  of  people,  from  the  nobleman  down 
to  the  butcher's  boy  without  a  hat. 

To  the  pigs  on  the  left  Uncle  John  first 
directed  his  attention.  He  was  a  great 
judge  of  pigs,  and  there  lay  the  poor  ani- 
mals, grunting  and  snoring,  and  panting, 
and  squeaking,  while  the  connoisseurs 
around  were  engaged  in  the  pleasing  occu- 
pation of  slapping  their  haunches  and  pinch- 
ing and  twisting  their  tails,  with  the  osten- 
sible view  of  ascertaining  how  much  noise 
it  was  possible  for  them  to  make.  They 
had,  of  course,  been  made  so  fat  that  their 
ability  to  stand  was  out  of  the  question 
altogether;  yet,  although  they  were  all  in 
the  finest  state  of  corpulency,  they  looked 
as  uncomfortable  as  pigs  could  look  by  any 
conceivable  possibility. 

"  Now,  there's  a  pig  for  you!"  observed 
Uncle  John,  as  he  pointed  to  a  black  lump 
of  flesh,  which  appeared  to  be  particu- 
larly unhappy.  "That  pig  weighs — now, 
what  shall  I  say? — it  weighs  above  fifty 
score!" 

"  You're  wrong!"  cried  Valentine,  throw- 
ing his  voice  towards  the  head  of  the  pig; 
"I'll  bet  you  a  bottle  of  wine  I  don't  weigh 
above  forty!" 

Uncle  John  pursed  his  lips  and  knit  his 
brows,  and  then  looked  at  the  pig's  head  in 
a  very  straightforward  manner,  and  then 
cocked  his  hat  on  one  side,  and  scratched 
his  head  with  great  freedom,  and  felt  alto- 
gether in  a  confused  state  of  mind,  until  he 
turned  towards  Valentine,  who  happened  to 
be  smiling,  when  he  saw  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye  what  it  was,  and  cried,  lifting  his 
stick,  "You  young  dog!  there!  if  I  didn't 
think  that  pig  spoke,  I'm  not  here!"  and 
Uncle  John  roared  with  laughter.  "  What 
a  fool!"  he  continued.  "The  idea  of  a  pig 
offering  to  bet  a  bottle  of  wine  he  didn't 
weigh  forty  score!"  and  again  Uncle  John 
burst  out  very  merrily,  until  at  length, 
screwing  his  countenance  to  a  very  solemn 


pitch,  he  gravely  added,  "But  he  weighs 
fifty  score  for  all  that." 

Well,  they  now  left  the  pigs,  and  went 
at  once  to  the  other  side,  where  the  first 
class  oxen  were  arranged,  with  backs  as 
broad  as  those  of  full-sized  elephants,  and 
withal  so  remarkably  flat,  that  had  they 
happened  to  have  rolled  upon  those  backs, 
they  would  have  stood  no  more  chance  of 
getting  up  again,  without  mortal  aid,  than 
a  turtle,  on  being  placed  in  a  corresponding 
predicament.  And  they  appeared  to  be 
perfectly  cognisant  of  this,  for  whenever 
nature  called  upon  the  beasts  to  lie  down, 
they  obeyed  her  call  as  cautiously  as 
Christians. 

"What  is  the  use,"  inquired  Valentine, 
"of  fattening  these  creatures  up  to  such  an 
extent1?" 

"  The  use!"  cried  Uncle  John—"  the  use! 
Why,  the  use  of  it  is  to  see  how  fat  they 
can  be  made." 

"  But  what  is  the  use  of  seeing  how  fat 
they  can  be  made1?" 

"  Why,  of  course,  to  ascertain  which 
kind  of  cattle  will  fatten,  and  which  kind 
will  not." 

"Is  that  the  only  good  accomplished'?" 

"The  only  good!"  exclaimed  Uncle 
John.  "Is  not  that  good  enough?  What 
would  be  the  use  of  throwing  away  a  lot  of 
fodder  upon  cattle  that  won't  fatten  at  all?" 

"There  is,"  said  Valentine,  as  gravely 
as  possible,  "a  society  in  this  wilderness, 
as  you  are  pleased  to  term  it,  for  the  pre- 
vention of  cruelty  to  animals.  Now  the 
officers  of  that  society,  I  think,  ought  to 
take  special  cognisance  of  this  exhibition, 
for  in  my  view  there  cannot  be  a  species  of 
cruelty  more  refined  than  that  of  fattening 
animals  up  to  a  state  in  which  they  are 
compelled  to  gasp  at  least  a  hundred  and 
twenty  times  per  minute.  Just  notice  those 
poor  distressed  creatures,  how  they  pant! 
Can  any  man  believe  that  they  are  not  in 
great  pain?  Suppose,  for  instance,  that  you 
and  I  were  in  the  power  of  graziers  who 
felt  disposed  to  experimentalise  upon  us; 
what  a  sweet  -state  of  mind  we  should  be 
in,  if  they  succeeded  in  making  us  in  pro- 
portion as  fat  as  those  beasts." 

"The  grazier  who  could  succeed,  Val, 
in  making  you  fat,  would  deserve  a  gold 
medal,  thickly  studded  with  precious  stones. 
But  we  are  men,  and  they  are  beasts;  that 
makes  all  the  difference.  The  cases  are 
therefore  by  no  means  analogous." 

Valentine  did  not  suppose  that  they  were; 
but  he  conceived  that  Uncle  John  might 
have  been  brought  to  explain  more  distinct- 
ly why  beasts  were  thus  fattened  to  an  <  \- 
tent  which  rendered  their  existence  a  bur- 
den, and  hence,  following  the  example  of 


I    _i 


T'r~ v^  ^ 


-^Bi^rT 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


197 


Uncle  John  with  the  pig,  adhered  firmly  to 
his  first  position,  that  the  Society  for  the 
Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals  were 
bound  to  interfere. 

Now  it  really  was  interesting  to  observe 
how  the  farmers  and  the  butchers  felt  the 
various  popular  parts  of  the  animals  as  they 
stood;  but  more  interesting  still  was  it  to 
notice  how  the  far  more  fashionably-dressed 
individuals,  having  stolen  a  few  lessons 
from  the  butchers  and  the  farmers,  felt  pre- 
cisely the  same  parts  of  those  animals,  and 
looked  quite  as  learned  as  the  butchers  and 
the  farmers  themselves.  One  individual, 
an  external  pink  of  the  purest  water,  made 
himself  particularly  conspicuous  in  this 
way;  first  performing  the  operation  of  nip- 
ping the  animals,  and  then  giving  his  judg- 
ment upon  each  to  two  ladies,  who  were  of 
his  party,  with  infinite  eloquence  and  point. 
Valentine  was  highly  amused  by  this  ex- 
quisite pretender:  he  felt  his  proceedings  to 
be  ridiculous  in  the  extreme,  and  therefore 
watched  him  very  narrowly  until  he  reached 
the  ox  which  had  gained  the  first  prize,  and 
>vhich  he  began  to  feel,  of  course,  with 
consummate  dexterity. 

"Now,  don't  pinch!"  cried  Valentine, 
throwing  his  voice  towards  the  mouth  of 
the  ox,  which,  as  if  to  complete  the  illu- 
sion, at  that  moment  turned  its  head  round, 
"it's  of  no  use! — you  durti  understand  it!" 

The  exquisite  started  back  greatly  con- 
fused, while  the  ladies  were  excessively 
alarmed  at  the  announcement. 

44  Well,  dang  my  boottons!"  cried  a  coun- 
tryman, "  if  ever  I  heered  tell  o'  the  like  o' 
that!" 

44  It  is  very  extraordinary,"  suggested  the 
exquisite. 

44  Strornary!  I  never  come  across  such  a 
thing  afore  in  all  my  boorn  days.  That's 
woot  he  goot  the  prize  for,  dang  me,  I 
shoodn't  wonder,  I'll  be  bound  to  say — no 
doot." 

Uncle  John  could  keep  silent  no  longer. 
He  burst  into  a  roar,  which  so  powerfully 
convulsed  him,  that  he  felt  himself  bound 
to  hold  on  by  the  tail  of  the  next  ox. 

This  seemed  to  awaken  the  suspicions  of 
the  pink.  He  could  not,  it  is  true,  under- 
stand it  exactly;  but  he  was  satisfied  that 
the  animal  had  spoken  by  no  means.  His 
cpurage  therefore  returned,  and  being  posi- 
tively brave,  he  placed  his  hand  upon  the 
animal  again. 

44  Don't!  there's  a  good  fellow! — pray 
don't!"  said  Valentine,  throwing  his  voice 
as  before.  "  You've  no  idea  how  sore  I  am 
round  about  the  tail." 

And  this  doubtless  was  precisely  what 
the  animal  would  have  said,  if  it  could  in 
reality  have  spoken;  for  as  he  had  been  at 
18 


the  exhibition  some  days,  his  most  popular 
points,  that  is,  being  interpreted,  those 
points  which  true  judges  invariably  assail, 
must  have  been  extremely  tender;  but 
whether  these  were  the  words  which  the 
animal  would  in  such  an  event  have  uttered, 
or  not,  it  is  perfectly  certain  that  they  had 
the  effect  not  only  of  inducing  the  exquisite 
to  withdraw  his  hand  on  the  instant,  but  of 
inspiring  those  around  him  with  wonder. 

44  Here,  Bill!"  cried  a  butcher,  address- 
ing his  friend,  4' p'raps  this  aint  a  rum 
start!  sen  I  may  live  if  this  hox  carn't  talk 
reg'lar." 

44  Do  votl"  cried  the  gentleman  to  whom 
this  important  communication  had  been  ad- 
dressed. 

44  Vy,  talk  like  a  brick,  and  as  reg'lar  as 
a  Christian." 

44  Yes— over!"  said  his  friend,  with  an 
expression  of  incredulity. 

44  But  I  tell  yer  I  heered  him — so  there 
carn't  be  no  mistake." 

44  Vot!  do  you  mean  to  go  for  to  think 
that  you'll  gammon  me  into  that  ere1?" 

"Veil  arks  these  ere  genelmen! — don't 
believe  me  arout  you  like! — they  all  heered 
him."  And  the  butcher  proceeded  to  ac- 
cumulate such  collateral  evidence  as  he  felt 
must  establish  the  thing  to  the  entire  satis- 
faction of  his  incredulous  friend;  but  as 
Uncle  John  still  roared  with  laughter,  and 
kept  holding  on  by  the  tail  of  the  next  ox 
with  such  unexampled  firmness  that  the 
animal  must  have  felt  that  the  design  was  to 
pull  out  that  ornament  by  the  root,  it  was 
deemed  right  by  Valentine — just  as  the 
butcher  was  eloquently  entering  into  the 
details  of  the  affair — to  leave  the  interesting 
group  to  solve  that  which  of  course  was 
regarded  as  a  mystery  by  all. 

It  was,  however,  by  no  means  the  work 
of  a  moment  to  release  the  ox's  tail  from 
the  grasp  of  Uncle  John.  The  poor  animal 
stood  the  tugging  with  really  exemplary 
patience;  and  being  too  fat  to  "kick,  looked 
round  simply,  as  if  anxious  for  a  brief  ex- 
planation of  the  circumstances  connected 
therewith;  but  he  clearly  must  have  felt 
that  if  an  assault  of  such  a  character  had 
been  made  before  he  was  fattened,  the  as- 
sailant would  have  had  his  reward. 

By  dint  of  great  exertion  on  the  part  of 
Valentine,  however,  Uncle  John  was  even- 
tually severed  from  the  tail;  but  before  they 
had  reached  the  place  in  which  the  sixth 
and  seventh  classes  were  exhibited,  loud 
cries  of  44  A  bull!  a  bull!  a  bull  broke  loose!'* 
wereJieard,  and  an  awful  rush  was  made 
towards  the  pigs.  Some  terror-stricken 
gentlemen  leaped  with  due  agility  upon  the 
broad  flat  backs  of  the  cattle,  others  mounted 
the  frames  near  the  horns  of  the  beasts, 


198 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


which  those  beasts  were  by  no  means  in- ' 
clined  to  submit  to,    and    hence  used  the 
weapons  with  which  nature  had  provided 
them,  with  no  inconsiderable  force  and  ef-  | 
feet;  but  by  far  the  greater  portion  of  the  ; 
alarmed  connoisseurs  rushed  with  all  dis- 
creet   haste    towards    the    entrance    with 
countenances   strongly   expressive   of    the 
most  lively  apprehensions,   while  the   fe-  i 
males  were  screaming,  and  the  male  alarm- 
ists  shouting   "  A  pole  axe! — a  pole  axe 
there!— let  him  be  killed!" 

As  soon  as  the  place  from  which  the  ter- 
rorists had  so  unceremoniously  decamped 
became  clear,  Uncle  John,  who  had  slipped 
with  surpassing  dexterity  behind  an  ox, 
followed  Valentine  in,  and  beyond  all  dis- 


pute there  was  a  short-horned  heifer  en- 
deavoring with  all  the  zeal  and  ingenuity 
of  which  she  was  capable  to  slip  the  hal- 
ter over  her  head,  having  evidently  been 
pinched  until  her  popular  points  had  be- 
come so  sore  that  she  had  made  up  her 
mind  to  endure  it  no  longer.  Two  laborers 
however  most  bravely  approached  and  ef- 
fectually frustrated  her  ladyship's  design — 
a  striking  fact  which  was  duly  and  prompt- 
ly announced,  and  as  the  alarmists  were 
returning  with  appropriate  caution,  Uncle 
John  ascertained  that  it  was  time  for  him 
j  to  start,  when  he  and  Valentine  left  the  ex- 
hibition  highly  pleased  with  the  varied  en- 
tertainment  it  had  afforded. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


THE     MUTUAL     RECOGNITION    AND    THE     INTERVIEW — THE     POLITE     INVITATION,     AND     THE 

DINNER. 


IT  may,  as  a  general  thing,  be  stated  that 
men  spend  their  most  miserable  hours  in 
bed,  when  they  are  anxious  to  go  to  sleep 
and  cannot.  They  turn  and  turn,  and  with 
every  turn  thoughts  of  a  most  uncomforta- 
ble character  are  engendered;  yet  although 
they  pray  heartily  and  fervently  for  the 
morning,  their  heads  really  seem  to  be 
sealed  to  their  pillows,  when  that  which 
they  prayed  for  arrives.  Such,  however, 
was  not  the  case  with  Valentine.  It  is  true 
he  turned  over  and  over  continually  through- 
out the  night,  but  his  thoughts  were  of  the 
most  pleasing  character,  being  of  her  whom 
he  felt  that  he  loved:  it  is  also  true  that  he 
wished  for  the  morning,  but  when  it  arrived 
instead  of  finding  him  apparently  sealed  to 
the  pillow,  it  found  him  knocking  violently 
at  Uncle  John's  door,  and  exerting  all  the 
powers  of  suasion  at  his  command  to  induce 
him  to  get  up  at  once.  He  really  marvel- 
led that  men  should  lie  in  bed  so  long.  It 
-was  then  eight  o'clock,  and  although  his 
own  time  had  been  heretofore  nine,  it  then 
struck  him  as  extraordinary  that  it  had  not 
been  seven,  and  having  eventually  extorted 
a  promise  from  Uncle  John  that  he  would 
rise  on  the  instant,  he  returned  to  his  own 
room  to  dress. 

Now,  it  has  been  said  that  all  is  vanity; 
and  if  vanity  be  thus  contradistinguished 
from  pride,  that  whereas  pride  prompts  us 
to  esteem  ourselves  highly,  vanity  stimu- 
lates us  to  win  the  esteem  of  others — it  is 
quite  clear  that  vanity  is  not  a  bad  passion, 
but  on  the  contrary  one  which  ought  fondly 


to  be  cherished.  But  it  has  also  been  said, 
and  that  too  by  an  ancient  philosopher,  that  ( 
man  is  too  proud  to  be  vain,  and  if  he  be, 
it  is  abundantly  manifest  that  vanity  is  not 
quite  so  general  a  thing;  but  assuming  this 
to  be  wrong,  that  is  to  say,  assuming  that 

I  men  are  in  reality  vain,  and  that  vain  men 
are  in  the  abstract  essentially  wicked,  it 

I  still  appears  to  be  quite  consistent  with  rea- 
son to  contend  that  if  there  he  a  time  at 

i  which  the  development  of  vanity  is  venial, 

i  it  is  that  at  which  men  are  about  to  see 
those  whom  they  love,  and  by  whom  they 
therefore  hope  to  be  loved  in  return.  They 
are  then  the  most  anxious  to  win  the  esteem 
of  others;  and  if  this  be  the  true  definition 
of  vanity,  it  follows  that  Valentine  himself 

j  was  most  vain  on  the  memorable  morning 
in  question.  He  was  never  so  long  dress- 

I  ing  before.     He  was  indeed  so  extremely 

'  particular  that  he  even  astonished  himself; 
but  eventually,  conceiving  that  Uncle  John 
must  he  out  of  patience,  he  gave  a  last  long 
lingering  look  at  the  glass,  and  went  down 
into  the  parlor.  Uncle  John  was  not  there. 

j  He  too  must  have  been  more  than  usually 
particular  that  morning,  for  in  general  he. 
was  dressed  and  down  in  less  than  five 
minutes.  Well,  Valentine  waited:  he  wait- 
ed ten  minutes,  and  thoughttli.it  sullieiently 
horrihle;  but  when  he  had  waited  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  he  darted  at  once  up  to  Uncle 
John's  room,  and  knocked  as  it  the  house 
had  been  in  flames. 

"Aye,  aye,"  cried   Uncle  John,  whom 
the  knocking  had  awakened  from  a  dream 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


199 


which  had  reference  to  some  astonishing 
turnips  which  he  had  seen  at  the  show  the 
day  before,  and  immediately  after  he  had 
said,  "  Aye,  aye,"  he  gave  a  very,  very  long 
cosey  yawn. 

"  What,  are  you  not  up  yet!"  cried  Va- 
lentine. 

Uncle  John  instantly  rolled  out  of  bed, 
and  cried,  "Up!  yes,  of  course!"  which,  of 
course,  was  the  fact.  "  I'll  be  down  in 
five  minutes,"  he  added  with  trnly  remark- 
able presence  of  mind,  and  within  the  five 
minutes  he  was  down. 

44  What  a  time  you  have  been!"  observed 
Valentine,  seating  himself  at  the  table. 

44  I've  been  dreaming,"  returned  Uncle 
John,  44  of  those  turnips.  I  thought  that 
you  undertook  to  swallow  one  six  and  thirty 
inches  in  circumference  whole." 

44 And  did  I  doit?" 

44  To  the  utter  astonishment  of  all  be- 
holders it  slipped  clean  down  like  a  pill." 

44  It  must  have  appeared  that  I  possessed 
a  most  extraordinary  swallow;  but  do  you 
think  of  going  out  this  morning  at  all?" 

44  Why  no,  my  boy,  really  I  don't  think 
I  can.  This  racing  about  day  after  day 
knocks  me  up  altogether." 

44  Then  I'll  return  as  soon  as  possible.  I 
shall  not  be  gone  long." 

44  Gone?     Why,  where  are  you  going?" 

44  To  call  on  those  persons  I  named  to 
you  yesterday.  Don't  you  remember?" 

Uncle  John  it  was  clear  had  forgotten  all 
about  it;  but  he  now  recollected  the  circum- 
stance, and  shook  his  head  gravely.  44 1 
know,"  said  he,  44  that  if  I  endeavor  to  per- 
suade you  to  keep  away  from  that  girl,  you 
will  be  the  more  anxious  to  go;  that  is  per- 
fectly clear.  I  shall  therefore  say  no  more 
about  it.  You  are  at  liberty  to  go,  sir,  but 
remember,  if  you  associate  yourself  with 
any  creature  who  can  be  picked  up  on  board 
a  steam-packet,  I  disown  you — at  once,  sir, 
I  disown  you." 

44  Uncle!"  said  Valentine,  in  a  tone  of  re- 
monstrance, "can  you  suppose — " 

44  I'll  hear  nothing  more  about  it,"  inter- 
rupted Uncle  John;  44 1  see  clearly  how  it 
will  be.  You'll  make  a  fool  of  yourself, 
sir! — but  go  by  all  means,  and  if  you  are 
not  back  in  less  than  two  hours,  I  shall  go 
out  without  you.  I  can't  live  in  this  hole 
of  London  without  a  little  exercise;  no  man 
can  do  it.  Therefore,  two  hours,  mark!  I'll 
not  wait  another  moment." 

It  will  hence  be  perceived  that  Uncle 
John  was  rather  angry;  buj  he,  notwith- 
standing, shook  hands  with  Valentine,  and 
explained  before  he  left  that,  as  he  had 
great  confidence  in  his  judgment  and  discre- 
tion, he  felt  sure  that  he  would  commit  no 
act  of'folly  that  would  shake  it. 


The  concluding  observation  he  deemed 
highly  politic.  44  Suspicion,"  thought  he, 
44  is  the  parent  of  the  thing  we  suspect;  but 
let  any  one  feel  that  full  confidence  is  re- 
posed in  him,  and  he  will  think  and  think  a 
long  time  before  he  betrays  it." 

Without  hearing  another  discouraging 
word,  therefore,  Valentine  started  for  Bry- 
anstone-square,  but  on  his  way  felt  as 
if  within  the  hour  he  should  know  if  the 
germ  of  his  life's  happiness  would  strike 
root  or  wither.  He  had  never  before  con- 
ceived it  to  be  possible  for  the  slightest  im- 
perfection to  characterise  her  in  whom  his 
hopes  were  concentered.  His  impression 
had  been  that  he  had  but  to  see  her  again 
to  be  happy.  Uncle  John  had  placed  his 
thoughts  in  a  doubting  direction:  yet  where 
the  grounds  were  that  could  justify  doubt, 
really  Valentine  could  not  conceive.  "If 
she  be  not,"  thought  he,  44  what  I  feel  that 
she  is,  why — why  then  must  I  strive  to  for- 
get her:  but  I'll  not  do  her  the  injustice  to 
suppose  that  she  is  not.  I  feel  convinced 
that  I  am  not  mistaken."  And  with  this 
conviction  firmly  impressed  upon  his  mind, 
he  reached  the  house. 

It  was  a  large  one!  rather  awfully  large: 
he  could  not  help  feeling  that  he  should 
have  liked  it  somewhat  better,  had  it  been 
a  little  smaller! — he  had  had  no  idea  of  its 
being  such  a  size!  It  could  not  be  the 
right  one!  He  must  have  made  a  mistake, 
either  in  the  name  of  the  square,  or  in  the 
number!  He  passed  it,  and  drew  forth  the 
card.  No! — all  was  correct!  44  Surely," 
thought  he,  44  this  must  be  the  same  card? 
And  he  really  began  to  feel  not  quite  sure 
even  of  that;  but,  in  order  to  put  an  end  to 
all  doubt  on  the  subject,  he  went  to  the 
door  and  knocked  boldly — albeit,  there  was 
something  in  the  sound  of  the  knocker  a 
little  too  aristocratic. 

"  Mr.  Raven,"  said  he,  when  the  door 
had  been  opened,  in  a  tone  more  than  usually 
decided  and  severe. 

44  Not  at  home,  sir,"  replied  the  servant, 
whose  livery  was  of  the  gayest  description. 

44  What  time  is  he  usually  at  home?" 
inquired  Valentine,  drawing  forth  his  card- 
case. 

44  About  this  time,  sir,  generally,"  said 
the  servant.  44  He  is  seldom  out  before  one 
or  two." 

Valentine  having  left  his  card,  thereupon 
turned  from  the  door;  but  his  eye  was  at 
the  moment  attracted  by  one  who  had  dart- 
ed to  the  window,  and  who  recognised  him 
instantly!  What  was  to  be  done?  The 
recognition  was  mutual;  yet  ought  he— she 
bowed  to  him! — that  was  sufficient:  he  re- 
turned: the  door  had  not  been  closed;  but 
before  he  had  time  to  say  a  syllable  to  the 


200 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTUERS  OF 


servant,  an  sngel,  in  the  perfect  similitude 
of  her  whom  he  had  saved,  seized  his  hand, 
and  led  him  into  the  room. 

44  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you!"  she  exclaimed. 
"  Indeed  I  scarcely  can  tell  how  delighted 
I  am!" — and  she  led  him  to  a  seat,  and  sat 
very,  very  near  him;  and  they  gazed  upon 
each  other,  and  looked  very  pale,  and  felt 
really  very  awkward  and  stupid. 

Valentine  could  not  get  over  it  at  all! — 
but  he  had  always  been  a  fool  in  the  pre- 
sence of  ladies.  He  would  have  met  Satan 
himself,  in  the  shape  of  a  man,  without  a 
nerve  being  fluttered;  but  if  one  of  his  ma- 
jesty's most  minute  imps  had  appeared  in 
the  semblance  of  a  woman,  that  imp  would 
in  limine  have  beaten  him  hollow. 

It  will  not,  therefore,  by  any  means  be 
deemed  very  extraordinary,  that  the  lady, 
in  this  instance,  should  have  been  the  first 
to  recover:  in  fact,  the  recovery  of  Valen- 
tine was  rather  remote,  when  she  exclaimed, 
"  Oh,  how  I  do  wish  that  papa  would  re- 
turn! He  would,  indeed,  be  so  happy  to 
see  you.  He  has  been  talking  about  you 
every  day  since;  and  we  did  so  wonder  you 
had  not  called — there  he  is!"  she  continued, 
starting  np,  as  a  knock  came  to  the  door. 
And  it  really  was  a  most  undeniable  knock. 
It  was  like  the  commencement  of  the  over- 
ture to  Semiramide.  She  therefore  could 
not  by  any  possible  chance  have  been  mis<- 
taken.  It  seemed,  too,  as  if  the  servant 
knew  something  of  the  tune;  for  the  last 
bar  had  scarcely  been  executed,  when  he 
flew  across  the  hall,  with  an  apparently 
just  and  well-grounded  apprehension  of  an 
immediate  encore. 

Valentine  now  heard  the  voice  of  autho- 
rity, which  was  also  the  voice  of  Mr.  Raven; 
and  as  his  daughter  glided  gracefully  to 
meet  him  in  the  hall,  he  cried,  "  Well 
Louise! — anything  turned  up  fresh?" 

"  This  is  the  gentleman,  papa,  who  pre- 
served us,"  said  Louise,  as  he  entered  the 
room. 

44  Ah!  my  brave  fellow!"  exclaimed  Mr 
Raven.  "  How  are  you]  Glad  to  see  yoi 
— very  glad — right  glad!— God  bless  you 
—But  why  have  you  not  been  before?" 

Valentine — whom   the   presence   of  Mr 
Raven  had  relieved  from  all  embarrassmen 
—now  explained  all  the  circumstances  con 
nected  with  the  card;  and  as  he  dwelt  will 
considerable  emphasis  and  eloquence  upon 
his  anxiety  to  regain  it,  and  the  pleasure  its 
recovery  had   induced,  Louise  watched  his 
countenance  with  the  earnestness  of  love 
and  every  word,  every  tone,  sank  deep  into 
her  heart. 

»*  God  bless  you! — God  bless  you!"  ex 
clainml  Mr.  Raven,  and  something  like  a 
tear  stood  in  his  eye  as  he  spoke;  and  he 


hook  the  hand  of  Valentine  again  very 
varmly,  as  he  added,  "  You  don't  know — 
on  can't  know — how  anxious  we  have  been 
o  see  you!  But  come,  come! — you'll  dine 
vith  us  to-day,  as  a  matter  of  course'?" 

'  I  should  be  happy — most  happy — but 
my  uncle  is  in  town,"  observed  Valentine. 
44  Well,   bring  your  uncle  with   you  of 
course!"  said  Mr.  Raven.    "  Give  my  com- 
liments,  and  tell  him  I  shall  be  happy  to 
see  him  to  take  pot-luck.    I'll  send  my  car- 
iage  for  him  at  five." 

"  Pot-luck!"  thought  Valentine—"  that's 
rery  extraordinary."  He  had  heard  of  pot- 
uck  before,  certainly;  but  never  in  imme- 
diate connection  with  a  carriage.  However, 
he  fancied  that  all  this  would  tend  to  as- 
onish  the  nerves  of  Uncle  John;  and  there- 
ore  having  acknowledged  the  politeness  of 
VIr.  Raven,  he  rose  and  took  leave,  as  the 
jell  rang  a  peal  that  would  have  inspired  a 
whole  village  with  spirit. 

'  Well,  what  think  you  now,  Val? — 
What  think  you  now?"  said  he,  addressing 
himself  in  the  second  person  singular,  the 
moment  he  had  left  the  house.  "  She  is 
indeed  very  beautiful — very!  But  what 
sort  of  people  can  they  be?  She  is  elegant 
in  her  manners — very  ladylike  indeed — but 
her  father  is  clearly  not  very  refined;  and 
yet  what  a  superb  style  they  live  in!  He 
must  be  some  one  of  importance— yet  I  can- 
not remember  to  have  heard  the  name  as- 
sociated with  distinction!"  He  was  puz- 
zled— greatly  puzzled.  He  conceived  that 
Mr.  Raven  had  scarcely  the  manners  of  a 
gentleman,  and  certainly  not  those  of 
aristocrat!  Still  he  found  it  hard  to  as 
ciate  vulgarity  with  the  style  in  which  he 
lived.  What  he  had  been,  or  what  he 
could  be,  therefore,  Valentine  was  unable 
to  conceive.  It  was  a  mystery  altogether; 
and  one  in  which  he  continued  to  be  so 
mentally  involved,  that  he  had  reached 
home  before  he  even  thought  that  he  was 
near. 

"  Well,  my  boy,"  said  Uncle  John,  who 
as  Valentine  entered  was  sitting  with  his 
heels  upon  the  mantel-piece;  "  well,  have 
you  seen  her?" 

44 1  have,"  replied  Valentine. 

44  Ah!  she's  a  lovely  girl,  isn't  she?  fas- 
cinating, interesting,  beautiful!  eh?" 

44  She  is  indeed!" 

44  Of  course!"  cried  Uncle  John,  44 1  could 
have  sworn  it!  She  is  all  that  is  graceful 
and  fh'irant,  highly,  very  highly  accom- 
plished, with  a  ( irrmaii  or  perhaps  a  (irrrian 
nose,  and  a  remarkable  couple  of  beautiful 
hl-.u-k  eyes  of  course  blazing  away  like 
brilliants.  That's  the  girl!  Is  she  a  mil- 
liner?" 

44  No,  she  lives  with  her  father." 


an 
asso- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


201 


"  Is  her  father  a  cobbler,  or  does  he  keep 
a  snuff-shop!" 

"  I  can't  make  out  at  all  what  he  is.  I 
am  unable  to  imagine  what  he  can  be." 

"  He  lives  by  his  wits,  perhaps;  a  gam- 
bler, or  something  of  that  sort?" 

44  No,  I  don't  think  he  is,"  said  Valen- 
tine carelessly. 

44  Don't  think  he  is!  Pray,  did  you  see 
him!" 

44  Oh,  yes;  he  has  invited  you  and  me  to 
go  and  take  pot-luck  with  him." 

"  Pot-luck!"  said  Uncle  John;  44 1  ex- 
pect it  would  indeed  be  pot-luck,  and  very 
poor  pot-luck  too.  What  is  he  going  to 
have,  Val,  pickled  pork  and  cabbage?" 

44 1  don't  at  all  know  what  he'll  give  us; 
but  of  course  you'll  go!" 

44  Go— I  go?     Decidedly  not." 

44  But  his  carriage  will  be  here  for  you  at 
five." 

"His  what!"  cried  Uncle  John;  "his 
carriage!"  The  idea  struck  him  as  being 
so  amusing  and  so  good,  that  he  laughed 
very  heartily;  he  really  could  not  help  it. 
44  What  sort  of  a  carriage  is  it,  Val?"  he 
inquired,  "  what  sort  of  a  carriage,  my 
boy?" 

"Upon  my  life,"  replied  Valentine,  "  I 
don't  know  what  color  it  is,  never  having 
seen  it;  but  if  it  corresponds  at  all  with 
the  liveries,  and  I  dare  say  it  does,  it's  a 
dasher!" 

Uncle  John  looked  at  Valentine  earnestly. 
He  thought  there  was  something  in  it — 
certainly  he  did  go  so  far  as  to  think  that; 
but  then  he  really  could  not  go  one  single 
step  farther.  "  Now,"  said  he,  "  is  this 
one  of  your  jokes?  Because  if  it  is,  you 
had  better  tell  me,  that  I  may  know  how  to 
act.  Is  it,  or  is  it  not,  a  joke?" 

44  Upon  my  honor,"  said  Valentine,  "  no." 
And  to  the  utter  astonishment  of  Uncle 
John,  her  explained  all  the  circumstances 
just  as  they  occurred. 

"Why,  what  an  extraordinary  piece  of 
business  to  be  sure!"  said  Uncle  John,  with 
an  expression  of  amusement.  "  But  I'll 
go! — oh!  I'll  go!  although  I'm  sure  to  make 
a  fool  of  myself.  I'm  sure  of  it!  /  know 
nothing  of  aristocratic  etiquette,  which 
changes,  I'm  told,  about  twenty  times  a 
month.  It  may,  for  example,  be  the  fashion 
to  take  soup  with  a  fork,  and  I'm  just  as 
likely  as  not,  you  see,  to  catch  up  a  spoon." 

44  Oh,  you'll  be  able  to  manage  it  very 
well.  Besides,  these  are  not  very,  very 
aristocratic  people." 

44 1  don't  know  so  much  about  that,"  said 
Uncle  John — "you  can't  judge.  Some- 
times that  which  is  in  others  deemed  the 
essence  of  vulgarity,  is  in  them  held  to  be 
the  very  acme  of  refinement.  They  do  it, 


I  suppose,  to  show  off  their  independence — 
to  prove  that  they  can  do  that  which,  but 
for  them,  others  would  never  dare  attempt. 
I  recollect  that,  at  our  last  election  dinner, 
we  had  Lord  George  Rattle,  who  is  con- 
sidered, of  course,  the  very  perfection  of 
refinement,  and  every  eye  was,  in  conse- 
quence, upon  him.  Well— he  cocked  the 
knife  in  his  mouth,  and  took  the  wing  of  a 
fowl  in  his  fingers,  and  placed  his  elbow 
upon  the  table,  and  picked  his  teeth  vio- 
lently. Why,  such  proceedings  had  been 
considered  by  all  rather  unparliamentary,  if 
not  indeed  vulgar  in  the  extreme:  but  then, 
what  was  the  consequence?  Why,  at  the 
next  public  dinner  we  had,  there  was  scarce- 
ly a  fork  used;  the  flesh  of  the  chickens 
was  gnawed  off  the  bones,  and  while  almost 
every  man  placed  his  elbows  upon  the  table, 
there  was  really  such  a  picking  of  teeth, 
you  would  have  thought  that  all  the  crickets 
in  all  the  bake-houses  in  the  empire  had 
assembled  in  honor  of  the  occasion.  But 
I'll  go! — of  course,  that  I  have  made  up  my 
mind  to."  And  he  commenced  at  once 
bustlinor  about,  with  the  view  of  making 
himself  as  tidy  as  possible. 

Well,  five  o'clock  came,  and  a  carriage 
rattled  up  to  the  door.  Uncle  John  ran  to 
the  window,  and  was  amazed!  It  was  one 
of  the  very  gayest  he  had  seen,  not  except- 
ing even  that  of  the  under-sheriff.  The 
widow  Smugman  was  struck  almost  dumb! 
she  could  scarcely  announce  its  arrival. 

44  Are  you  ready?"  said  Valentine,  ad- 
dressing Uncle  John,  who  really  felt  fid- 
gety himself  at  the  moment. 

44  Yes,  quite  ready — quite,"  was  the 
hasty  reply,  and  they  descended,  of  course 
with  due  dignity  of  aspect,  and  entered  the 
carriage  forthwith. 

"  I  don't  think  that  fellow  could  look  at 
a  man,"  said  Uncle  John,  as  the  carriage 
drove  off,  "  without  touching  his  hat.  It 
comes,  however,  natural  to  him,  I  suppose. 
A  little  less  of  it,  perhaps,  would  be  as 
well.  -But  what  will  the  widow  think  of  a 
carriage  like  this,  lined  with  rose-pink  satin, 
driving  up  to  her  door!  Why,  she'll  be 
about  as  proud  of  it  as  if  it  were  her  own! 
Did  you  see  how  astonished  she  looked? 
Upon  my  life,  she  must  suppose  that  we  are 
highly  connected." 

And  it  really  was  an  elegant  carriage; 
but  then  no  man  could  see  it  without  feel- 
ing sure  that  display  was  the  hobby  of  its 
owner.  The  horses,  too,  were  of  the  most 
showy  character,  and,  as  they  seemed  to  be 
unable  to  go  at  a  less  rapid  rate  than  that 
of  ten  miles  an  hour,  they  of  course  very 
soon  reached  the  house,  before  which  they 
stopped  almost  as  instantaneously  as  if  the 
18* 


202 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


pole  had  been  absolutely  driven  against  an 
unyielding  stone  wall. 

"They  must  have  gone  upon  their 
haunches.  I  don't  myself  see  how  they 

could ."  At  this  moment  Uncle  John 

was  interrupted  by  an  unexampled  knock 
at  the  door,  which  was  instantly  opened, 
when  he  and  Valentine  alighted  with  all 
the  dignity  of  which  they  were  capable, 
and  were  shown  at  once  into  a  magnificent 
drawing-room,  in  which  the  really-beautiful 
Louise  and  her  father  received  them  with 
great  cordiality  and  warmth. 

Louise  looked  more  lovely  than  ever; 
and  as  Valentine  was  comparatively  free 
from  embarrassment,  he  certainly  did  ap- 
pear to  great  advantage  himself.  This  im- 
parted mutual  pleasure,  and  they  chatted 
very  freely  and  with  infinite  gaiety,  while 
Uncle  John  was  nrade  to  feel  just  as  much 
at  home  as  if  he  had  known  Mr.  Raven 
for  years. 

This  was  pleasant— they  all  felt  it  to  be 
pleasant;  and  when  dinner  was  announced, 
Mr.  Raven  looked  at  Valentine,  as  he  bow- 
ed, and  waved  his  hand  towards  Louise, 
and  then  seizing  the  arm  of  Uncle  John, 
observed,  "  We  two  old  fogies  will  go  down 
together;"  an  observation  which  was  cer- 
tainly remarkable  in  itself. 

Now  the  first  thing  which  struck  Uncle 
John,  as  he  entered  the  dining-room,  was 
the  plate.  It  was  really  of  the  most  mas- 
sive and  gorgeous  description,  and  display- 
ed in  such  style,  and  moreover  in  such  ex- 
traordinary quantities,  that  he  could  not  but 
think  that  Mr.  Raven  must  possess  the 
wealth  of  Cro3sus. 

There  was,  however,  one  thing  which, 
in  Uncle  John's  judgment,  spoilt  all;  and 
that  was  the  restless  anxiety  of  Mr.  Raven 
to  inspire  him  with  the  belief  that  he  was 
totally  unprepared  to  receive  him.  "  I  beg 
that  you  will  excuse  us  to-day,"  he  would 
observe:  then,  "You  see  we  are  quite  in  the 
rough;"  then,  "I'm  afraid  you'll  not  be 
able  to  make  a  dinner" — then,  "  You  see 
we  have  only  a  snack,  as,  of  course,  we 
didn't  expect  to  have  the  pleasure  of  your 
company."  And  these  apologies  were  so 
constantly  reiterated,  that  UncleJohn — who 
had  never  in  his  life  sat  down  to  a  more 
sumptuous  dinner— was  heartily  glad  when 
it  was  over,  for  he  didn't  like  to  say,  "  Oh, 
don't  mention  it;"  or,  "  I  beg  that  you'll 
not  apologise" — or  "  Really  it  will  do  very 
well;"  or  indeed  anything  of  that  sort,  lie- 
cause  he  felt  that  that  would  not  convey 
quite  enough:  nor  did  he  like  to  say,  "  Upon 
rny  life,  I  never  sat  down  to  a  more  splendid 
dinner,"  because  he  frit  that  that  mi  a/it 
convey  a  little  too  much! — he  therefore  said 
nothing,  in  reply  to  those  apologies;  but 


labored  to  put  down  the  nuisance,  by  bow- 
ing. 

Of  course  Valentine  could  not  help  no- 
ticing this;  but  he  was  then  far  too  deeply 
engaged  with  Louise,  to  think  much  about 
the  motive  which  prompted  the  annoyance. 
It  was  perfectly  manifest  that  he  was  not 
annoyed.  On  the  contrary,  he  had  never 
felt  so  happy  before:  nor,  indeed,  had 
Louise.  They  were  really  delighted  with 
each  other:  and  their  eyes! — It  will  probably 
be  useless  to  say  how  they  looked;  but  that 
they  met  as  if  the  two  pair  had  been  under 
the  absolute  guidance  of  one  soul,  is  quite 
certain. 

Mr.  Raven,  immediately  after  dinner, 
commenced  drinking  with  great  freedom; 
and  this  had  the  effect  of  causing  him  gradu- 
ally to  throw  off  that  sort  of  restraint,  which 
his  wealth  and  the  style  in  which  he  lived 
had  imposed.  He  became  very  communi- 
cative indeed,  and  very  joyous,  when  Va- 
lentine, who  had  taken  special  care  of  his 
own  faculties,  discovered  the  real  character 
of  the  man. 

"  Come,  come!  you  don't  drink!"  cried 
Mr.  Raven,  slapping  Uncle  John  heartily 
upon  the  shoulder.  "Come!  never  mind 
the  young  un's— leave  them  to  themselves, 
while  we  two  old  codgers  enjoy  ourselves, 
eh!  You're  just  the  sort  of  fellow  1  like! 
None  of  your  stiff,  upstart  penniless  men 
in  buckram,  for  me!  You're  just  the  man 
after  my  own  heart!  so  let's  both  be  jolly, 
eh!  let's  both  be  jolly!" 

Uncle  John  had  no  objection. 

"  But,"  continued  Mr.  Raven,  with  truly 
awful  solemnity,  "  I  feel  that  1  have  one 
great  duty  to  perform.  Louise,  my  girl, 
fill  up  a  bumper — a  bumper,  my  girl,  for 
this  toast!  1  rise!"  he  continued,  very 
slowly  and  very  emphatically,  "  I  rise  to 
propose  the  health  of  one  to  whose  brave 
and  noble  nature  we — 1  and  my  girl — owe 
our  present  existence.  That  young  man," 
he  added,  pointing  to  Valentine  and  looking 
at  Uncle  John,  «»  saved  my  life,  he  saved 
the  life  of  my  child!— God  bless  him!" 
Here  Valentine  rose  to  take  the  hand  ex- 
tended towards  him,  the  owner  of  which 
was  for  some  time  unable  to  proceed.  "I 
can't,"  heat  length  added,  "give  expres- 
sion to  my  feelings,  my  feelings  won't  let 
me;  but  if  ever  I  forget  him,  may  I  be  for- 
gotten! If  ever  I  cease  to  be  grateful — God 
bless  you!"  He  could  then  say  no  more, 
but  sank  back  in  his  chair,  and  bavin*;  wiped 
away  the  tears  which  almost  blinded  him, 
emptied  his  glass  and  replenished. 

The  pride  of  Uncle  John  at  that  interest- 
ing moment  was  quite  beyond  conception. 
His  opinion  of  Valentine  had  previously  of 
course  been  very  high;  but  at  that  moment 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


203 


really,  in  his  judgment,  he  was  the  most 
splendid  fellow  that  ever  lived,  and  in  the 
warmth  of  his  feelings  he  expressed  himself 
precisely  to  this  effect,  and  Mr.  Raven  en- 
tirely agreed  with  hirn,  when  Valentine  ac- 
knowledged the  toast  in  a  highly  appropriate 
speech,  and  shortly  after  Louise,  though 
reluctantly,  retired. 

"There,"  said  Mr.  Raven,  addressing 
Uncle  John  the  very  moment  Louise  had 
left  the  room,  "  what  do  you  think  of  that 
girl,  eh! — what  do  you  think  of  her  for  a 
pawnbroker's  daughter!" 

'^Upon  my  life,"  said  Uncle  John,  "you 
ought  to  be  proud  of  her." 

"  Proud,  sir,  I  am  proud!  Why  that  girl, 
when  I  was  in  business,  kept  the  whole  of 
my  books,  sir! — what  do  you  think  of  that! 
and  never  made  an  error  of  a  penny!  Would 
you  believe  it!  She  was  worth  to  me  more 
than  fifty  clerks  put  together.  She  worked 
like  a  horse,  and  now  see  what  she  is!" 

"  She  is  indeed  very  elegant,"  observed 
Uncle  John. 

"I  believe  you!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Raven. 
"Talk  of  your  aristocracy!  I'd  back  her 
against  the  first  lady  in  the  laud,  although 
she  is  but  a  pawnbroker's  daughter." 

"  You  have  of  course  been  out  of  busi- 
ness some  years!" 

"  Five,  sir,  five  years  come  Christmas. 
I'd  a  long  spell  at  it,  a  very  long  spell; 
but  Pve  done  the  trick,  although  I  did  com- 
mence as  a  poor  ragged  boy!" 

"  Nothing,"  said  Uncle  John,  "can  be 
more  pleasing  than  the  reflections  of  a  man 
who  has  been  the  architect  of  his  own  for- 
tune." 

"  Of  course  not!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Raven, 
who  was  highly  delighted.  "  Of  course 
not.  I  glory  in  it.  I  feel  that  there's  the 
more  credit  due  to  me,  eh!  Why  when  I 
began  life  I  hadn't,  if  you'll  believe  me, 
such  a  thing  as  a  penny  in  my  pocket,  nor 
scarcely  a  rag  to  my  back,  yet  see  now 
what  I  am!  I  began  as  a  boy  to  run  of 
errands, 'clean  knives,  shoes  and  windows 
— in  short,  to  make  myself  generally  useful. 
I  did  so;  and  worked  my  way  into  the  shop, 
and  then  married  the  governor's  daughter 
and  had  a  share  in  the  business;  and  then  I 
got  it  all,  and  now  I  can  buy  up  one-half  of 
your  beggarly  aristocracy,  and  be  even  then 
a  rich  man!" 

"It  must  be  a  very  profitable  business," 
observed  Uncle  John. 

"  Yes,  it  is — it  is  profitable:  there's  no 
denying  that.  But  people  make  a  mistake 
•when  they  suppose  that  the  profits  are 
chiefly  derived  from  the  poor.  The  little 
sums  tell  up,  no  doubt;  but  fortunes  are 
made  by  supplying  the  wants  of  our  proud 
peacock  beggarly  aristocracy!  That  is  how 


fortunes  are  realised;  when  you  come  to 
fortunes!  Why  I've  had  in  one  morning  in 
my  little  room  no  less  than  ten  ladies  of 
title! — in  one  single  morning,  sir! — What 
do  you  think  of  that!" 

"  You  astonish  me!"  exclaimed  Uncle 
John:  and  it  really  is  a  fact  that  Uncle  John 
was  astonished.  He  had  never  before  heard 
of  such  a  thing  in  his  life. 

"Some,"  continued  Mr.  Raven,  who  was 
now  fairly  warmed  upon  the  subject — 
"  some  brought  me  their  cases  of  jewels; 
some  wore  them  and  took  them  off  before 
me,  while  others  brought  with  them  the 
most  valuable  portion  of  their  plate." 

"  But  did  they  go  into  the  shop!" 

"No! — bless  your,  soul,  no;  they  were 
somewhat  too  cunning  for  that.  They 
would  come  to  the  private  door,  and  when- 
ever they  came  they  were  sure  to  be  trem- 
bling on  the  very  verge  of  ruin.  Of  course 
I  understood  it!  I  knew  what  it  meant.  I 
used  to  tease  them  sometimes — you  know 
— pretend  to  be  poor — just  to  hear  what 
they  would  say.  It  wouldn't  do,  however, 
to  carry  on  long,  because  they'd  go  right 
clean  off  into  hysterics.  I  have  had  them, 
sir,  crying  and  fainting,  and  begging  and 
praying!  '  Now  upon  my  word,'  I  used  to 
say,  'money  is  very  scarce,  but  how  much 
will  do  for  you!'  *  Oh!'  they  would  almost 
scream — '1  must  have  a  hundred  pounds,  or 
I'm  ruined.  I'll  leave  you  my  jewels,  which 
cost  a  thousand — I  must  have  them  again 
to  go  to  Lady  Tontino's  ball — and  I'll  give 
you  for  the  accommodation  thirty,  forty, 
fifty,  sixty  pounds,  or  anything  you  like  to 
name.  Dear,  dear,  Mr.  Raven,  do  oblige 
me!' " 

^  I  wonder,"  said  Uncle  John,  "  they 
were  not  ashamed  of  themselves." 

"Ashamed!"  cried  Mr.  Raven;  "your 
beggarly  aristocracy  ashamed!  Catch  them 
at  it!  Sir,  they  are  ashamed  of  nothing! — 
they've  got  no  shame  in  them.  I've  seen 
such  scenes,  and  heard  such  tales! — they've 
made  my  hair  stand  on  end,  sir,  right  up  on 
end! — they  have  almost  made  me  vow  that 
I'd  never  again  put  the  smallest  faith  in 
woman;  and  I  surely  never  should,  but  that 
I  knew  these  tricks  were  confined  to  our 
beggarly  aristocracy.  They'll  do  anything 
to  cheat  their  husbands— anything  in  the 
world;  they  glory  in  it — absolutely  glory  in 
it!  But,  really,  I  couldn't  help  laughing 
sometimes.  There  was  old  Lady  Lumley 
—she's  dead  now;  she  died  about  the  year 

,  but  that's  of  no  consequence — well, 

she  would  come,  say  on  a  Tuesday,  bustling 
into  the  room,  in  such  a  fidget  and  so  out  of 
breath,  you'd  have  thought  she  had  not  got 
another  moment  to  live.  *  Well,  Mr.  Raven,' 


204 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


she  would  say,  '  I've  got  into  another  dread- 
ful scrape,  and  I  must  have  your  dear,  kind 
assistance;  I  lost  all  my  money  last  night. 
I  positively  never  saw  cards  go  so  cross. 
There  really  must  have  been  cheating;  but 
I'm  going  to  meet  the  same  party  to-night, 
and  unless  I  have  a  hundred  pounds  now, 
I  shall  never  be  able  to  recover  my  loss. 
I'll  leave  my  suit  of  brilliants;  I  am  sure 
not  to  want  them  till  Friday;  but  I  have  no 
doubt  at  all  of  being  able  to  call  for  them 
to-morrow.'  Well,  I'd  lend  her  the  hun- 
dred, and  after  calling  rne  a  'dear  good 
creature,'  and  the  rest  of  it,  although  if  I 
passed  her  in  the  jrark,  or  elsewhere,  she'd 
turn  up  her  aristocratic  nose  and  wouldn't 
know  me;  she'd  trot  off  delighted  to  her 
carriage,  which  she  invariably  left  at  the 
corner.  The  next  morning  she'd  call  again, 
not  to  take  away  her  diamonds,  but  to  beg 
of  me  to  let  her  have  another  hundred 
pounds.  She'd  have  lost  the  hundred  she 
had  the  day  before,  and  perhaps  two  or  three 
hundred  besides,  which  had  been  given  to 
her  by  the  earl  for  some  very  special  pur- 
pose. I'd  let  her  have  another  hundred,  for 
the  diamonds  were  worth  three  thousand  at 
least;  I  believe  they  originally  cost  five; 
and  the  very  next  morning  she'd  bustle  in 
again — the  earl  had  missed  them!  They 
were  kis  first  gift,  and  unless  she  could  have 
them  to  wear  that  night,  she  would  be  for 
ever  ruined!  She  would  bring,  perhaps,  a 
suit  of  torquoise,  pearls,  or  anything  else 
she  might  happen  to  have  worn  the  night 
before,  to  deposit,  until  she  could  bring 
back  the  diamonds.  And  thus  she  went  on 
— and  thus  they  all  go  on,  paying  in  the 
long-run  at  least  a  thousand  per  cent,  for 
their  money;  and  I've  had  in  my  house 
at  one  time,  sir,  jewels,  which  couldn't 
have  cost  less  than  five  hundred  thousand 
pounds." 

"But  of  course,"  said  Uncle  John,  "they 
eventually  redeemed  them!" 

"  By  no  means,  sir,  is  it  a  matter  of 
course — by  no  manner  of  means.  They 
would  go  on  and  on,  getting  deeper  and 
deeper,  until  they  could  not  pay  the  money 
advanced,  and  then  of  course  would  come 
another  jewel  robbery." 

"  Why,  I'm  utterly  amazed!"  cried  Uncle 
John. 

"  Amazed,  sir?     Why,  sir,  I  have  known 


no  less  than  three  most  mysterious  jewel 
robberies  to  be  blazing  away  in  the  papers 
in   one   single    week,   when   the   identical 
jewels  have  been  in  my  possession.     Re- 
|  wards  have  been  offered  for  the  apprehen- 
:  sion  of  the  offenders,  the  servants  have  been 
i  searched,  the  houses  have  been  turned  up- 
I  side  down,  and  the  track  of  the  villains  dis- 
j  tinctly    chalked    out,   while  the  creatures 
themselves,  the  very  creatures  from  whose 
hands  I  received  them,  have  been  running 
about  from  place  to  place,  to  give  color  to 
the  thing,  apparently  in  a  state  of  the  most 
absolute   distraction.      Those   lovely    bril- 
liants, those  beautiful    pearls,  those  ame- 
j  thysts,  those  rubies,  which  they  would  not 
have  lost  for  the  world;   their  birthday  pre- 
i  sents  and  their  marriage  gifts,  were,  alas! 
':  all  gone,  the  cold-hearted  robbers  had  not 
i  left  a  gem!      These  are  the  tricks,  sir — 
I  these  are  the  tricks;  and  this  is  how  fortunes 
i  are  made— when  you  come  to  speak  of  for- 
tuneS)  not  by  taking  in  a  string  of  fiatirons 
j  for  twopence,  or  lending  a  shilling  upon  a 
;  chemise!     But  come,  let  us  sink  the  shop 
and    talk   of    something    else.       But    you 
i  wouldn't  have  supposed  it  though,  would 
••  you]" 

"  I  should  not,  indeed,"  said  Uncle  John. 
"  Upon  my  life  I  could  scarcely  have  con- 
ceived it  to  be  possible." 

At  this  moment  a  servant  entered  with  a 
communication  from  Louise,  which  was 
found  to  be  the  prelude  to  the  introduction 
of  coffee.  This  induced  Uncle  John  at  once 
to  look  at  his  watch,  and  to  declare,  when 
he  had  discovered  to  his  astonishment  that 
it  was  already  past  twelve,  that  he  had  not 
an  idea  of  its  being  so  late.  He  however 
had  coffee,  and  so  had  Valentine,  who  had 
been  throughout  an  attentive  auditor,  draw- 
ing inferences,  and  balancing  conclusions, 
as  Mr.  Raven  proceeded,  and  at  length  fully 
made  up  his  mind  to  this,  that  he  ardently 
loved  Louise,  but  could  not  have  a  very 
high  opinion  of  her  father. 

Uncle  John  now  developed  strong  symp- 
toms of  impatience,  and  a  servant  was  ac- 
cordingly despatched  for  a  coach,  ami  when 
its  arrival  had  been  announced,  he  and 
Valentine  took  leave  of  Mr.  Raven,  who 
was  then,  as  in  fact  he  had  been  throughout 
the  evening,  on  very  high  terms  with  him- 
self indeed. 


I: 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


205 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 


SHOWS  HOW  UNCLE  JOHN  AND  VALENTINE  MANAGED  TO  ASCERTAIN  THAT  GOODMAN  WAS 
CONFINED  AS  A  LUNATIC,  AND  HOW  THEY  ALSO  MANAGED  TO  INTRODUCE  THEMSELVES 
BODILY  INTO  THE  ASYLUM. 


"Now  I  say,  governor,  what's  to  be  done 
with  this  old  guy?"  inquired  Horace,  allud- 
ing to  Uncle  John,  the  morning  after  he 
and  Valentine  had  dined  with  Mr.  Raven. 
"  He  has  been  here  a  series  of  times  you 
know,  and  I  suppose  he'll  commence  a  new 
series  to-morrow.  Now  I  think  you'd  bet- 
ter see  him.  You  can't  keep  on  '  not  at 
home'  for  ever;  besides,  it  looks  rotten, 
precisely  as  if  you  were  anxious  to  avoid 
him,  which  don't  do  you  know,  and  never 
did;  therefore  my  undeniable  opinion  upon 
the  matter  is,  that  you'd  better  make  a 
formal  appointment,  it  will  look  more  like 
business." 

"  But  what  am  I  to  say  to  the  man1?" 
cried  Walter. 

"  Say  to  him!  stick  to  your  original  text 
— pecuniary  uncomfortables— unexampled 
shortness  of  chips — a  horrid  accumulation 
of  respectable  duns  striking  his  monetary 
system  with  paralysis.  You  know  how  to 
do  it." 

"  But  he's  Grim  wood's  greatest  friend," 
said  Walter.  "  He  has  come  to  town, 
depend  upon  it,  expressly  in  order  to  get 
him  out  of  those  pecuniary  difficulties  in 
which  we  have  stated  he  is  involved.  He 
will  therefore  insist  upon  knowing  where 
he  is.  He  will  put  it  to  me  whether  I 
would  rather  see  my  brother  kept  in  a  state 
of  embarrassment  or  completely  disencum- 
bered. That's  the  way  he'll  put  it.  I'm 
sure  of  it,  and  what  can  I  say  then"?  Can  I 
say,  No,  let  him  be;  don't  give  him  any 
assistance;  all  will  come  right  by  and  by"? 
It  strikes  me  that  that  wouldn't  look  quite 
the  thing!" 

"  Then  I'll  tell  you  what  had  better  be 
done.  I've  just  thought  of  it.  Suppose 
we  were  to  write  a  lot  of  letters,  you  know, 
dating  the  first,  for  example,  at  Penzance, 
there,  out  by  the  Land's  End,  signed  of 
course  *  Grimwood  Goodman,' all  regular, 
inviting  the  old  buffer  to  run  down,  and 
when  he  gets  there  let  him  find  another 
dated  Great  Yarmouth,  with  a  similar  invi- 
tation, and  when  he  gets  to  Great  Yarmouth 
let  him  find  another  addressed  to  him  stat- 
ing that  business,  which  pressed  immedi- 
ately, compelled  the  undiscoverable  to  go  to 
York,  where  he  should  be  inexpressibly 
delighted  to  see  him,  and  then  whon  he 
reaches  York  let  him  in  a  precisely  similar 
fashion  be  seduced  over  to  Shrewsbury  or 


Welch  Pool;  and  thus  keep  him  cutting 
about  the  country  until  he  gives  the  thing 
up  as  a  bad  job — eh1?  don't -you  think  that 
that  would  be  about  the  sort  of  thing1?" 

"  Horace,"  said  his  father,  "  you  are  a 
very  ingenious  fellow;  but  you  are  always 
making  the  one  little  mistake  of  supposing 
that  every  other  man  is  a  fool." 

"Well,  but  don't  you  think  it  would 
answer  to  make  him  go  to  the  extremes  of 
east,  west,  north,  and  south'?  I  don't  know 
what  your  sentiments  may  be  upon  the 
matter,  but  my  impression  is,  that  there's 
nothing  in  life  so  well  calculated  to  make 
a  man  give  up  a  chase  of  this  description." 

"  And  you  fancy  he'd  go  from  place  to 
place  in  that  way!" 

"  Go! — of  course  he'd  go — can  there  be 
two  opinions  about  it]" 

"  Psha!  nonsense!  We  might  get  him, 
no  doubt,  to  any  one  of  the  places  you  have 
mentioned;  but  what  if  we  did1?  Why,  he'd 
find  out  at  once  that  it  was  a  hoax,  and 
then  his  suspicions — for  that  he  has  suspi- 
cions now  is  quite  clear — would  be  stronger 
than  ever." 

"  Well,  have  it  your  own  way — of  course 
you  always  will.  You  never  were,  you 
know,  guilty  of  being  influenced  by  those 
who  were  anxious  to  advise  you  for  your 
own  good.  My  opinion  is,  still,  that  this 
dodge  might  be  managed;  but  if  you  won't 
do  it,  why,  then  the  next  best  thing  is  to 
put  a  bold  face  upon  the  matter,  and  see 
him  at  once.  It  is  perfectly  certain  that 
he'll  never  leave  London  until  he  has  seen 
you,  and  he  may  come  across  you  when  you 
are  quite  unprepared." 

"There  is  certainly  something  in  that," 
said  Walter,  "  and  as  of  course,  I'm  never 
safe,  if  I  leave  the  house  but  for  a  moment, 
I  begin  to  think  that  it  will  perhaps  be  bet- 
ter to  see  him  here,  when  I'm  perfectly 
cool  and  collected." 

"There  can't  be  half  a  doubt  about  it. 
You  know  your  old  nerves  are  not  worth  so 
much  as  twopence  when  you  are  taken  by 
surprise." 

"  Well,  give  me  the  pen  and  ink:  I'll 
write  to  him  now:  I'll  be  at  home  this  even- 
ing at  seven"?— say  eight." 

A  note  to  this  effect  was  therefore  written 
and  despatched;  and  when  Uncle  John  and 
Valentine,  whom  Raven  and  Louise  had 
engaged  in  conversation  that  morning  for 


206 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


nearly  two  hours,  returned,  they  found  it 
lying  upon  the  (able. 

44  Well,  come,"  said  Uncle  John,  having 
read  the  contents,  "I'm  to  see  this  man  at 
last.  We  shall  now,  perhaps,  hear  some- 
thing about  Goodman." 

"I  fear  not,"  said  Valentine,  looking  at 
the  note.  "  His  object,  I  apprehend,  is  to 
tell  you  the  tale  he  told  me,  and  if  it  should, 
there  will  remain  but  one  way  in  which  it 
is  possible  to  get  at  the  truth.  But  then 
that  depends  so  much  upon  you." 

"  Well,  my  boy!  Well!  Am  I  not  to  be 
trusted!" 

44  Scarcely  in  this  matter:  I'll  explain  to 
you  why.  This  man  is  very  nervous.  He 
conjures  up  spectres  and  so  on:  he  actually 
set  fire  to  his  house,  with  the  view  of  burn- 
ing out  the  phantom  of  his  brother,  a  cir- 
cumstance which  tended,  more  than  any- 
thing else,  to  confirm  my  suspicions  of  foul 
play.  Now,  if  I  thought  that  you  could 
keep  your  countenance,  let  what  might  oc- 
cur, I'd  so  frighten  that  man,  that,  if  there 
be  anything  wrong,  we  should  be  perfectly 
certain  to  have  a  full  confession." 

44  There's  no  danger,"  said  Uncle  John, 
4'  of  my  being  unable  to  do  that.  The  thing 
is  too  serious — far  too  serious." 

44  But  can  you  look  steadily  at  the  object, 
and  at  nothing  but  the  object,  however  ridi- 
culous may  be  the  circumstances  connected 
with  its  attainment!" 

44  In  such  a  case  I  can:  I  feel  that  I  can 
—and  will." 

44  Then,"  said  Valentine,  "it  shall  be 
tried.  We  shall  see  how  he  will  act:  we  shall 
hear  what  explanation  he  will  give;  and  if 
that  explanation  be  not  satisfactory — and  I 
cannot  suppose  for  a  moment  that  it  will  be 
— why  then  we  must  work  upon  his  fears, 
and  I  have  not  the  smallest  doubt  of  the  re- 
sult. There  is  only  one  drawback:  Horace, 
his  son,  who  is  perhaps  quite  as  reckless  as 
he  is  vulgar,  will  doubtless  be  with  him.  It 
will  not  be  very  easy,  I  apprehend,  to  alarm 
him;  but  our  point  will  be  gained,  notwith- 
standing, provided  you  look  at  the  object 
alone." 

44  I'll  do  it,"  said  Uncle  John  firmly.  "  I'll 
do  it!  I'll  not  move  a  muscle,  except  indeed 
it  be  with  the  view  of  expressing  surprise." 

Very  well.  This  point  being  thus  satis- 
factorily spttled,  they  sat  down  to  dinner, 
and  at  half  past  seven  precisely  they  started 
for  Walter's  residence,  where  they  tound 
him  and  Horace  with  a  pile  of  documents 
before  them,  with  which  they  appeared  to 
have  been  deeply  engaged. 

"Ah!  my  old  tar?"  exclaimed  Horace, 
seizing  Valentine's  hand  as  he  and  Uncle 
John  entered  the  room — "Why  what  have 
you  been  doing  with  your  body  for  the  last 


half  century?  We  havn't  seen  so  much  as 
a  bit  of  you  for  an  age!" 

44  You  are  so  seldom  at  home!"  observed 
Valentine  significantly. 

44  Sir,"  said  Walter,  addressing  Uncle 
John,  "  I'm  proud  to  know  you.  Take  a 
seat.  I  am  sorry  that  I  should  have  been 
so  unfortunate  as  to  be  out  whenever  you 
have  done  me  the  honor  of  calling:  but  I 
have  been  so  much  engaged  with  my  bro- 
ther's business  that  really  I've  had  scarcely 
a  moment  to  myself." 

44  Flave  you  heard  from  him  lately?"  in- 
quired Uncle  John. 

44  The  other  day,"  replied  Walter.  "  Last 
— what  day  was  it  Horace? — Thursday? — 
Friday?" 

44  Thursday,  you  know,"  said  Horace. 
'4  Don't  you  remember? — The  day  you  went 
to  Lincoln's  Inn." 

44  Aye!  so  it  was,  of  course! — it  was 
Thursday.  I  had  forgotten." 

44  He  was  quite  well,  I  hope?" 

44  Why,  yes:  as  well  as  you  might  expect, 
you  know,  under  the  circumstances.  His 
difficulties  have  been  and  are  still  very 
pressing  and  very  vexatious.  When  a  man 
once  gets  back,  sir,  it's  a  long  time  before 
he  gets  forward  again." 

44  That  is  true,"  said  Uncle  John;  "  very 
true.  But  what  is  the  nature  of  those  diffi- 
culties, may  I  ask?" 

44  They  are  of  an  exceedingly  complicated 
character:  indeed,  so  complicated  are  they, 
that  I  fear  we  shall  never  be  able  to  arrange 
them  with  any  degree  of  completeness.  These 
papers  which  you  now  see  before  you  all 
relate  to  the  various  speculations  in  which 
he  has  been  engaged.  My  son  and  I  have 
been  working  at  them  constantly,  almost 
night  and  day  for  the  last  month,  but  we 
really  can  make  nothing  of  them." 

44  Well,  I've  known  him  for  a  number  of 
years,"  said  Uncle  John,  "  but  I  never 
before  knew  that  he  was  a  specualting  man. 
I  know  he  used  not  to  be." 

44  No:  it's  only  within  the  last  year  or 
two  that  he  has  been  mad  enough  to  engago 
in  them,  and  some  of  them  are  really  of  the 
wildest  description  that  can  possibly  be 
conceived.  It  would  have  been  indeed  a 
happy  thing  could  he  have  been  satisfied 
with  that  which  he  had.  But  he  was  led 
into  it— blindly  led  into  it." 

"  Hut  what  kind  of  speculations  were 
they?" 

••  Speculations,  sir;  some  of  thorn  of  a 
description  so  absurd,  that  you'd  think  that 
the  man  must  have  been  insane  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  them." 

••  Miit  what  is  their  natun •?" 

••  Upon  my  word  they  are  so  various  and 
so  mixed  up  together,  that  it  is  perfectly 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


207 


impossible  to  explain.  There  is  only  one 
thing  quite  certain,  which  is  this,  that  he's 
an  utterly  ruined  man." 

"  That  is  indeed  most  unfortunate;  but  if 
such  be  the  case,  why  does  he  continue  to 
keep  out  of  the  way1? — why  does  he  not 
meet  the  thing  boldly!  Is  he  in  town!" 

44  Oh!  dear  me,  no:  he  left  immediately: 
he  wouldn't  stop  an  hour  after  he  found 
how  things  were." 

*'  I  suppose,"  said  Uncle  John, — "  in  fact, 
I  believe  you  have  explained  to  my  nephew 
— that  he  is  anxious  for  his  present  place  of 
residence  to  be  kept  a  profound  secret.  Now 
sir,  we  are  friends  of  long  standing:  I  have 
known  him  now  nearly  forty  years;  and 
during  the  whole  of  that  period,  our  confi- 
dence in  each  other  has  been  of  a  character 
the  most  implicit  and  unreserved.  I  there- 
fore feel  that  he  cannot  object  to  my  know- 
ing where  he  is;  my  conviction,  in  fact,  is 
strong,  that  he  cannot  be  anxious  to  remain 
concealed  from  me." 

44  My  dear  sir,"  said  Walter,  "  if  there 
be  one  friend  whom  he  respects  more  than 
another,  it  is  yourself;  but  he  has  enjoined 
me  most  strictly  to  communicate  the  secret 
to  no  one,  not  even  to  you." 

"'Tis  false!"  cried  Valentine,  assuming 
the  voice  of  Goodman,  and  making  it  appear 
to  proceed  from  the  passage. 

"Hal-lo!"  exclaimed  Horace.  "Why, 
what's  o'clock,  now!" — and  seizing  one  of 
the  candles,  he  rushed  towards  the  door — 
•while  Walter  trembled  from  head  to  foot. 

44  What's  that!"  quickly  demanded  Uncle 
John — looking  earnestly  at  the  trembling 
wretch  before  him.  44  What's  that!"— he 
repeated  in  a  whisper,  which  seemed  abso- 
lutely to  strike  to  the  wretch's  heart. 

Walter  started:  he  was  speechless:  his 
eyes  glared  wildly;  and  although  they  were 
directed  stealthily  towards  the  door,  he  had 
not  the  courage  to  turn  his  head. 

44  Who  are  you?"  cried  Horace,  on  reach- 
ing the  passage.  4'  Come  in! — don't  stand 
shivering  there  in  the  cold! — Oh,  there's 
nobody" — he  continued— as  he  banged  the 
door  with  violence,  "  It's  nothing  but 
fancy." 

44  It's  a  very  extraordinary  fancy,"  ob- 
served Uncle  John,  44  if  fancy  it  be;  and 
very  mysterious  in  its  effects." 

4'  Why  governor!  governor!"  cried  Ho- 
race, shaking  his  father — an  operation 
which  was  perfectly  unnecessary — seeing 
that  he  was  shaking  quite  sufficiently,  with- 
out such  assistance.  "  Why,  what  are  you 
about!  are  you  mad!" 

The  blood  of  Walter  appeared  to  be  freez- 
ing in   his  veins;   his   lips  became   livi 
while  his  eyes  seemed  glazed  with  an  un- 
earthly film,  and  he  looked  altogether  very 


horrible.  He  did,  however,  at  length,  on 
being  roused,  manage  to  articulate  indis- 
tinctly, what  was  understood  to  be  a  de- 
laration  that,  since  his  illness,  his  nerves 
had  been  so  weak,  that  the  slightest  noise 
alarmed  him. 

"Valentine  is  right,"  thought  Uncle 
John.  4' There  is,  indeed,  something  very 
wrong  here." 

44  Walter!"  said  Valentine,  in  a  tone  of 
great  solemnity,  throwing  his  voice  as 
before. 

44  Who's  there?"  cried  Walter,  with  an 
expression  of  terror  the  most  absolute. 

44  Governor!"  cried  Horace,  4' don't  be  a 
fool!  You're  enough  to  make  a  man  jump 
clean  out  of  his  skin.  There's  no  one! — of 
course,  there  is  no  one." 

44  Some  one  pronounced  the  name  of 
Walter,"  observed  Uncle  John,  looking 
seriously  at  Horace. 

41  Oh!  it's  only  somebody  having  a  game!" 
returned  Horace;  "  I  should  like  to  be  be- 
hind him,  whoever  he  is.  I'd  make  him 
remember  it." 

44  Walter!"  repeated  Valentine. 

44  Oh!  this  won't  do!"  cried  Horace,  dart- 
ing to  the  door.  44  Who's  there?  I'll  soon 
see  who  it  is,"  he  continued,  returning  for 
a  light.  44Now,  old  fellow,  where  are  you! 
I  only  want  to  see  you,  that's  all.  D'ye 
hear!  Susan!  Have  you  any  fellow  there 
with  you! — because  if  you  have,  I'll  just 
break  his  blessed  neck,  you  know;  and  no 
mistake  about  it." 

Susan,  on  the  instant,  indignantly  flew 
up,  with  the  view  of  repudiating  the  im- 
plied imputation. 

44  Have  you  let  any  fellow  in,  I  ask  you!" 
cried  Horace. 

44  Feller!  Me  let  a  feller  in!  Well,  I'm 
sure!" 

44 1  only  want  to  catch  one!  that's  all!  If 
I  wouldn't  give  him  pepper! — Has  any  one 
been!" 

4' No!"  cried  Susan,  "  I  never  lets  fellers 
in;  I'll  not  have  my  character  taken  away, 
/know." 

44  Oh!  don't  bother  me  with  your  rub- 
bish," cried  Horace,  returning  to  the  room, 
and  closing  the  door  again  violently.  "I 
should  only  just  like  to  set  eyes  on  him! — 
that's  all  the  harm  I  wish  him.  But,  go- 
vernor!— come!  don't  be  a  fool!" 

WT alter  tried  desperately  to  shake  off  his 
fears,  but  in  vain.  He  still  sat  as  if  utterly 
paralysed.  His  mouth  was  open,  his  limbs 
were  powerless,  and  he  looked  as  if  he  ex- 
pected every  instant  to  hear  the  voice  again. 

44  This  won't  do,  you  know!"  cried  Ho- 
race. 44  Here — have  a  glass  of  wine." 
And  he  rose  in  order  to  reach  the  decanter, 
which  stood  on  the  sideboard;  but  the  mo- 


208 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


ment  he  had  risen,  a  knock  was  heard  at 
the  door! 

Again  Walter  started,  and  caught  his 
breath  convulsively;  but  Horace,  lifting  his 
hand  to  enjoin  silence,  crept  softly  across 
the  room.  Another  knock  was  heard,  and 
in  an  instant  Horace  had  opened  the  door, 
and  seized  Susan  by  the  throat. 

She  screamed,  of  course,  violently,  and 
struggled  with  appropriate  desperation;  but 
it  was  not  until  Horace — whose  face  having 
recently  been  burnt,  was  very'tender — had 
been  dreadfully  scratched,  that  he  became 
sensible  of  the  error  he  had  committed. 

"  Good  Heavens!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Good- 
man from  above.  "What  on  earth  is  the 
matter]" 

"  Here's  Mr.  Horace,  ma'am,  been  throt- 
tling at  me  just  for  all  the  world  like  a 
polecat,  and  all  'cause  I  knocked  at  the 
door  just  to  lell  him  you  wanted  to  see  him." 

"  WTell,  how  did  I  know1?"  cried  Horace. 
"Why  didn't  you  speak]  How  do  you 
think  I  could  tell  who  it  was  in  the  dark"?" 

."  Horace!  for  Heaven's  sake  come  up!" 
cried  Mrs.  Goodman. 

"7'ra  corning,"  muttered  Horace;  and,  as 
he  returned  for  a  candle,  it  was  plain  that 
his  personal  appearance  had  not  by  any 
means  been  improved. 

At  this  moment  Uncle  John  felt  an  al- 
most irresistible  inclination  to  smile;  but 
on  turning  towards  Walter,  that  inclination 
was  subdued  without  an  effort.  There  the 
guilty  creature  sat,  without  the  power  either 
to  move  or  to  speak,  writhing  under  the 
torturing  lash  of  conscience,  and  looking  as 
pale  as  a  ghost.  He  was  indeed  the  very 
picture  of  horror,  presenting  altogether  a 
spectacle  which  would  have  excited  the 
powerful  commiseration  of  those  who  were 
near  him,  but  that  they  felt— strongly  felt — 
that  he  had  been  guilty  of  some  dreadful 
crime. 

"  Brother!"  said  Valentine,  in  a  deep 
sepulchral  tone. 

"  Mercy!"  cried  Walter,  whose  agony  at 
the  moment  appeared  to  be  most  intense. 

"  Brother!"  repeated  Valentine. 

Walter  again  started;  and  stopping  his 
ears,  shrank" back  appalled. 

"  Well!  how  do  you  bring  it  in  now]" 
cried  Horace,  re-entering  the  room  with  his 
face  bleeding  freely.  "  What!  not  got  over 
ityet]  Here— take  a  glass  of  wine:  you'll 
feel  fifty  per  cent,  better  after  th.it.  What- 
ever is  the  matter  with  you,  I  can't  con- 
ceive." And  he  filled  a  glass,  and  handed 
it  to  his  father,  who  had  no  sooner  raised  it 
to  his  lips  than  he  dropped  it;  for  at  that 
moment  Valentine,  throwing  his  voice  as 
before  into  the  passage,  again  most  sol.  mu- 
ly  cried,  "  Walter!" 


"  It  don't  signify  talking,"  said  Horace, 
"  there  must  be  some  fellow  in  the  house. 
I'm  sure  of  it!"  And  he  again  went  to  the 
door,  and  listened  very  attentively,  and 
ground  his  teeth,  and  clenched  his  fists 
with  great  desperation.  "  You'd  better 
look  out,  rny  fine  fellow,"  he  cried,  "  be- 
cause if  I  do  happen  to  catch  you,  you'll 
find  no  mistake  about  me!  Well,  how  do 
you  find  yourself  now,  after  spilling  your 
wine  like  a  senseless  old  infant]  I'll  make 
it  out  now  before  I  sleep." 

"  No!  Horace,  no!"  said  Walter  faintly. 
"You  will  find  no  one  there." 

"  Oh!  but  I  know  better!  You  don't 
think  there  is  any  body  then,  don't  you]" 

Walter  shook  his  head  very  mournfully, 
and  heaved  a  sigh,  which  amounted  almost 
to  a  groan. 

"  Brother,  brother!"  said  Valentine,  so- 
lemnly throwing  his  voice  just  behind  the 
trembling  man. 

"I  will  not,  I  cannot  endure  it!"  cried 
WTalter  with  startling  energy.  "  It's  far 
worse  than  death.  I  must  and  will  ex- 
plain." 

"  Don't  be  an  ass!"  said  Horace.  "  What 
have  you  got  to  explain]"  and  he  pinched 
his  father's  arm  very  secretly  but  very  se- 
verely. 

"There  is  evidently  something,"  observ- 
ed Uncle  John,  "  that  requires  explanation, 
and  I  certainly  do  think  it  had  better  be 
done  at  once." 

"  Explain!"  cried  Valentine  in  a  truly 
awful  tone,  which  really  had  the  effect  of 
startling  even  Horace,  for  he  looked  towards 
the  spot  from  which  it  apparently  proceeded, 
with  an  expression,  if  not  indeed  of  abso- 
lute terror,  of  something  which  looked  very 
like  it. 

"  Explain!"  repeated  Valentine  in  a  tone 
of  still  greater  solemnity,  and  Walter,  who 
continued  to  tremble  as  if  with  the  palsy, 
was  about  to  explain,  when  Horace  stopped 
him,  and,  with  a  countenance  indicative  of 
no  considerable  alarm,  said,  "  If  it  must  be 
known,  I'll — pooh  I  won't  have  it!"  and  he 
looked  round  as  if  to  defy  that  influence 
which  a  moment  before  he  had  conceived  to 
be  supernatural. 

"  Beware  !"  —  cried  Valentino  —  "  be- 
ware!" 

"What  is  it]"  inquired  Uncle  John. 

"  Why,  the  fact  of  the  matter  is  this," 
replied  Horace,  whose  firmness  the  voice 
had  again  shaken.  "  The  fact  is,  the  old 
man  went  mad,  and  the  governor  deemed  it 
prudent,  yui  know,  for  his  own  personal 
safely,  to  have  him  taken  care  of.  And 
that's  the  long  and  the  short  of  it." 

"M;ul!"  cried  Uncle  John. 

"  Mad,  sir!  mad  us  a  four-year-old." 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


209 


11  Bless  my  life  and  soul!  I'd  no  idea  of 
such  a  thing.  I'd  always  supposed  him  to 
be  a  remarkably  strong-minded  man." 

"He  is  mad  and  no  mistake,"  rejoined 
Horace,  "  and  I'm  sorry  to  say  that  mad- 
ness runs  a  little  in  the  family.  The  gover- 
nor there  is  frequently  mad,  but  then  when 
the  fit's  on  him  he'll  no  more  believe  it  than 
nothing.  You  might  just  as  well  try  to  per- 
suade a  brick  wall." 

"  My  poor  old  friend  mad  !  Dear — bless 
me!"  said  Uncle  John,  who  believed  it,  and 
was  really  very  sorry  to  hear  it.  "  And 
what  have  you  done  with  him'?  Where  is 
he  confined!" 

"  In  a  nice  quiet  private  asylum,  where 
he  is  well  taken  care  of,  and  treated  with 
the  utmost  kindness  and  attention." 

"Yes,"  said  Walter,  faintly,  although  he 
felt  quite  relieved  by  the  manifest  credulity 
of  Uncle  JoMm,  "  it  is  very  expensive  to  me, 
certainly,  but  I  really  did  not  feel  myself 
justified  in  sending  him  to  any  one  of  those 
horrible  public  places  where  poor  creatures 
are  treated  you  don't  know  how.  I  there- 
fore went  to  the  expense  of  placing  him  in 
a  respectable  private  establishment,  where 
he  has  every  comfort,  and  is,  I  am  glad  to 
say,  as  happy  as  possible." 

"  You  acted  well,  sir.  It  does  you  great 
credit,  and  proves  that  you  possess  a  good 
heart,"  said  Uncle  John. 

"  I  feel  that  I  have  done  no  more  than  my 
duty,"  said  Walter.  "  He  is  my  brother." 
And  having  got  thus  far,  the  hypocrite  be- 
gan to  breathe  freely  and  to  feel  very  consi- 
derably better. 

"Right;  right;  very  right,"  said  Uncle 
John;  "that  consideration  is,  indeed,  very 
powerful.  And  with  whom  have  you  placed 
him? — what  establishment  is  he  in?" 

"  Dr.  Holdem's,"  said  Walter,  and  Ho- 
race looked  at  himras  if  with  the  view  of 
conveying  his  conviction  that  in  stating  that 
fact  he  had  done  very  wrong;  but  Walter, 
who  knew  the  strict  rules  of  the  establish- 
ment having  reference  to  communications 
between  patients  and  their  friends,  also 
knew  that  unless  suspicion  were  excited 
and  a  public  stir  made,  his  brother  would 
be  just  as  secure  as  before.  "  Dr.  Hol- 
dem,"  he  continued,  "  is  a  most  humane 
man,  and,  moreover,  a  man  of  extraordinary 
talent.  I  therefore  feel  much  more  satisfied 
under  the  circumstances  than  I  should  if  he 
were  here." 

"Of  course!  of  course!"  said  Uncle 
John.  "You  could  do  nothing  with  him, 
poor  fellow!  He  is  better  where  he  is — 
much  better.  Then  his  affairs'?" — 

"  Why,  they  certainly  are  somewhat  em- 
barrassed," said  Walter;  "but  if  even  they 
were  not,  such  a  misrepresentation  would 
19 


be,  under  the  circumstances,  venial.  You 
are  aware — as  a  man  of  sense  and  reflec- 
tion, you  must  be  aware — that  it  is  very, 
very  painful,  to  have  the  fact  of  a  relative 
being  confined  as  a  lunatic  generally  known. 
The  calamity  is  sufficiently  afflicting  of  it- 
self, but  the  torture  would  be  far  more  ex- 
quisite if  accompanied  by  the  perpetual  in- 
quiries of  anxious  friends." 

"  Very  true,  very  true,"  said  »Uncle  John; 
"  you  would  be  placed  in  a  position  very 
similar  to  that  of  a  man  having  multitudes 
of  friends  pouring  in  to  console  him  for  the 
loss  of  one  whom  he  most  dearly  loved." 

"  Precisely,"  said  Walter,  who  conceived 
that  he  had  made  a  most  palpable  hit;  and 
so  he  had,  indeed,  as  far  as  Uncle  John  was 
concerned.  "  You  therefore  see,"  he  con- 
tinued, "and  properly,  I  hope,  appreciate, 
my  motive  in  having  attributed  his  absence 
to  the  existence  of  difficulties  of  a  pecuniary 
character?" 

"  Oh!  you  acted  very  right.  Under  the 
circumstances,  no  doubt  I  should  have  done 
the  same  myself." 

"  You  will  believe  that  it  was  out  of  no 
disrespect  to  you  that  I  hesitated  to  explain 
the  real  facts  as  they  stood.  I  do  assure 
you  that  I  esteem  most  highly  all  who  take 
a  kind  interest  in  my  poor  brother's  wel- 
fare; but  had  I  not  known  that  he  and  you 
had  been  bosom  friends  so  long,  I  really 
could  not,  in  justice  to  my  own  feelings, 
have  entered  into  this  most  afflicting  expla- 
nation." 

"  Poor  fellow!"  said  Uncle  John,  "  who'd 
have  thought  it!  I  always  fancied  that  he 
was  rather  eccentric,  but  I  never  for  an  in- 
stant supposed  that  he  was  not  in  reality 
sane.  And  yet  he  certainly  would  so metimes 
run  on  very  strangely!  I  should  like,  al- 
though I  should,  at  the  the  same  time,  be 
very  sorry,  to  see  him.  I  wonder  whether 
he'd  know  me!" 

"  In  a  moment,"  said  Walter.  "  That 
is,  unfortunately,  the  worst  of  it.  W7hile 
none  but  strangers  are  near  he  is  full  of 
gaiety  and  happiness;  but  if  he  sees  an  old 
friend,  he  becomes  so  excited,  and  his  sub- 
sequent depression  is  so  dreadful,  that  it  is 
absolutely  dangerous  to  allow  a  friend  to  go 
near  him." 

"  In  that  case  then,  certainly,"  said  Uncle 
John,  "  I  must  subdue  my  anxiety  to  see 
him.  I  would  not  be  the  means  of  exciting 
him  for  the  world;  although,  I  must  confess, 
that  I  should  like  to  have  had  a  word — if  it 
were  only  a  word — with  him  before  I  left 
town.  However,  under  the  circumstances, 
I  shall  return  far  more  satisfied  than  I  came 
— for  even  to  know  the  worst  is  more  tole- 
rable than  to  be  tortured  with  vague  sus- 
picions;— and  I  trust  that  before  long  I  shall 


210 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


have  the  happiness  to  hear  that  he  is  per- 
fectly recovered." 

Uncle  John  now  rose,  with  the  view  of 
taking  his  departure;  and  when  Walter, 
having;  breathed  an  apparently  fervent 
prayer  for  the  recovery  of  his  brother,  had 
promised  to  advise  him  of  the  slightest 
favorable  change,  he  and  Valentine,  with 
minds  more  at  ease  than  when  they  entered, 
left,  much  to  the  satisfaction  of  Walter  and 
his  son. 

"It's  very  dreadful:  is  it  not!"  said  Uncle 
John,  as  he  left  the  house. 

"  Do  you  believe  it]"  inquired  Valentine. 

"  Why,  my  boy,  I  don't  see  how  there 
can  be  much  doubt  about  the  business." 

"  I  believe  that  they  have  placed  him  in 
a  madhouse,"  said  Valentine.  "I  do  go 
so  far  as  to  believe  that;  but  I'll  no  more 
believe  that  he  is  mad  than  I'll  believe  that 
you  are  mad." 

"  But  if  he's  in  a  madhouse,  he  must  be 
mad!  They  can't  answer  to  put  a  man  there 
unless  he  is;  so  that  the  fact  of  his  being 
there  is  proof  positive  of  his  madness! — 
don't  you  seel  The  thing  is  as  clear  as  the 
sun  at  noonday." 

"  Uncle,"  said  Valentine,  "  you  have  not 
heard  of  the  system  upon  which  these  private 
lunatic  asylums  are  based;  you  have  not 
heard  that  under  that  villanous  system, 
men — perfectly  sane  men — can  be  seized, 
gagged,  chained,  and  imprisoned  for  life,  to 
promote  the  interests  or  to  gratify  the  ma- 
lignity of  those  to  whom  they  are  prompted 
by  nature  to  look  for  affection;  you  have 
not  heard  that  husbands  can  be  incarcerated 
by  wives,  wives  by  husbands,  brothers  by 
sisters,  sisters  by  brothers,  sons  by  fathers, 
and  fathers  by  sons;  you  have  not  heard — " 

"  Now,  before  you  go  any  farther,"  said 
Uncle  John,  stopping  in  his  usual  manner; 
"  have  you?" 

"  I  have,"  replied  Valentine,  "  and  firmly 
believe  that  such  things  are  of  constant  oc- 
currence." 

*'  I  tell  you  they  can't  answer  to  do  it." 

*•  To  whom  need  they  answer?" 

"To  the  law! — to  the  law,  sir,"  exclaim- 
ed Uncle  John—"  to  the  law!" 

"  What  has  the  law  to  do  with  private 
lunatic  asylums?  They  are  virtually  placed 
beyond  the  pale  of  the  lavr.  The  private 
rules  of  each  establishment  absolutely  form 
the  constitution  under  which  the  inmates 
live;  they  are  the  only  laws  by  which  they 
are  governed— the  only  laws  to  which  they 
have  the  power  to  appeal." 

"  But  their  friends,  my  dear  boy! — their 
friends!" 

"  How  can  their  friends  act  in  ignorance 
of  the  matter?  A  man  is  stolen  from  society — 
from  his  home:  he  is  carried  away  secretly 


none  but  those  who  have  been  instrumental, 
and  are  interested,  perhaps  pecuniarily,  in 
lis  capture,  are  cognizant  of  the  place  of 
lis  concealment:  how  in  such  a  case,  then, 
an  his  friends  appeal  to  the  law,  or  act  at 
all,  not  knowing  where  he  is?" 

•'Clearly,  if  they  don't  know  where  he 
is,  it's  quite  impossible  for  them  to  act;  hut 
do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  such  monstrous 
niquities  are  in  reality  practiseu?" 

"  Uncle,"  said  Valentine,  "I  have  con- 
versed on  this  truly  dreadful  subject  with 
many  who  have  been,  like  you,  incredulous, 
and  they  have  all  asked  the  self-same  ques- 
tion, namely,  Jlre,  these  iniquities  practised? 
My  answer  has  been  invariably — If  I  say 
yes,  you'll  turn  away,  disbelieve  me,  and 
think  no  more  of  it:  let,  therefore,  the  first 
question  be  this — Can  these  monstrous  ini- 
quities be  practised? — and  when  you  have 
clearly  ascertained  that  they  can,  you  have 
simply  to  look  at  the  temptations  which 
exist,  and  the  facilities  which  are  afforded, 
to  feel  perfectly  sure  that  they  are.  Sup- 
pose I  were  a  villain  and  wished  to  enjoy 
your  property,  what  need  I  do  to  secure  it? 
— write  to  the  proprietor  of  one  of  these 
private  hastiles,  who  would  at  once  send 
doctors  to  sign  the  certificate  of  your  in- 
sanity, and  keepers  to  manacle  and  carry 
you  off,  without  a  soul  besides  knowing  a 
single  word  about  the  matter.  Suppose  I 
were  married  and  had  an  abandoned  wife, 
who  wished  with  impunity  to  enjoy  the 
society  of  her  paramour,  what  need  she  do 
to  get  rid  of  me  forever? — The  same! — Nay, 
suppose  any  case  in  which  the  conceal- 
ment of  a  man,  or  even  a  child  is  deemed 
necessary,  either  to  the  promotion  of  the 
interests,  or  to  the  gratification  of  the  malig- 
nant spirit  of  any  relative  or  friend,  the  same 
need  but  be  done  for  the  object  to  be  secured! 
1  therefore  have  not  the  smallest  doubt  that 
in  this  case  those  creatures  whom  we  have 
this  night  seen,  have  sent  our  poor  friend  to 
one  of  these  dreadful  places,  expressly  in 
order  to  secure  whatever  property  he  may 
have,  paying  a  certain  sum  weekly,  or 
monthly,  with  the  view  of  depriving  him 
for  ever  of  the  power  to  reclaim  it.  This 
is  my  conviction — a  conviction  which  every 
circumstance  that  has  occurred  since  his 
absence  now  tends  to  confirm." 

"  You  amaze  me!"  exclaimed  Uncle 
John.  "  But  if  it  should  be  the  case,  we'll 
have  him  out  to-morrow.  He  shall  not  be 
there  another  day!— We'll  have  him  out  to- 
morrow." 

"  That, I  fear,"  said  Valentine,  "is  much 
easier  eaid  than  accomplished.  But  \\«'ll 
first  ascertain  where  this  Holdem's  asylum 
is,  and  in  the  morning  we'll  go  and  see  what 
can  be  done." 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


"  So  we  will! — so  we  will!  You're  a 
fine  fellow,  Val!  We  will  go  in  the  morn- 
ing1, and  if  he  be  there! — Well,  well:  we 
shall  see:  we  shall  see:  we  shall  know  bet- 
ter then  how  to  act:  shall  we  not]  Poor 
fellow!  Bless  rny  life! — what  a  world  this 
is  to  live  in!  I  am  really  so  astonished  that 
I  feel  quite  confused!"  And  this  indeed 
was  a  fact.  Uncle  John  was  confused! 
There  were  so  many  things  entirely  new  to 
him  pressing-  upon  his  mind,  that  he  scarce- 
ly knew  what  he  was  about:  in  fact,  he  felt 
so  bewildered,  and  so  perfectly  exhausted, 
that  from  eleven  that  night  till  eleven  the 
next  morning-  he  was  utterly  lost  to  the 
cares  of  the  world. 

Valentine,  however,  rose  early.  His  first 
object  was  to  learn  where  the  establishment 
of  Dr.  Holdem  was  situated,  and  having- 
eventually  succeeded  in  this,  he  returned 
just  as  Uncle  John  came  down. 

"  Well,  said  Valentine,  "  I  have  ascer- 
tained where  this  place  is." 

"There's  a  good  fellow!"  said  Uncle 
John.  "  Then  we'll  just  have  a  little  bit  of 
breakfast  and  start  off  at  once.  We  shall 
manage  it,  Val! — I  feel  sure  that  we  shall 
do  it! — But  the  existence  of  such  a  system 
as  that  which  you  explained  to  me  last 
night  is  an  absolute  disgrace  to  the  country. 
We'll  not,  however,  say  any  more  about 
that  now:  come!— let's  make  a  breakfast." 

They  did  so,  and  sent  for  a  cab,  and  in 
less  than  an  hour  they  were  at  the  gates  of 
Dr.  Holdem's  asylum. 

"Well,  this  don't  appear  to  be  a  very 
dreadful  place,"  said  Uncle  John.  "It 
looks  quiet  and  comfortable  enough:  at  all 
events  it  has  a  very  fair  outside." 

Without  replying  to  this  observation, 
which  was,  however,  quite  natural  under 
the  circumstances,  Valentine  rang  the  bell, 
and  in  due  time  a  person  appeared  at  the 
gate. 

"I  wish  to  see  Dr.  Holdem,"  said  Va- 
lentine. 

"He  is  out,"  said  the  man,  "but  if  it's 
on  business,  Mr.  Jones,  perhaps,  will  do 
just  as  well." 

"  It  is  on  business:  let  me  see  Mr.  Jones." 

They  now  entered,  and  when  the  gate 
had  been  secured  they  were  shown  into  a 
handsomely  built  private  house,  which 
formed  the  front  of  the  asylum. 

"  You  have,"  said  Valentine,  addressing 
Mr.  Jones,  who  had  immediately  made  his 
appearance.  "  You  have  a  gentleman  in 
your  establishment  named  Goodman." 

"  How  do  you  know  that1?"  demanded 
Mr.  Jones. 

"  We  have  it  from  good  authority,"  re- 
plied Valentine,  "  and  we  are  anxious  to 
see  him  if  it  be  but  for  a  moment." 


"  Oh,  is  that  all  you  want!" 

"That  is  all,"  said  Valentine. 

"  Well  then,  if  that's  all,  of  course  you 
can't  see  him." 

"  But  we  are  friends,"  said  Uncle  John. 
•«  I  have  known  him  for  at  least  forty 
years." 

"  It  don't  matter  if  you've  known  him  for 
at  least  forty  thousand!  —  I  tell  you  again 
you  can't  see  him." 

"  But  we  only  wish  to  speak  one  word." 

"It  can't  be  done,  I  tell  you!—  So  that  if 
that's  all  you  want  I  just  wish  you  a  very 
good  morning." 

"  My  good  friend,"  said  Uncle  John,  in 
a  soothing  strain,  "  I  have  travelled  be- 
tween seventy  and  eighty  miles  in  order  to 
see  him,  and  —  " 

"  It  don't  matter  a  button,"  interrupted 
Mr.  Jones,  "if  you  have  travelled  between 
seventy  and  eighty  millions  of  miles,  it 
don't  make  a  bit  of  difference." 

"  But  surely  there  can  be  no  serious  ob- 
jection to  my  having  one  word?" 

"It  isn't  to  be  done!  there,  that's  alt 
about  it!" 

"  Indeed,  I  think  it  very  hard  that  I 
should  not  be  permitted  to  see  a  friend 
whom  —  " 

"Now  the  bottom  of  it  is,"  said  Mr. 
Jones,  "  that  it  isn't  of  any  use  talking.  If 
you  were  to  stop  here  till  doomsday,  and 
talk  all  the  time,  you  wouldn't  be  a  single 
bit  nearer  the  mark." 

"  But  consider,  my  good  friend,  what  a 
dreadful  thing  it  is  to  be  thus  precluded  —  " 

"  It's  of  no  use,  I  tell  you!  By  stopping 
here  you're  only  wasting  your  own  time 
and  mine." 

"  Then  I  can't  see  him"?  Nothing  will 
induce  you  to  let  me  have  a  word  with 
him!" 

"  Nothing!  You  may  safely  take  your 
oath  of  it!" 


"  said  Uncle  John,  who  now  be- 
gan to  feel  particularly  indignant,  "  1  see 
how  it  is.  I  see  it  all!  I'll  have  recourse 
to  other  means!—  to  other  means!  Justice 
shall  be  had  if  it  cost  ten  thousand  pounds! 
—  I'll  see  if  the  law  is  inoperative  here." 

"  Oh!  don't  bother  me  with  your  law!" 
cried  Jones,  who  was  really  impatient 
for  them  to  go.  "  Do  what  you  like!  — 
we  don't  care  what  you  do!  What  do  we 
care1?" 

"We'll  see,  sir!  —  we'll  see!"  cried  Uncle 
John,  who,  after  looking  at  Mr.  Jones  with 
surpassing  fierceness,  took  Valentine's  arm 
and  departed.  "  I'm  satisfied  now,"  he 
continued  as  he  passed  the  outer  gates; 
"I'm  perfectly  satisfied  that  the  practice 
which  you  explained  to  me  last  night  has 
in  this  case  been  put  into  operation." 


212 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"I  wish,"  said  Valentine,  "that  we 
could  but  have  got  inside.  But  I  scarcely 
expected  that  we  should.  You  see  how 
impossible  it  is  for  the  inmates  of  these 
dreadful  places  to  hold  communication  with 
their  friends.  But  what's  to  be  done  now? 
We  have  gained  one  point— that  of  knowing 
that  he  is  in  reality  there." 

41  Let  us  go  back  at  once  to  his  brother," 
said  Uncle  John,  "  and  tell  him  plainly  our 
suspicions,  and  threaten  him  boldly  with 
exposure,  unless  he  immediately  consents 
to  release  him." 

44  Stop,"  cried  Valentine,  looking  back 
from  the  cab  window.  "  Let  us  go  a  little 
out  of  the  road;"  and  having  given  the  ne- 
cessary instructions  to  the  driver,  he  con- 
tinued, "  that  seems  to  be  the  garden  of  the 
asylum.  I  wish  we  had  a  ladder.  We 
might  perhaps  see  him  from  the  top  of  the 
wall." 

44  So  we  might!"  cried  Uncle  John. — 
44  Stop  the  cab — so  we  might.  But  then 
you  see  a  ladder  is  a  thing  we  have  not  got! 
However,  the  wall  is  not  very  high,  cer- 
tainly. We'll  get  out  and  see  what  can  be 
done." 

They  accordingly  alighted,  and  having 
directed  the  cabman  to  wait,  went  round  by 
the  side  of  the  wall.  It  was  higher,  much 
higher  than  it  appeared  from  the  road,  but 
they  notwithstanding  walked  to  the  back, 
where  Valentine  perceived  a  kind  of  shed 
built  against  it,  which  had  been  raised  to 
within  four  or  five  feet  of  the  top. 

"  The  very  thing,"  said  Valentine.  "  If 
we  can  but  get  upon  that  shed,  we  shall  be 
able  to  look  into  the  garden."  They  there- 
fore went  round,  with  the  view  of  ascer- 
taining to  whom  the  shed  belonged;  and 
having  easily  obtained  the  permission  of  the 
owner,  Valentine  instantly  mounted. 

He  was  at  first  very  cautious,  and  taking 
off  his  hat,  just  peeped  over  the  wall,  lest, 
by  being  seen,  his  object  should  be  frus- 
trated. He  saw  a  number  of  emaciated 
creatures  crawling  about;  but  he  could  not 
distinguish  poor  Goodman  amongst  them. 
Some  looked  idiotic,  others  seemed  to  have 
reached  the  very  depths  of  despair;  but  as 
Valentine's  object  was  not  to  contemplate 
the  chief  characteristics  of  the  scene,  every 
feeling  was  merged  in  his  anxiety  to  distin- 
guish his  friend. 

44  Can  you  see  him?"  inquired  Uncle 
John  from  below. 

44  No!"  replied  Valentine,  44  or  if  he  be 
one  of  those  whom  I  do  see,  he  must  in- 
deed be  dreadfully  altered." 

"  Mere,   let  me   come   up,"  said  Uncle 
John,  *4 1  shall  know  him  from  a  thousand." 
44  1'rn  afraid,  sir,  it  wont  bear  you,"  ob- 
served the  owner  of  the  shed. 


44  Oh!  I'm  bulky,  but  not  very  weighty: 
'11  try  it,"  returned  Uncle  John,  who,  by 
dint  of  great  exertion,  reached  the  roof. — 
He  looked  round:  Goodman  was  not  amongst 
them!  4'  Bless  my  life!  I  wish  they'd  come 
this  way,"  said  he.  "  Val,  can't  we  beckon 
to  one  of  them]  Now,  there's  a  man! — he 
seems  to  be  no  more  mad  than  I  am;  can't 
we  attract  his  attention?" 

•'  Keep  your  head  down,"  cried  Valen- 
tine; *'  he  sees  us — he's  coming  this  way;" 
and  as  he  spoke,  the  person  alluded  to,  who 
happened  to  be  no  other  than  Whitely,  ap- 
proached. 

4'  Do  you  know  Mr.  Goodman1?"  inquired 
Valentine, 

"  Alas,  yes!"  replied  Whitely. 
"  Will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  tell  him 
cautiously  that  Valentine  is  here1?" 

44  I've  heard  of  you,"  said  Whitely,  at 
once  bursting  into  tears.  "  But  he  cannot 
leave  his  bed;  nor  will  he  ever  again,  until 
he  ceases  to  breathe." 

"  Indeed!"  exclaimed  Valentine.  "  What 
has  been  the  cause!" 

"  Brutality,  sir!  absolute  brutality!  We 
some  time  since  tried  to  escape,  and  suc- 
ceeded to  a  certain  extent,  but  were  retaken; 
and,  on  being  brought  back,  we  were  sub- 
jected to  the  most  horrible  cruelties  you 
have  the  power  to  conceive.  He  happened 
to  be  the  originator  of  the  scheme,  and  on 
this  becoming  known,  they  inflicted  upon 
him  the  greatest  amount  of  torture." 

"  The  wretches!"  cried  Valentine.  44  But 
is  there  no  hope  of  his  recovery?" 

44  None!"  replied  Whitely.  44  They  have 
murdered  him,  sir — cruelly,  brutally,  mur- 
dered him.  He  is  now  on  the  very  brink  of 
death." 

44  What's  that?  what's  that  you  say?" 
cried  Uncle  John,  starting  up  and  leaning 
completely  over  to  the  top  of  the  wall. — 
44  Murdered,  say  you? — murdered  him?" 

44  Hush!"  said  Mr.  Whitely,  44  for  Hea- 
ven's sake,  hush!"  And  he  instantly  walked 
from  the  spot;  for  at  that  moment  Uncle 
John  was  seen  by  the  whole  of  the  patients, 
who  raised  a  shout,  and  ran  towards  him 
with  an  expression  of  amazement  the  most 
intense. 

44  But  one  word!"  said  Uncle  John,  ad- 
dressing Whitely.  4t  But  one  single  word!" 
Mr.  Whitely,  however,  fearful  of  being 
seen  by  the  keepers,  did  not  turn  his  head. 
Hi-  had  but  just  recovered  from  the  dreadful 
elVeets  of  the  treatment  he  had  experienced 
on  being  recaptured;  he  therefore  dared  not 
:ILT  tin  excite  the  vengeance  of  the  keepers, 
well  knowing  that  if  another  brutal  attack 
were  made  upon  him,  it  would  be  utterly 
impossible  for  him  to  survive  it;  ;ni<l  heneu 
he  \\iilked  away  with  a  heavy  bursting 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


213 


heart,  without  taking,  however,  the  slight- 
est apparent  notice. 

"  Do  you  also  know  ray  friend  Goodman1?" 
demanded  Uncle  John  of  the  poor  insane 
creatures,  who  were  by  this  time  beneath 
him. 

"  Hooray!"  they  cried,  dangling  their 
hands  and  dancing  about,  and  looking  alto- 
gether as  delighted  as  possible. 

"  Sir!"  cried  Uncle  John,  again  shouting 
after  Whitely,  and  putting  one  leg  over  the 
wall,  in  order  to  get  as  near  to  him  as  he 
could.  "Sir!  but  one  word! — Is  he  mad?11 

The  energy  with  which  Uncle  John  put 


this  question,  and  the  anxiety  which  he 
manifested  to  receive  a  reply,  were  so  ex- 
cessive, that  he  at  once  lost  his  balance, 
arid  fell  over  the  wall. 

Valentine,  who  had  seized  the  tail  of  his 
coat,  and  thus  split  it  completely  up  the 
back,  as  he  was  falling,  now  saw  two  brutal 
looking  fellows  running  fiercely  towards  the 
spot.  He  therefore  instantly  leaped  from 
the  wall  to  join  his  uncle,  and  to  protect 
him,  if  possible,  from  the  keepers,  who 
appeared  to  be  inspired  with  the  spirit  of 
vengeance. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 


A    FORCIBLE    EXPULSION,    AND    A   TOTALLY    UNEXPECTED    ESCAPE. 


As  Uncle  John,  in  falling,  threw  his  arms 
round  the  neck  of  a  poor  idiot  who,  conceiv- 
ing himself  to  be  the  king  of  the  universe, 
had  embellished  his  cap  with  a  variety  of 
young  onions,  he  alighted  without  sustain- 
ing any  very  serious  injury,  although  his 
weight  drove  his  majesty,  the  monarch  of 
the  world,  with  great  violence  against  a 
friend  who  was  perfectly  clear  only  upon 
the  one  grand  point  of  his  having  been 
swindled  out  of  his  privileges  as  the  Lord 
High  Chancellor  of  England  ever  since  a 
certain  antediluvian  era,  the  chief  character- 
istics of  which  it  appeared  had  been  washed 
from  his  memory  by  the  Flood. 

Before,  however,  Uncle  John  could  rise, 
one  of  the  keepers  had  seized  him  by  the 
collar,  with  the  laudable  view,  as  he 
promptly  explained,  of  letting  him  know 
the  difference;  but  Valentine,  in  an  instant, 
sprang  at  the  throat  of  the  ruffian,  and 
compelled  him  to  relinquish  his  hold.  "  No 
violence!"  he  exclaimed,  "It  will  not  do; 
with  us." 

"  No,  it  won't  do  with  us,  sir!"  echoed 
Uncle  John,  inspiring  courage  from  Valen- 
tine, although  it  must  be  confessed,  that  he 
even  then  felt  rather  frightened  than  not. 
"There's  the  law  against  violence!  the  law, 
sir!  the  law!" 

"  What's  the  law  to  do  with  us?  what 
right  have  you  in  here?"  demanded  the 
keeper. 

"I  overbalanced  myself,"  said  Uncle 
John,  "  I  overbalanced  myself.  Do  you 
think  that  I  should  have  tumbled  if  I  could 
have  helped  it?" 

"But  what  business  had  you  on  the 
wall?" 

"To  look  for  Goodman!"  cried  Valen- 


tine. "  Goodman,  whom  you  are  murder- 
ing!" 

"  Valentine!  Valentine!"  faintly  exclaim- 
ed an  emaciated  form  whom  the  noise  had 
attracted  to  the  window  of  his  cell. 

"  It  is  Goodman!"  cried  Valentine. 

"  My  friend!  my  dear  friend!"  cried 
Uncle  John.  "  But  one  word!" 

The  form  sank  back,  and  was  seen  no 
more. 

"  My  good  man!"  said  Uncle  John,  ad- 
dressing the  keeper,  "if  you  are  a  Chris- 
tian, you  will  let  me  see  my  friend.  Let 
me  have  but  a  word  with  him!  and  I'll  give 
you  all  the  money  I've  got." 

"What!  corruption!""  exclaimed  the  im- 
maculate keeper,  alternately  looking  most 
virtuously  indignant  and  wistfully  glancing 
at  the  well-filled  purse  which  Uncle  John 
very  promptly  held  forth.  "  Do  yer  want 
to  corrupt  me?" 

"Let  me  speak  to  him  but  for  an  in- 
stant!" 

"  Come  along!"  cried  the  keeper,  "  we'll 
werry  soon  see  what  you're  made  on." 

"  Now  then!"  shouted  Valentine,  making 
his  voice  apparently  proceed  from  the  other 
side  of  the  wall.  "  Let's  attack  them  at 
once!  Now,  down  with  the  ruffians!" 

"Hal-lo!"  cried  the  principal  keeper, 
looking  round  with  an  expression  of  amaze-? 
ment.  "  What,  more  on  yer!"  he  continued; 
and  as  at  that  moment  the  person  to  whom 
the  shed  belonged  peeped  over  the  wall  to 
see  how  things  were  going  on,  he  raised  an 
alarm  which  in  an  instant  brought  four  ad- 
ditional keepers  to  the  spot. 

"Lookout!  We're  attacked!  There's  a 
mob  on  'em  coming!"  cried  the  fellow,  as 
his  scowling  companions  approached. 


214 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"  Where  are  they!"  demanded  a  ruffian, 
who  looked  as  if  he  had  that  day  returned 
from  transportation. 

"Over  the  wall!"  was  the  reply,  and  a 
ladder  was  procured,  while  Valentine  still 
in  a  feigned  voice,  kept  shouting. 

"  Let's  see  how  many  on  'em  there  is!" 
cried  the  creature  who  looked  so  much  like 
a  returned  convict;  and  he  ascended  the 
ladder  and  looked  anxiously  round,  but  the 
only  man  whom  he  could  see  was  the  owner 
of  the  shed,  whose  person  was  perfectly 
well  known. 

"  Have  you  seen  a  mob  o'  pipple  any 
wheres  about  here1?"  he  inquired  of  this 
person. 

"No,"  was  the  reply,  "there's  been 
nothing  of  the  sort." 

"There's  none  here!"  said  he  who  occu- 
pied the  ladder,  looking  round. 

"  I  know  better!"  cried  the  principal 
keeper;  "I  heard  'em!" 

"I  tell  yer  there  ain't  then!  can't  yer be- 
lieve me?" 

"  Well,  come  let's  secure  these  ere  too 
as  we've  got!"  and  while  the  principal 
keeper  and  two  of  his  companions  seized 
Valentine  roughly,  the  other  three  fastened, 
like  tigers,  upon  Uncle  John. 

"  Keep  off!"  cried  Valentine,  "  We'll  go 
where  you  please,  and  before  whom  you 
please,  but  we  will  not  be  dragged!" 

In  an  instant  one  of  the  ruffians  seized 
him  by  the  legs,  while  two  others  secured 
his  arms  and  lifted  him  bodily  upon  their 
shoulders,  and  as  Uncle  John  was  favored 
with  a  precisely  similar  lift,  they  were 
carried  struggling  desperately  but  ineffectu- 
ally across  the  garden,  while  the  sovereign 
of  the  universe,  and  those  idiotic  subjects 
whom  he  termed  continually,  and  with  all 
the  characteristic  regularity  of  nature,  "  my 
people,"  were  dancing  and  shouting,  and 
performing  the  most  extraordinary  antics, 
apparently  with  the  view  of  rendering  it 
obvious  to  all  that  they  were  absolutely 
filled  with  delight. 

The  keepers  now  reached  the  house  with 
their  burden,  and  as  Holdem  the  proprietor 
of  the  Asylum,  had  just  returned  from  town, 
they  threw  Uncle  John  and  Valentine  be- 
fore him. 

"  Hollo,  hollo,  hollo!  What's  all  this?" 
cried  Dr.  Holdem,  whose  grateful  impres- 
sion at  the  moment  was,  that  he  had 
bern  blessed  with  two  additional  patients. 
•*  Won't  they  be  quiet?  What's  the  mean- 
ing of  it,  eh?" 

"Why  these  two  owdayshus  indiwidu- 
als,"  re'plied  the  chief  keeper,  "  is  the 
leaders  of  a  whole  mob  o1  rabble  as  is 
come  here  to  let  out  the  patients." 

"  \Vl.at!"    exclaimed    the    doctor    with 


an  expression  of  unlimited  astonishment. 
"  And  how  did  they  get  in?" 

"  Why  they  shied  'emselves  over  the 
wall:  the  big  un  come  fust,  and  the  tother 
un  follered." 

"  And  what  have  you  to  say  to  this  mon- 
strous proceeding?"  cried  the  doctor  with  a 
highly  appropriate  scowl.  "  Pray  what  is 
your  object?" 

"This:"  said  Valentine;  "you  have  in 
confinement  a  friend  of  ours  whom  you  have 
cruelly  ill  used." 

"  How  dare  you  talk  to  me  in  that 
fashion?"  interrupted  the  doctor. 

"Dare!"  said  Valentine;  "you  shall  find 
that  we  dare  do  more  than  talk.  Our  ob- 
ject was  to  see  that  friend  whose  name  is 
Goodman,  and  who  has  been  wickedly  in- 
carcerated here  as  an  insane  man.  We  ap- 
plied for  permission  to  see  him,  and  as  that 
was  refused  us,  we  mounted  the  wall." 

"I  admire  your  impudence!  But  are 
you  aware  that  in  trespassing  thus  upon  my 
premises,  you  have  rendered  yourselves 
liable  to  be  punished  most  severely?" 

"  But  that  was  an  accident!"  cried  Uncle 
John,  "  I  overbalanced  myself,  and  fell  into 
the  garden  by  accident." 

"  Indeed!"  said  the  doctor  sarcastically. 
"Indeed!  And  did  you  overbalance  your- 
self, and  slip  down  by  accident?" 

"No,"  replied  Valentine,  "I  did  not. 
But  we  are  quite  prepared  to  answer  for 
what  we  have  done  before  a  magistrate  at 
once,  or  in  any  other  way,  for  1  presume 
the  thing  will  not  be  allowed  to  drop  here." 

"1  have  a  great  mind  to  give  you  into 
custody,  and  have  you  both  dragged  off  like 
felons." 

"  Do  so,"  said  Valentine,  "  that  we  may 
have  an  opportunity  at  once  of  explaining 
publicly  all  the  circumstances  connected 
with  our  present  position.  Let  us  be  taken 
without  delay  before  a  magistrate.  It  can- 
not but  tend  to  promote  the  object  we  have 
in  view." 

"  Upon  my  word,  young  man,  you  treat 
the  matter  very  cooly.  But  pray  how  many 
did  you  bring  with  you?" 

"None,"  replied  Valentine. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  the  pure  and  incorrupt- 
ible keeper,  apparently  shocked  at  what  he 
believed  to  be  a  falsehood.  "What!  none? 
when  I  heered  a  whole  mob  on  'em  a  hol- 
lerin?  U/t/" 

"  We  came  alone,"  said  Uncle  John. 
"There  was  no  mob  with  us." 

"  Well!"  said  Valentine,  "are  we  to  be 
•liven  into  custody,  or  how  do  you  mean  to 
act?" 

"  As  I  please!"  replied  the  doctor.  "  I 
shall  act  as  I  please.  If  I  thought  you 
were  worth  powder  and  shot  I  should  pur- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


215 


sue  a  very  different  course,  but  as  it  is,  I 
shall  simply  have  you  bundled  out  of  the 
place,  believing  you  to  be  a  couple  of  cha- 
racterless vagabonds." 

"  Vagabonds!  characterless  vagabonds!" 
exclaimed  Uncle  John,  whose  indignation 
had  gained  the  ascendancy  over  his  fears. 
"What  do  you  mean,  sir?  Here  is  my 
card!"  But  before  he  had  time  to  produce 
it,  the  six  keepers  seized  him  and  Valen- 
tine as  before,  and  having  carried  them  to 
the  entrance,  threw  them  completely  into 
the  road. 

The  moment  Valentine  recovered  himself, 
he  flew  at  the  chief  myrmidon  and  certainly 
did  administer  unto  him  one  blow  which 
made  him  wink  and  shake  his  head,  and 
screw  up  his  features,  until  they  portrayed 
great  intellectual  confusion.  As,  however, 
Uncle  John  on  the  one  hand  dragged  Valen- 
tine away,  and  the  doctor  on  the  other  or- 
dered his  men  in  at  once,  the  gates  were 
closed  before  the  intellects  of  the  fellow 
were  perfectly  restored,  or  doubtless  Valen- 
tine would  have  felt  the  full  force  of  his 
vengeance. 

44  Thank  Heaven,  we  are  out!"  exclaimed 
Uncle  John,  when  he  saw  the  gates  closed. 
"I  really  at  one  time  began  to  feel  alarmed." 

44  Alarmed  at  what?"  inquired  Valentine. 

"Why,  suppose  they  had  kept  us  in 
there  with  the  rest?" 

"  Surely  you  did  not  suppose  they  would 
do  that!" 

"  Why,  my  boy,  I  didn't  know  what  to 
think.  But  if  they  hud  kept  us  in,  it  would 
have  been  dreadful,  seeing  that  not  a  single 
friend  would  have  known  that  we  were 
there." 

"You  now  see  precisely  the  position  in 
which  the  victims  of  this  horrible  system 
are  placed.  Their  friends  are  not  suffered 
to  know  that  they  are  there!  But  we  were 
quite  safe,  for  none  are  kept  but  those  who 
are  paid  for.  No,  all  that  I  was  afraid  of 
was,  that  they  would  have  taken  it  into 
their  heads  to  half  murder  us,  for  those  fel- 
lows are  very  powerful,  and  we  should  have 
been  able  to  do  nothing  with  the  six.  As 
for  taking  us  before  a  magistrate,  I  felt  sure 
that  they  would  not  do  that.  Their  object 
is  secrecy;  it  would  never  do  for  them  to 
make  a  stir." 

"Well,  well,  we  ought  to  be  thankful 
that  things  are  no  worse.  But  poor  Good- 
man! My  heart  bleeds  for  him!  The  vile 
wretches!  But  we'll  have  him  out,  my 
boy!  We'll  never  rest  till  we  have  him 
out." 

"  I  fear  that  it  is  now  too  late,"  said  Va- 
lentine. "  My  impression  is  that  on  seeing 
us  he  sank  to  rise  no  more." 

"  I  hope  not,  my  boy,"  said  Uncle  John, 


44 1  hope  not,"  and  as  he  felt  for  his  hand- 
kerchief to  wipe  the  tears  from  his  eyes,  he 
became  cognizant  of  the  fact  of  his  coat 
being  split  from  the  waist  to  the  collar. 
44  Why,  my  boy!  why  what  on  earth!— why 
what's  this?"  said  he,  turning  round  and 
pulling  the  tails  of  the  coat  before  him. 
44  What  is  it?" 

44  Why  it  looks  something  like  a  small 
slit,"  replied  Valentine.  "It  is  by  no 
means  bad  cloth:  if  it  had  been,  it  certainly 
would  not  have  had  two  tails  now.  It  was 
done  when  you  fell  from  the  wall." 

44  Well,  well,"  said  Uncle  John.  "  Well, 
never  mind  that.  I  don't  care  a  straw  about 
that."  And  as  he  spoke  they  came  with- 
in sight  of  the  cab  which  they  had  ordered 
to  wait  their  return. 

The  driver  was  standing  with  the  door  in 
his  hand,  and  seemed  somewhat  confused 
when  they  appeared,  for  he  hastily  closed 
the  door,  mounted  his  box  and  drove  to- 
wards them. 

44  W7e  have  kept  you  a  long  time,"  said 
Uncle  John. 

44  No  sconsequence  at  all,  sir;  I  knowed 
you  was  geneltnen,"  replied  the  man,  who 
looked  anxiously  inside  the  cab  before  he 
opened  the  door  to  allow  them  to  enter. 
"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  he  added,  as  Uncle  John 
was  stepping  in;  "but  de  yer  know,  sir, 
as  yer  coat's  a  leetle  damaged  in  the  back, 
sir?" 

44  Oh  yes,"  said  Uncle  John,  good  hu- 
moredly.  "  I  met  with  an  accident." 

44  Beg  pardon;  I  didn't  know  as  you  was 
awares  on  it,  that's  all,"  rejoined  the  man, 
who  then  mounted  his  box,  and  made  his 
horse  understand  that  he  had  not  only  a 
whip,  but  the  power  to  use  it. 

44  We'll  go  and  see  that  wretch  of  a 
brother  to  night,"  said  Uncle  John,  after  a 
pause,  during  which  he  and  Valentine  had 
been  completely  lost  in  thought.  "  That's 
the  first  step,  my  boy:  that's  the  first  step: 
we'll  work  him!" 

44  My  friend!"  said  a  voice  which  appear- 
ed to  proceed  from  under  the  seat  of  the  cab. 

44  Valentine !  Valentine!"  cried  Uncle 
John,  starting  up  as  if  some  dog  had  bitten 
his  calf.  "  My  dear  boy!  you  should  not! 
you  really  should  not,  particularly  at  such 
a  time  as  this!" 

Upon  my  honor,"  said  Valentine,  "it 


Bless 


was  not  I  that  spoke." 

44  Not  you!"   said  Uncle  John, 
my  life,  it  was  some  one!" 

44  My  friend!"  repeated  the  voice,  and 
Uncle  John  again  started,  for  at  the  mo- 
ment, he  felt  something  touch  his  legs. 
Valentine  therefore  examined  the  cab,  and 
found  crouched  beneath  the  seat  poor 
Whitely. 


216 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"Do  not  be  alarmed,  my  good  friends," 
said  he,  "  it  is  only  the  poor  creature  whom 
you  spoke  to  in  the  garden." 

"  I'm  right  glad  to  see  you,  sir,"  cried 
Uncle  John;  "  but  come  out  of  that  hole, 
you'll  be  smothered!  There's  plenty  of 
room." 

"I  thank  you,"  said  Whitely,  "but  I 
am  much  safer  here.  They  may  suddenly 
pass  by  and  see  me." 

"  Well,  sit  between  our  legs,"  said  Uncle 
John,  "  and  then  I'll  defy  them  to  see  you. 
You'll  be  cramped  to  death  there." 

"  No,  indeed  I'm  very  comfortable," 
said  Whitely,  although  there  was  scarcely 
sufficient  room  for  a  dog.  He  was,  however, 
at  length  prevailed  upon,  although  with  great 
reluctance,  to  sit  at  the  bottom  of  the  cab. 

"  And  how  did  you  manage  to  escape1?" 
inquired  Valentine. 

"  I  owe  it  all  to  you,"  said  Whitely, 
grasping  his  hand.  "  Our  poor  friend  had 
told  me  of  your  power  as  a  Ventriloquist, 
and  therefore  when  I  heard  what  appeared 
to  be  voices  in  the  distance,  I  felt  quite 
sure  that  it  was  you.  You  will  remember 
that  a  ladder  was  brought  into  the  garden 
immediately  after  the  shouting  was  heard. 
It  was  by  that  1  escaped.  The  man  who 
ascended  it  to  look  over  the  wall,  instead  of 
taking  it  away  with  him,  simply  threw  it 
down  to  assist  his  fellows  in  carrying  you 
into  the  house,  when,  taking  advantage  of 
the  confusion  that  prevailed,  I  raised  the 
ladder,  and  having  reached  the  top  of  the 
wall  unperceived,  drew  it  over  to  the  other 
side,  and  thus  alighted  in  safety.  I  had  not 
proceeded  far  before  I  saw  this  vehicle,  and 
having  ascertained  that  it  was  waiting  for 
two  gentlemen,  I  begged  of  the  man  to 
allow  me  to  lie  concealed  beneath  the  seat, 
in  order  that  if  it  had  happened  that  the  cab 
was  not  waiting  for  you,  I  might  still  have 
been  safe;  but  when  I  heard  you  mention 
our  friend's  wretched  brother,  and  thus 
knew  you  were  alone,  I  ventured  to  speak, 
feeling  perfectly  sure  that  you  would  not 
only  not  betray  me,  but  pardon  my  in- 
trusion." 

"  My  dear  sir!"  cried  Uncle  John,  ex- 
tending his  hand,  "I'm  glad  to  see  you.  I 
only  wish  that  I  had  found  my  poor  friend 
here  as  well.  But  we'll  have  him  out!  we'll 
have  him  out  before " 

"//ua/i/"  cried  Whitely,  trembling  with 
great  violence,  and  crouching  again  beneath 
the  seat.  "  I  hear  them  coming!  they  arc 
behind  us!  For  God's  sake,  don't  suffer 
them  to  seize  me  again." 

At  this  moment  the  sound  of  horses' 
hoofs  were  heard  in  the  distance;  and  Va» 
lentine  on  looking  back  perceived  two  per- 
sons on  horseback  tearing  along  the  road  at 


full  gallop.  "Don't  be  alarmed,"  said  he, 
"  dont  be  alarmed,  let  what  may  occur,  you 
are  safe."  But  poor  Whitely  trembled  from 
head  to  foot,  while  the  perspiration  poured 
down  the  face  of  Uncle  John,  who  was 
scarcely  less  frightened  then  Whitely  him- 
self. 

The  horsemen  now  gained  upon  them 
fast,  and  their  excitement  increased  in  pro- 
portion. "  These  men  may  be  after  our 
poor  friend,"  said  Valentine,  addressing  the 
cabman;  "  if  it  be  necessary  you  will  stick 

tO  US'?" 

"And  no  mistake,"  replied  the  man,  "I 
dont  stop  for  nobody.  Keep  him  snug. 
They  shouldn't  ketch  us  at  all,  ony  the  wust 
on  it  is,  I  carn't  git  this  ere  hold  oss  along. 
Phit! — keame  up!"  he  added,  as  he  pulled 
out  of  the  road.  "  Here  they  come!  fit  for 
to  break  their  blessed  necks,  good  luck  to 
em!" 

They  were  now  just  behind,  and  Uncle 
John  perspired  more  freely.  They  passed! 
Two  butchers  were  testing  the  speed  of 
their  horses  to  decide  a  bet  of  some  given 
quantity  of  beer. 

"Thank  Heaven!"  exclaimed  Uncle  John, 
much  relieved.  "All  right,  my  friend; 
come  forth,  all  safe." 

Mr.  Whitely,  however,  remained  where 
he  was;  he  neither  moved  nor  uttered  a 
word. 

"  There  is  no  danger  now,"  said  Valen- 
tine, endeavoring  to  rouse  him.  He  still, 
however,  continued  to  be  motionless,  and 
silent. 

"  Come,  come,  my  friend!"  said  Uncle 
John,  who  thought  it  strange. 

"  Are  you  not  well,  my  friend?  are  you 
not  well1?" 

As  Whitely  made  no  answer,  Valentine 
gently  drew  him  forth.  He  was  inanimate! 

"Good  God!"  cried  Uncle  John,  "the 
man  has  been  frightened  to  death." 

"  No,  he's  not  dead,"  said  Valentine; 
"I  feel  sure  that  he's  not  dead.  He  has 
fainted — only  fainted.  Pull  up  at  the  first 
house  you  come  to,"  he  continued,  address- 
ing the  cabman. 

"  All  right,  sir!  there's  one  close  at  hand." 
And  in  less  than  three  minutes  they  were 
before  it. 

Valentine  now  darted  into  the  house,  and 
having  procured  a  glass  of  water,  applied 
it  to  the  temples  and  palms  of  poor  White- 
ly; but  without  any  sensible  effect.  No 
pulse  was  perceptible;  not  a  muscle  iimved; 
somo  brandy  was  brought,  ;uul  u  !i.  n  thai 
had  been  zealously  applied  for  some  time, 
he  inspired  as  Valentine  exclaimed,  "  II.  's 

alive!" 

Uncle  John  now  began  to  breathe  \vith 
somewhat  more  freedom.  He  h.ul  been 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


217 


dread ful] 5T  apprehensive  of  Whitely  being 
dead;  but  when  he  saw  the  first  symptom 
of  reanirnation  quickly  followed  by  other 
signs  of  returning  consciousness,  he  felt  for 
the  moment  quite  happy. 

"My  friends!"  said  Whitely  at  length, 
looking  up.  "  Am  I  still  safe1?  God  bless 
you,  my  dear  friends — God  bless  you!" 

"  Will  you  go  with  us  into  the  house,  till 
you  revive?"  inquired  Valentine. 

"No,  my  good  friends,  no;  let  me  remain 
here,  I  shall  not  be  out  of  danger,  until  I 
reach  town.  Pray,  proceed,  1  am  quite 
well  now;  I  am  indeed  quite — quite  well 
now!" 

Uncle  John  and  Valentine  accordingly 
readjusted  themselves,  and  having  given 
instructions  to  the  cabman — who  drove  off 
as  fast  as  his  horse  could  go — they  stopped 
no  more,  till  they  reached  the  house  of  the 
Widow  Smugman. 

The  widow  was  utterly  but  very  naturally 
astonished,  when  on  answering  the  knock 
she  saw  uncle  John  and  Valentine  assisting 
a  poor  enfeebled  creature,  who  looked  like 
death  in  a  dressing-gown,  out  of  the  cab. 
She  had,  however,  an  extremely  high  opi- 
nion of  those  gentlemen;  and,  hence,  when 
Uncle  John  introduced  Whitely  as  his 
friend,  she  expressed  herself  happy  to  see 
him. 

"  Now  then,"  said  Valentine,  placing 
Whitely  upon  the  sofa,  "you  must  banish 
all  your  fears;  you  are  quite  secure  now." 

Whitely,  however,  was  unable  to  rally. 
He  tried  with  all  the  power  at  his  com- 
mand; but  sank  back  in  a  state  of  exhaus- 
tion, in  which  Uncle  John  attended  him, 
while  Valentine  was  rewarding  the  driver 


of  the  cab  with  a  liberality  altogether  unex- 
pected. 

The  dinner  was  now  immediately  served 
up,  but  of  this  poor  Whitely  was  unable  to 
partake;  he  was,  however,  after  a  time  pre- 
vailed upon  to  have  some  slight  refresh- 
ment, and  was  then  placed  in  Uncle  John's 
bed,  completely  overwhelmed  with  grati- 
tude.- 

The  attention  of  Uncle  John  and  Valen- 
tine was  now  turned  to  the  course  which 
they,  under  the  circumstances,  ought  to  pur- 
Sue.  The  escape  of  Whitely  was  held  to 
be  a  grand  point  gained.  "  We  can  take 
him  with  us,"  said  Valentine,  "  and  con- 
vict poor  Goodman's  unnatural  brother  at 
once." 

"  So  we  can,"  said  Uncle  John;  "that's 
quite  right.  So  we  can;  and  we  will !  but 
it  can't  be  done  to-night." 

"  No;  but  I  think  that  I  had  better  go  to- 
night, and  make  an  appointment,  if  possi- 
ble, for  to-morrow.  Whitely  is  uninjured; 
he  has  only  been  alarmed,  and  will  there- 
fore be  himself  again  doubtless  in  the  morn- 
ing. What  do  you  think1?  Shall  I  go?" 

"  By  all  means,  by  all  means.  Tell  him 
I  wish  to  have  five  minutes'  conversation 
with  him  before  I  leave  town,  which  is  the 
fact,  you  know,  of  course!  I  do  wish  to 
converse  with  him  before  I  leave  town.  But 
I'll  leave  it  to  you,  my  boy;  you  know  how 
to  manage  it.  Go;  go  at  once.  I'll  remain 
at  home,  and  see  after  our  friend.  We  must 
have  him  restored  by  to-morrow." 

Valentine  accordingly  started,  leaving 
Whitely  in  the  care  of  Uncle  John,  who 
threw  himself  at  once  upon  the  sofa,  and 
went  soundly  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 


VALENTINE  BECOMES  INITIATED  INTO  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  THE  ANTI-LEGAL-MARRIAGE 

ASSOCIATION. 


ON  reaching  Walter's  residence,  Valentine 
was  informed  that  he  and  Horace  were 
out,  but  were  certain  to  be  at  home  at  nine 
o'clock  or  half-past  at  the  very  latest.  It 
was  then  but  just  seven;  and  as  Valentine 
conceived  it  to  be  scarcely  worth  while  to 
return  to  Uncle  John,  he  walked  leisurely 
on,  without  having  any  object  in  view,  save 
that  of  strolling  about  for  two  hours. 

He  had  not  however  proceeded  far,  when 
his  attention  was  attracted  by  a  flaming 
placard,  on  which  was  inscribed 


THE  UNIVERSAL  ANTI-LEGAL-MARRIAGE 
ASSOCIATION! 

NOTICE! 

Ji  Professor  of  surpassing  eminence  will 
deliver  a  Lecture  on  the  Natural,  Social,  and 
Universal  Community  Principle  this  evening, 
precisely  at  seven. 

"The  natural,  social,  and  universal 
community  principle!"  thought  Valentine. 
"  What  do  they  mean1?  The  universal  anti- 
legal-marriage  association!  Anti-legal-mar- 


218 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


riage  association!  I  must  look  in  here." 
And  having  paid  the  admission-fee,  he  was 
shown  into  a  room  in  which  a  number  of 
persons,  of  whom  the  majority  were  gaily 
attired  females,  had  assembled. 

The  professor  had  not  arrived,  and  there- 
fore Valentine  had  time  to  look  round  before 
the  lecture  commenced.  He  thought  it 
strange, — very  strange, — that  the  persons 
whom  he  saw  there  should  patronise  or  in 
any  way  countenance  such  a  thing  as  an 
anti-legal-marriage  association.  What  the 
natural,  social,  and  universal  community 
principle  might  be,  it  is  true  he  could  not 
very  clearly  comprehend;  but  what  was 
meant  by  the  term,  "  Anti-legal-marriage," 
was  so  plain,  that  it  could  not  be  misunder- 
stood. And  yet,  was  he  to  infer  from  the 
presence  of  those  persons  that  they  were 
opposed  to  the  institution  of  marriage?  Im- 
possible! They  appeared  to  him  to  be  the 
very  persons  by  whom  marriage  would  be 
held  to  be  one  of  the  greatest  sublunary 
blessings.  He  changed  his  position,  in 
order  to  command  a  full  view  of  the  coun- 
tenance of  each.  The  females,  he  thought, 
looked  particularly  wicked  !  He  really 
never  saw  eyes  rolling  about  with  such  ex- 
traordinary restlessness  before.  Such  smil- 
ing, such  leering,  such  glancing  he  beheld  ! 
He  was  perfectly  puzzled.  He  could  not 
understand  it!  And  yet  they  seemed  to  un- 
derstand each  other  very  well !  Had  any 
thing  like  a  mutual  dead  set  been  made; 
had  one  pair  of  eyes  been  brought  to  bear 
upon  another,  with  the  view  of  being  em- 
ployed with  reciprocal  firmness — the  object 
would  not  have  been  quite  so  inconceivable; 
but  as  it  was,  as  they  wandered  about  with 
such  peculiar  inconstancy,  as  if  the  design 
of  their  owners  had  been  to  inspire  the 
souls  of  all  at  whom  they  glanced  with  af- 
fection, Valentine  could  not  tell  really  what 
to  make  of  it,  although  he  did  think  it  just 
possible,  that  they  had  assembled  for  the 
purpose  of  quizzing  the  professor. 

The  bare  possibility  of  this  being  their 
object  was,  however,  repudiated  on  the  en- 
trance of  that  gentleman,  for  he  was  cheered, 
loudly  cheered,  and  with  an  enthusiasm 
which  forbade  the  idea  of  its  being  ironical. 
No,  it  was  plain  that  they  were  perfectly 
sincere,  and  therefore  Valentine  became 
more  than  ever  impatient  for  an  explanation 
of  this  natural,  social  and  universal  prin- 
ciple, of  which  it  was  clear  they  were  deep 
ly  enamored. 

"  My  friends,"  said  the  professor,  after 
proving  to  the  apparent  satisfaction  of  the 
ladies  that  he  knew  as  well  how  to  use  his 
eyes  as  the  best.  "  My  friends!  The  last 
lecture  1  had  the  pleasure  to  drlivrr  to  the 
members  of  this  peculiarly  wide-spreading 


association,  had  reference  to  the  assumed 
Free  Agency  of  Man,  and  as  I  proved  to  de- 
monstration that  man  is  not  a  free  agent, 
consequently  not  a  responsible  agent,  and 
therefore  no  agent  at  all,  I  propose  now  to 
show  that  human  laws  in  opposition  to  the 
laws  of  nature  oughtnottobe  upheld.  [Loud 
cheers.~\  My  friends!  It  is  on  all  hands 
admitted  that  nature  is  perfection,  yet  the 
state  of  society  in  which  we  now  live  is 
essentially  and  purely  artificial!  What  is  the 
inference1?  Why  that,  being  essentially  and 
purely  artificial,  it  is  essentially  and  purely 
the  most  imperfect  state  of  society  that  eve,r 
obtained.  To  be  perfect  we  must  be  natu-" 
ral.  That  I  hold  to  be  as  clear  as  the  pro- 
position of  the  great  Huxley  in  his  Won- 
derful Heart  or  the  Liver  of  Love,  that  to  be 
natural,  man  must  be  perfect.  It  hence 
follows  that  the  nearer  we  approach  to  na- 
ture, the  nearer  we  are  to  perfection-,  and 
that  that  state  of  society  is,  in  reality,  the 
most  perfect  which  is,  in  reality,  the  most 
natural.  [Applause.]  Now  look  at  our  pre- 
sent social  system!  Is  there  anything  na- 
tural about  it?  Have  our  natural  feelings 
and  passions  fair-play*  Is  not  their  deve- 
lopment checked  at  every  point  by  human 
laws  diametrically  opposed  to  the  laws  of 
nature?  Look  for  example  at  those  unnatu- 
ral laws  to  which  I  have  so  frequently  di- 
rected attention — I  mean  the  laws  relating 
to  marriage!  What  is  marriage?  Is  it  not 
a  most  unnatural  bond?  See  with  what 
consummate  tightness  individuals  are  tied! 
It  is  indeed  a  Gordian  knot:  there's  no  end  to 
it! — nor  can  they  cut  it.  My  friends!  just 
look  at  its  operation  for  one  moment:  a  man 
marries — not  naturally,  but  legally  marries 
— well!  in  a  month  he  becomes  tired  of  his 
wife,  yet  is  he  by  law  compelled  to  keep 
her!  She  may  not  at  all  suit  him:  they 
may  quarrel  perpetually,  nay,  they  may 
fight!— Still  keep  her  he  must  till  she  sinks 
into  the  grave!  Why,  is  not  this  monstrous? 
But  even  this  is  not  all.  He  may  see  some 
one  whom  he  likes  infinitely  better — some 
one  more  interesting,  amiable,  and  accom- 
plished, yet  he  cannot  marry  her,  because, 
and  solely  because,  he  is  married  to  another! 
Surely  such  an  unnatural  state  of  things 
ought  no  longer  to  exist!  What,  I  ask,  does 
a  man  commonly  marry  a  woman  for?  The 
law,  it  is  true,  says  •  for  better  for  worse.' 
[  I  .mill  Iniiirhltr.'}  But  is  it  because  she  is 
handsome?  Well,  her  beauty  fades:  she  no 
longer  possesses  that  for  which  he  married 
her;  still  must  ho  keep  her!  Does  he  marry 
her  because  he  believes  her  to  bo  rnir.niriniri 
and  sweet  tempered?  A  month  after  mar- 
riage she  begins  to  let  out  in  a  style  of 
which  he  cannot  approve,  by  "".y  mrans — 
yet  must  he  stick  to  her  still!  Is  it  for 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


219 


her  wealth  that  he  marries  her1?  Well;  he 
obtains  full  possession  of  that  wealth,  which 
he  may  either  spend  or  lose,  but  in  any  case 
is  he  compelled  to  keep  her  even  after  that 
for  which  alone  he  married  her  is  gone! 
Why,  rny  friends,  this  appears  to  be  so 
truly  diabolical,  that  the  only  wonder  is 
that  a  system  so  repugnant  to  the  perfect 
laws  of  nature  should  not  have  been  blown 
up  centuries  ago.  But  let  us  take  the  case 
of  a  woman — for  women  I  contend  have 
natural  rights  as  well  as  men.  She  marries; 
and  why1?  Because  she  believes  that  the 
man  whom  she  marries  will  be  kind1?  Well, 
she  finds  that  he  is  not:  still  must  she  be 
his!  Does  she  marry  because  she  believes 
that  she  shall  be  happy?  She  finds  that 
she  is  not,  but  she  must  be  his  still!  Sick- 
ness may  overtake  him;  he  may  become 
poor;  he  may  have  no  other  prospect  than 
of  starvation!  yet  let  what  may  happen  to 
him  she  must  stick!  Is  this  just?  Is  it 
rational?  Does  it  bear  even  the  semblance 
of  any  principle  by  which  men  of  intelli- 
gence should  be  guided?  My  friends!  legal 
marriages  have  cursed  every  country  into 
which  they  have  been  introduced.  They 
are  the  bane  of  society.  They  utterly  spoil 
both  women  and  men.  Women  would  in- 
deed be  very  different  beings  were  it  not  for 
the  institution  of  marriage.  It  destroys 
their  amiability,  poisons  their  sweetness, 
and  renders  them  insolent,  cross-grained 
and  vicious.  When  legally  married,  they 
know  that  they  are  secure,  and  that  very 
knowledge  prompts  them  at  once  to  show 
off:  whereas,  were  they  as  they  ought  to  be, 
naturally  married,  the  absence  of  that  secu- 
rity would  induce  them  to  preserve  all  their 
natural  sweetness  of  disposition,  all  their 
amiability,  in  short,  all  which  renders  their 
society  charming.  Nor  would  men,  were 
it  not  for  legal  marriages,  be  so  tyrannous, 
haughty,  and  overbearing.  The  security 
which  those  legal  marriages  impart,  has  a 
precisely  corresponding  effect  upon  them. 
Hence,  I  say,  let  none  but  natural  marriages 
be  sanctioned.  \_Loud  cheers. ]  If  persons 
be  unable  to  live  happily  together,  let  them 
part  and  marry,  as  nature  prescribes,  those 
with  whom  they  are  able  to  live  happily. 
Why  should  we,  as  intelligentbeings, adhere 
to  social  wretchedness  when  we  have  the 
purest  social  felicity  within  our  reach?  We 
should  tolerate  natural  marriages  only!" — 
At  this  interesting  point  the  enthusiastic 
professor  was  interrupted  by  Valentine, 
who  conceiving  that  he  had  gone  far  enough, 
cried — making  his  voice  apparently  proceed 
from  an  individual  who  was  deeply  en- 
gaged with  a  lady  from  whom  he  had  just 
received  a  card — "  And  pray  what  are  natu- 
ral marriages?" 


"Natural  marriages!"  exclaimed  the  pro- 
fessor with  a  look  of  astonishment  the  most 
absolute,  "  What  are  they?" 

"  Turn  him  out!  Turn  him  out!"  shouted 
several  gentleman,  by  whom  the  natural, 
social  and  universal  community  principle 
was  upheld. 

"What  are  natural  marriages?"  repeated 
the  professor. 

"Aye!"  said  Valentine,  assuming  the 
same  voice,  "I  simply  ask  you  what  they 
are!  Do  you  mean  those  peculiar  broom- 
stick solemnities?" 

"Broom-stick  solemnities!"  exclaimed 
the  professor  with  an  expression  of  contempt 
the  most  supreme,  and  again  the  univer- 
sal community-principle-mongers  expressed 
their  strong  disapprobation. 

"  WTell,  tell  us,"  said  Valentine  when  the 
noise  had  subsided,  "  what  it  is  you  really 
mean?" 

"  By  natural  marriages,"  said  the  pro- 
fessor, addressing  the  person  from  whom  he 
imagined  the  voice  had  proceeded.  "  By 
natural  marriages  I  mean  those  which  are  in 
conformity  with  the  law  of  nature! — mar- 
riages by  which  parties  are  solemnly  bound 
to  live  with  each  other  as  long  as  they 
like." 

Loud  applause  followed  this  clear  expla- 
nation. The  ladies  waved  their  handker- 
chiefs and  screamed  with  delight;  but  as 
during  their  enthusiasm,  Valentine  per- 
ceived that  the  majority  of  them  wore  that 
golden  shackle  by  which  they  appropriately 
conceived  they  had  been  enslaved,  he  at 
once  became  perfectly  disgusted.  He  now 
distinctly  saw  what  the  social  community 
principle  meant! — he  saw  that  it  struck  at 
the  very  root  of  social  virtue  and  fidelity. 

"  Is  that  gentleman  satisfied?"  inquired 
the  professor. 

"  Perfectly,"  said  Valentine,  "  perfectly 
satisfied  that  immorality  forms  the  basis  of 
the  principle  in  question." 

"Immorality!"  exclaimed  the  professor, 
who  really  appeared  to  be  utterly  shocked. 
"  Immorality!  That  principle  forms  the 
basis  of  the  new  moral  world!  It  is  the 
present  corrupt  system  of  legal  marriages 
that  is  based  upon  immorality.  With  natu- 
ral marriages  immorality  has  nothing  to  do, 
seeing  that  that  which  is  natural  cannot  be 
immoral.  Is  it  natural,  I  would  ask,  for  two 
persons  whose  dispositions  and  feelings  and 
passions  are  inimical  to  be  bound  to  each 
other  for  life?  Is  it  not,  on  the  contrary, 
natural  for  them  to  part  with  the  view  of 
forming  alliances  more  to  their  taste?  I 
contend  that  it  is  monstrous  to  bind  two  ra- 
tional beings  together  when  their  sentiments 
and  views  are  diametrically  opposed.  Dis- 
agreements should  prompt  them  to  separate 


220 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


at  once  and  form  other  unions  in  the  pure  j 
course  of  nature." 

"  How  often1?"  inquired  Valentine. 

"  How  often!  As  often  as  they  conceive 
that  their  happiness  will  be  thereby  en- 
hanced. Why  should  a  man  be  bound  to  a 
woman  whom  he  once  might  have  loved 
when  circumstances  have  led  him  to  love 
another  better]  Why  should  a  woman  be 
tied  to  a  man  for  whom  she  might  once 
have  had  an  affection,  when  her  natural  pas- 
sions prompt  her  to  repudiate  him,  and  turn 
to  one  upon  whom  she  has  set  her  soft  heart1? 
I  say  that  the  law  which  prohibits  this  in- 
dulgence in  those  passions  which  are  im- 
planted in  us  by  nature  is  an  infamous  law, 
and  one  of  which  the  existence  reflects  in- 
delible disgrace  upon  us  as  rational  and  in- 
telligent creatures." 

At  this  point  the  professor  was  again  en- 
thusiastically cheered,  and  so  perfectly  were 
his  sentiments  in  unison  with  the  views  of 
his  amiable  satellites,  that  when  Valentine 
inquired  if  they  really  expected  that  their 
principles  would  be  adopted  by  any  but  the 
most  vicious  and  depraved,  their  indignation 
knew  no  bounds. 

He  had  certainly  heard  yelling  before — 
yelling  too  of  a  really  extraordinary  charac- 
ter— in  sundry  places  and  on  divers  occa- 
sions; but  never — not  even  in  the  House  of 
Commons!— had  he  heard  any  species  of 
yelling  at  all  comparable  with  that  which" 
proceeded  from  the  members  of  the  anti- 
legal-marriage  association.  They  were  not 
very  numerous  it  is  true,  but  being  extremely 
energetic  they  fully  made  up  for  the  absence 
of  any  numerical  strength,  and  as  the  room 
in  which  they  were,  was  comparatively 
small,  their  shouts,  groans  and  shrieks  were 
absolutely  stunning. 

"  Who  is  he?  Where  is  he]  Drag  him 
forth!"  they  exclaimed.  The  ladies  were 
especially  anxious  to  see  him. 

"That's  the  man  in  the  corner!"  cried  the 
professor,  promptly  pointing  to  the  indivi- 
dual to  whom  the  lady  had  given  her  card, 
and  the  association  doubtless  would  have 
pulled  him  to  pieces  had  he  not  had  the  pre- 
sence of  mind  to  declare  his  perfect  inno- 
cence; for  nothing  but  the  tones  of  his  voice 
would  have  convinced  them  that  the  profes- 
sor had  made  a  mistake. 

*'  Wretches!"  cried  Valentine,  throwing 
his  voice  immediately  behind  the  professor, 
who  turned  with  all  the  velocity  of  which 
he  was  capable,  and  really  appeared  to  be 
somewhat  alarmed. 

"Who's  that]"  cried  the  professor. 
••  Who  was  that]" 

None  could  tell.  He  looked  firmly  and 
with  an  eye  of  suspicion  at  every  member, 
in  his  immediate  vicinity,  but  no! — they 


were  equally  amazed  with  himself.  "  Who 
was  it]"  he  repeated.  "Who  was  it,  I 
ask]" 

"  One,"  replied  Valentine,  in  a  tone  of 
great  solemnity,  making  his  voice  appear 
to  proceed  from  the  ceiling.  "  One  who 
sees  that  you  are  faithless,  abandoned  and 
profligate — one  by  whom  vice  is  abhorred." 

In  an  instant  every  eye  was  directed  to- 
wards the  ceiling.  The  gentlemen  became 
very  nervous,  while  the  ladies  felt  dread- 
fully alarmed,  which  was  not  at  all  w.onder- 
ful,  seeing  that  superstition  and  immorality 
invariably  go  hand  in  hand.  It  was  held 
to  be  very  mysterious!  They  could  not 
make  it  out!  They  were  filled  with  appre- 
hension, and  as  the  ladies  clung  to  their 
natural  protectors,  the  gentlemen  started, 
and  shrank  from  their  touch,  so  cowardly  a 
slave  does  vice  make  the  human  heart. 

The  professor,  who  looked  quite  as  pale 
as  the  rest,  however,  felt  himself  bound  to 
say  something.  He  therefore  rose  with  the 
view  of  addressing  his  satellites,  when 
Valentine  cried,  "  Down!  I  denounce  you 
as  a  villain.  But  for  you  and  wretches  like 
you,  hundreds  who  are  now  depraved,  would 
have  been  reaping  those  blessings  of  which 
virtue  is  the  germ." 

The  professor  seemed  utterly  paralysed: 
and  his  satellites  stared  with  open  mouths 
round  the  room  with  an  expression  of  terror. 

"  Let  us  go,"  said  one  of  the  females,  ad- 
dressing her  friend — "pray,  pray  let  us  go, 
I'm  very  frightened!" 

"  Go!"  cried  Valentine.  "  Repudiate 
these  proceedings,  if  you  be  not  quite  lost 
to  every  sense  of  female  delicacy  and  virtue. 
Be  not  blinded  by  sophistry:  spurn  those 
who,  to  gratify  their  own  bad  passions, 
would  place  you  on  a  level  with  the  beasts 
of  the  field.  Be  virtuous  and  happy  in  the 
perfect  assurance,  that  from  virtue  alone 
real  happiness  can  spring." 

The  females  now  tremblingly  rushed  to 
the  door;  and  so  exceedingly  terrified  were 
they,  that  scarcely  one  minute  had  elasped 
before  they  had  vanished  from  the  room. — 
The  professor  was  utterly  astounded,  and 
stared  at  his  male  disciples,  who  in  return 
stared  at  him.  Had  any  man  come  forward 
to  deliver  that  address,  which  had  just  been 
delivered  by  Valentine,  he  would  have  con- 
tested every  point  with  warmth,  eloquence 
and  firmness;  but  as  his  opponent  was  ap- 
parently invisible,  he  could  not  say  a  word. 
He  seemed  perfectly  lost,  and  so  indeed  did 
they  all,  and  as  Valentine,  who  in  straining 
to  give  effect  to  his  speech,  had  become 
very  warm,  he  left  them  at  once  in  a  state 
of  great  amazement  to  solve  that  which 
they  manifestly  felt  to  be  a  mystery  of  no 
inconsiderable  depth. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


221 


CHAPTER  XL. 


UNCLE    JOHN   HAS    ANOTHER   IMPORTANT    INTERVIEW    WITH    WALTER,    TO    WHOM    HE 
DECLARES    HIS    INTENTIONS    WITH    FORCE    AND    EFFECT. 


WITH  those  feelings  of  satisfaction  which 
commonly  spring  from  the  consciousness  of 
having  promoted  the  cause  of  virtue,  Valen- 
tine returned  to  the  residence  of  Walter, 
and  found  him  and  Horace  at  home. 

"  Well,  my  young  rattlesnake!"  cried 
.Horace,  as  he  entered,  "  and  how  do  they 
bring  it  in  now?  Come  to  an  anchor!  Is 
there  anything  extra  o'clock?  How's  the 
ancient?" 

Uncle  John  was  the  gentleman  to  whom 
he  alluded,  and  Valentine  said  that  he  was 
perfectly  well;  but  was  struck  with  the  ex- 
tremely wretched  aspect  of  Walter.  He 
was  the  very  type  of  misery.  His  cheeks 
were  hollow,  and  his  lips  were  parched, 
while  his  eyes  swam  dimly  in  their  sockets 
by  which  they  were  almost  entirely  con- 
cealed. 

"  You  are  not  so  well  this  evening?" 
said  Valentine. 

"  I  am  not,  indeed,"  said  Walter  faintly; 
"I  am  not,  indeed." 

"  No,  the  governor,  don't  look  particular- 
ly spicy!"  cried  Horace.  "  But  then,  you 
see  it's  all  his  own  fault!  he  won't  be  ruled! 
If  I've  told  him  once,  I  have  told  him  five 
hundred  times,  that  he'll  never  be  well  till 
he  gets  beastly  drunk.  I  am  sure  of  it! — 
nothing  can  alter  my  opinion  upon  the  point. 
If  he  were  but  to  get  into  a  profoundly 
elaborate  state  of  mops  and  brooms,  he'd 
be  as  right  as  a  Roman.  But  then  he 
won't  do  it!  You  may  as  well  talk  to  a 
turnip." 

"  1  wish  I  was  dead!"  exclaimed  Walter. 

"  Of  course!  that's  a  species  of  donkey- 
fication  you  never  will  get  over,  if  you  live 
a  thousand  years.  You  wish  you  were 
dead!  And  what  would  you  do,  if  you  were 
dead?" 

Walter  sighed. 

"  Are  you  engaged  to-morrow  evening?" 
inquired  Valentine,  taking  advantage  of  a 
temporary  pause. 

'*  Not  that  I  am  aware  of  at  this  moment," 
replied  Walter. 

"  My  Uncle,"  said  Valentine,  "  is  anxi- 
ous to  have  five  or  ten  minutes'  conversa- 
tion with  you,  before  he  leaves  town." 

"  What,"  cried  Horace,  "  is  he  going  to 
cut  it?" 

"  If  you  will  say,"  continued  Valentine, 
"  at  what  hour  it  will  be  convenient  for  you 
to  see  him,  he  will  be  here;  he'll  not  occupy 
much  of  your  time." 
20 


"  Will  eight  o'clock  suit  him?  If  not, 
say  nine." 

"  Eight  will  suit  him  well.  He  will  be 
here  at  that  hour." 

"  But,  I  say,"  cried  Horace,  "  are  you 
going  to  toddle  back  with  him?" 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that;  but  at  all  events 
I  shall  see  you  again  before  I  leave.  Good 
evening." 

"  Well,  remember  me,  you  know,  to  the 
old  tar,"  said  Horace.  "  He's  perhaps 
about  the  rummest  and  roughest  old  reed 
that  ever  did  come  to  town.  But  I  don't 
dislike  him.  Good  night!" 

Valentine  now  left  the  house,  and  he  was 
no  sooner  gone,  than  Horace  put  it  to  his 
father  very  pointedly,  whether  he  did  not 
consider  himself  an  idiot.  ".What  did  you 
want  to  sigh  away  for,"  said  he,  "  like  an 
old  distressed  alligator,  right  before  Am? 
And  why  couldn't  you  let  that  old  Rufus 
trot  off,  without  having  him  boring  here 
again?  You  know  that  you  have  got  just 
as  much  nerve  as  nothing!" 

"  I  was  anxious  to  make  him  think  that 
I  was  not  afraid  to  see  him,"  replied  Walter, 
"and  thus  to  allay  any  suspicion  that  may 
have  been  excited." 

"  Well,  but  you  know  that  you  are  not  at 
all  fit  to  be  seen.  Besides,  there  is  more 
in  the  wind  than  you  expect.  I  know,  by 
that  fellow's  manner,  there's  something 
o'clock.  I  shouldn't  be  a  bit  surprised  to 
hear  that  he  has  found  it  all  out." 

"  How  could  ha?" 

*'  Why  you  told  him  all  about  the  place 
yourself!  How  do  you  know  that  he  has 
not  been  there?" 

"  And  if  he  has,  is  it  likely  that  they 
would  give  him  any  information?" 

"  Well,  if  you'll  take  my  advice— but 
you  never  will,  you  know,  and  hence  it  is 
that  you're  invariably  wrong — but  if  you 
wish  to  bo  secure  you'll  remove  him  to  some 
other  crib,  and  then  no  one  will  know  a  bit 
about  it." 

"  But  how  can  that  be  done?" 

"Why,  don't  you  see?  Old  Neversweat 
— what's  his  name?  Holdem,  has  connec- 
tion with  another  den  a  hundred  miles  off. 
Well,  can't  you  make  arrangements  with 
him  to  send  the  old  boy  there  in  another 
name!" 

"  But,  why  in  another  name?" 

"  Because  then  they  may  search  all  the 
books  in  the  universe  without  ascertaining 


222 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


where  he  is.  They  may  go  to  Dr.  Holdem's 
— 'Is  Mr.  Goodman  here]'  *  No,  he  has 
left!'  *  Where  is  he?'  *  Can't  say.'  They 
may  apply  to  the  commissioners,  and  get  a 
sight  of  the  register.  They  look  for  the 
name  of  Goodman.  Goodman  was  at  Dr. 
Holdem's.  Discharged  such  a  date.  Don't 
you  see1?  Suppose  he  is  entered  as  Jonathan 
Scroggins?  Who  is  Jonathan  Scroggins? 
They  may  see  the  name  of  Scroggins.  They 
know  no  such  a  man.  He  may  call  himself 
Goodman  down  there,  it  is  true;  but  then 
they'll  call  him  Scroggins,  and  if  he  insists 
upon  it  that  Goodman  is  his  name,  they  will 
rationally  conclude  that  he  is  laboring  under 
some  strong  delusion,  and  hold  it  to  be  an 
invincible  proof  of  his  being  incurably  mad. 
To  be  secure,  therefore,  all  you  have  to  do 
is  to  send  him  away  under  some  assumed 
name,  when,  if  they  ever  find  him  out  you 
may  safely  forgive  them,  discovery  in  such 
a  case  being  an  utterly  impossible  thing." 

"  There  is  something  in  that,  certainly," 
said  Walter.  "  There  certainly  is  some- 
thing in  that.  -  But  had  we  not  better,  in 
the  first  place,  see  what  their  object  is  in 
coming  here  to-morrow1?" 

"  Why,  as  far  as  that  goes,  there  is  no 
earthly  use  in  doing  that  which  is  useless: 
that's  as  clear  as  cream;  and  his  removal 
will  be  useless,  in  the  event  of  their  having 
no  doubt  about  its  being  all  right;  but  if 
they  have  the  least  suspicion  of  anything 
wrong,  take  my  advice,  and  pack  him  off 
at  once." 

Walter  saw  in  a  moment  the  force  of  this 
suggestion,  and  as  security  was  his  object, 
it  was  eventually  decided,  that  if  anything 
should  transpire  to  convince  him  that  the 
secret  had  in  reality  become  known,  Good- 
man should  be  removed  in  the  name  of 
Scroggins  to  some  distant  asylum,  and  thus 
placed  for  ever  beyond  the  reach  of  his 
friends. 

By  the  time  these  two  amiable  persons 
had  arrived  at  this  decision,  Valentine  had 
reached  home,  where  he  found  Uncle  John 
still  asleep  on  the  sofa,  playing  loudly  upon 
his  nasal  organ,  that  notorious  tune  of 
which  Morpheus  alone  can  be  really  ena- 
mored. 

By  dint  of  great  exertion  on  the  part  of 
Valentine,  Uncle  John  awoke,  and  when  he 
did  awake,  he  said  with  great  presence  of 
mind,  **  Ah — yes — well;"  and  yawned,  and 
then  added,  "  What,  not  off  yet?  Come, 
come,  you  had  better  start.  I'll  see  after 
"Whitely:  I'll  take  care  of  him." 

"  Will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  look  at 
your  watch?"  said  Valentine. 

Uncle  John  did  him  this  favor,  and  then 
observed,  that  the  thing  had  stopped  ever 
since  eleven  that  morning. 


"You  are  really  a  very  watchful  atten- 
dant," said  Valentine.  "  Why,  you  have 
been  asleep  nearly  five  hours." 

"  Nonsense,"  cried  Uncle  John,  "  Non- 
sense! I  hav'n't  had  half-a-dozen  winks." 

"It  was  half-past  six  when  I  left,  and 
it's  now  past  eleven." 

"Tut!  bless  my  life  and  soul!  Why,  I 
couldn't  have  believed  it.  Have  I  been 
asleep  all  that  time?  Dear  me,  how  very 
neglectful! — Our  poor  old  friend! — Let's  go 
and  see  how  he  gets  on." 

They  accordingly  went  into  the  bed-room 
softly,  and  as,  much  to  their  satisfaction, 
they  found  W:hitely  asleep,  they  returned 
with  equal  caution  to  the  room  they  had 
just  left,  when  Valentine  dwelt  upon  his 
interview  with  Walter. 

"  He  is  now  extremely  ill,"  said  he,  after 
an  explanation  of  all  that  had  occurred. 
"  My  firm  impression  is,  that  he  is  on  the 
very  brink  of  the  grave.  If,  therefore, 
Whitely  cannot  go  with  us  to-morrow,  it 
will  be  better  for  me  and  Horace  to  leave 
the  room,  while  you  explain  what  yon  know, 
and  how  you  mean  to  proceed,  if  poor  Good- 
man be  not  immediately  released." 

"  I  see — exactly,"  said  Uncle  John,  "  I 
see  precisely  what  you  mean.  It  will  be 
better — much  better."  And  Uncle  John 
was  engaged  in  rehearsing  his  part  from 
that  time  till  he  retired  to  bed. 

In  the  morning,  Whitely  found  that  his 
nerves  had  gained  considerable  strength: 
his  fears  were  calmed,  and  he  paced  the 
room  firmly.  He  felt  that  he  was  free;  and 
that  feeling,  however  limited  may  be  the 
space  in  which  he  dwells,  will  prompt  a 
man  to  be  content  to  remain  within  it,  where 
the  knowledge  of  his  being  confined  even 
to  Europe,  would  generate  within  him  a 
wish  to  go  beyond.  As  however  he  did  not 
feel  equal  to  the  task  of  meeting  Walter, 
and  as  moreover  his  presence  on  that  occa- 
sion was  not  absolutely  necessary,  Uncle 
John  and  Valentine  left  him,  and  at  the 
hour  appointed  found  Walter  and  his  son 
deeply  engaged  with  a  pile  of  dusty  docu- 
ments as  before. 

When  a  variety  of  common-place  observa- 
tions had  passed  between  them,  Valentino 
engaged  the  attention  of  Horace,  while 
Uncle  John  intimated  to  Walter  that  he 
wished  to  say  a  few  words  in  private. 

"  Horace,"  said  Walter,  "  entertain  your 
young  friend.  We  wish  to  be  by  ourselves 
a  short  time." 

Horace  looked  at  his  father  with  un- 
speakable significance.  He  clearly  did  n«>t 
think  it  safe.  However,  feeling  that  he 
could  not  with  any  show  of  politeness  re- 
mniii  in  the  room  after  that,  he  rose,  and 
taking  the  arm  of  Valentine,  said,  "  Come; 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


223 


let  us  leave  these  old  incomprehensibles 
together." 

»'  Mr.  Goodman,"  said  Uncle  John,  when 
he  found  that  they  were  alone,  "  my  object 
in  coming  here  this  evening  is  to  speak 
upon  a  subject  which  concerns  you  deeply. 
It  has  reference,  sir,  to  your  brother,  whom 
yesterday  I  saw! — I  perceive,"  he  continued 
as  Walter  started  and  trembled,  "I  perceive 
that  you  did  not  expect  to  hear  that;  but  I 
saw  him,  sir,  yesterday  at  the  asylum  you 
named,  and  there  discovered  him  to  be,  sir 
— not  mad! — but  an  enfeebled,  emaciated 
martyr  to  that  foul,  that  iniquitous  system, 
the  existence  of  which  is  a  national  dis- 
grace." 

"  Not  mad!"  said  Walter  hurriedly.  "  Not 
mad!  I  have  proofs!"  And  having  opened 
his  desk,  he  drew  forth  a  printed  paper 
which  he  placed  with  an  air  of  triumph 
before  Uncle  John.  "There,  there,  sir," 
he  continued,  "  there  you  have  the  certifi- 
cate of  two  eminent  physicians,  Drs.  Bowl- 
emout  and  Dobb.  That  will  be  perfectly 
satisfactory,  I  presume]" 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Uncle  John,  "  Not  at 
at  all.  I  am  happily  not  ignorant  of  the 
mode  in  which  these  things  are  managed, 
although  I  could  not  till  recently  have  con- 
ceived it  to  be  possible  that  men  could  in  a 
country  like  ours  resort  to  practices  so 
monstrous." 

44  Do  you  mean,  sir,"  said  Walter,  "  to 
insinuate  that  /  have  had  recourse  to  mon- 
strous practices'?" 

"  Mr.  Goodman!  I  have  no  inclination  to 
have  any  angry  words;  but  I  am  not  a  man 
to  mince  a  matter  of  this  kind.  Your 
brother  is  incarcerated  in  a  lunatic  bastile 
as  an  insane  man:  he  is  not  insane:  never 
was  insane:  you  incarcerated  him! — I  ask 
you  why1?" 

"  There  is  my  authority!"  said  Walter, 
pointing  to  the  certificate. 

"  Sir!"  cried  Uncle  John,  "  I  am  not  a 
child.  I  know  that  these  things — though 
potent  in  depriving  men  of  liberty — are  to 
be  purchased  with  ease;  and  you  know  that 
if  1  were  villain  enough  I  could  bribe  two 
professional  scoundrels  to  certify  to  your 
insanity  to-morrow.  What  proof  then  is 
that  of  the  madness  of  my  friend!  Under 
the  present  iniquitous  state  of  the  law  of 
lunacy,  it  is,  it  is  true,  held  to  be  a  proof — 
a  legal  proof — a  proof  sufficient  to  indem- 
nify those  into  whose  hands  the  victim  may 
be  placed,  but  in  reality  it  is  no  proof  of 
madness  at  all.  Who  are  these  men,  Drs. 
JBowlemout  and  Dobb?  where  are  they  to  be 
found?" 

"They  are  eminent  physicians,"  replied 
Walter,  "attached  to  Dr.  Holdem's  asy- 
lum." 


"I  thought  so.  But  you  did  not  apply 
to  these  eminent  physicians! — you  did  not 
engage  them!  You  applied  to  Dr.  Holdem: 
Dr.  Holdem  sent  them  to  my  friend:  they 
saw  him  once,  and  then  signed  that  certifi- 
cate. That  was  the  process.  And  why 
did  you  apply  to  Dr.  Holdem?" 

"Of  course,  because  I  believed  my 
brother  to  be  insane." 

"  But  why  did  you  not  in  the  first  place 
apply  to  two  physicians  of  known  respecta- 
bility'? It  does  not  follow  as  a  matter  of 
course  that  you  applied  to  Dr.  Hcldem, 
because  you  believed  that  your  brother  was 
insane.  But  if  even  you  had  that  belief, 
what  induced  it1? — Why  did  you  think  that 
he  was  mad?" 

"  Why,"  said  Walter,  "  because  he  acted 
strangely." 

"  Because  he  acted  strangely!  Are  we  to 
pronounce  every  man  to  be  mad  who  acts, 
strangely?  Why  every  man  living  acts 
strangely  at  times.  We  have  all  our  eccen- 
tricities. We  are  all  apt  to  deviate  from, 
the  straight  beaten  path,  and  every  such, 
deviation  is  an  eccentricity.  Eccentricity 
is  the  parent  of  all  that  is  eminent.  No 
man  ever  yet  raised  himself  into  eminence 
who  was  not  eccentric.  But  are  we  to  pro- 
nounce all  such  men  to  be  mad?  That  were 
in  itself  indeed  madness,  and  yet  you  have 
not  only  pronounced  your  own  brother  to  be 
mad,  but  have  stolen- him  from  society  with 
a  view  to  his  perpetual  imprisonment,  be- 
cause he  acted  strangely!" 

"Stolen  him  from  society!"  exclaimed 
Walter;  "I  don't  understand  you." 

"  Then  let  me  explain;  for  I  am  anxious 
to  make  you  understand  me.  Your  brother 
is  not  mad.  Nor  is  he  in  the  vulgar  ac- 
ceptation of  the  term  eccentric.  He  is  as 
free  from  eccentricities  as  you  are,  unless, 
indeed,  it  be  those  eccentricities  which 
characterise  a  benevolent  heart.  He  is  a 
perfectly  sane  man;  and  yet  you  have 
caused  him  to  be  kidnapped — carried  away 
secretly — dragged  by  brutal  ruffians  to  a 
lunatic  asylum,  with  a  view  to  his  being 
confined  there  for  life.  Now  let  me  be  un- 
derstood. Your  brother  is  my  friend.  The 
loss  of  ten  thousand  pounds  will  not  ruin 
me.  I  am  prepared  to  spend  ten  thousand 
pounds  to  effect  his  liberation,  and  to  punish 
those  by  whom  he  has  been  incarcerated, 
and  ten  thousand  more  when  that  is  gone. 
I  am  no  idle  boaster.  I  am  resolved  to  see 
him  either  dead  or  free;  and  in  order  to  carry 
into  effect  that  resolution,  I  will  willingly 
spend  every  shilling  I  have.  If,  therefore, 
you  wish  to  avoid  being  harassed;  if  you 
wish  to  avoid  being  held  up  to  public  scorn; 
if  you  wish  not  to  have  your  life  embittered, 
and  your  death  accelerated  by  the  knowledge 


224 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


of  being  universally  execrated  and  denounc- 
ed, you  will  consent,  without  delay,  to  his 
liberation;  for  be  assured,  that  if  you  will 
not  do  this,  my  friendship  for  him  is  so 
pure,  and  so  firm,  that  all  that  can  be  done 
shall  be  done;  every  available  means  shall 
be  had  recourse  to,  with  the  view  of  expos- 
ing; and  punishing  the  parties  to  this  nefari- 
ous transaction;  and  if  once  I  begin,  sir, 
nothing  shall  stop  me.  But  let  me  appeal 
to  your  sense  of  justice — to  your  feelings — 
to  your  conscience.  Let  me  reason  with 
you  calmly.  Like  me,  you  are  an  old  man 
— a  very  old  man:  we  are  both  sinking  fast 
into  the  grave:  we  must  both  soon  appear 
before  Him  to  whom  all  hearts  are  open, 
and  from  whom  no  secrets  are  hid.  Now, 
assuming  that  I  know  your  real  motive  for 
proceeding  against  your  brother  as  you  have 
done:  assuming  that  your  object  was  the 
possession  of  his  property" — 

"  But  that  was  not  my  object!"  cried 
Walter;  "  that  was  not  my  object!" 

41 1  simply  say,  assuming  that  your  object 
was  the  possession  of  his  property,  how  in- 
human— how  unjust — how  unnatural  do  the 
means  by  which  you  have  sought  the  at- 
tainment of  that  object  appear!  He  is  your 
brother! — your  own  brother!  Nature,  there- 
fore, prompts  him  to  look  to  you  for  affec- 
tion. Persecution  at  your  hands  is  abhor- 
rent to  every  principle  which  claims  an 
alliance  with  nature;  and  yet  have  you  bit- 
terly persecuted  him!  You  have  deprived 
him,  in  his  old  age,  of  liberty — you  have 
placed  every  comfort  beyond  his  reach — 
you  have  subjected  him  [to  a  species  of 
brutality  the  most  horrible; — you  have  ban- 
ished him  from  all  society,  save  that  of 
poor  idiots  and  raving  maniacs; — and  solely 
with  the  view  of  obtaining  possession  of  that 
which,  if  it  prove  not  indeed  an  immediate 
curse  to  you,  sir,  you  can  never  enjoy." 

"  But  I  tell  you  again,  that  that  was  not 
my  object.  My  object  was  to  keep  him 
from  harm." 

44  And  in  order  that  that  object  might  be 
effectually  accomplished,  you  placed  him 
in  the  power  of  ruffians  by  whom  he  has 
been  nearly  murdered." 

44  Nearly  murdered!"  exclaimed  Walter. 

"  Sir,  if  your  brother  be  not  already  dead, 
he  is  dying.  He,  a  short  time  since,  tried 
to  escape,  and  on  being  recaptured,  was 
subjected  to  treatment  of  so  brutal  a  charac- 
ter, that  his  recovery  is  held  to  be  almost 
impossible.  Humanity,  therefore,  cries 
aloud  for  his  release.  I  appeal  to  you  as  a 
brother — as  a  Christian — as  a  man— whi- 
ther his  continued  incarceration  be  not  now 
the  very  acme  of  brutality  and  injustice. 
Put  it  to  yourself,  sir.  Suppose  that  you 
were  placed  in  the  position  he  occupies, 


writhing  with  physical  agony  on  the  very 
verge  of  death,  and  morally  tortured  with 
the  consciousness  of  having  been  placed  in 
that  position  by  a  brother — a  brother,  too, 
whom  you  had  ever  treated  with  the  utmost 
kindness,  and  who  was  always  at  hand  in 
the  hour  of  need.  Would  you  not  think  it 
dreadful? — would  it  not  be  sufficient  to 
drive  you  mad  indeed?  But  assuming  for 
a  moment  that  you  believed  him  to  be"  in- 
sane, let  me  ask  if  you  thought  that  his 
madness  was  incurable?" 

"I  certainly  did  not." 

44  Then  why  send  him  to  such  a  place  as 
this,  when  you  knew  it  to  be  directly  against 
the  interest  of  the  proprietor  to  allow  him 
to  be  cured?" 

44 1  did  not  know  that,  nor  do  I  know  it 
now." 

44  You  know,  I  presume,  that  the  pro- 
prietor established  that  asylum  for  profit: 
you  know  that  his  object  is  to  get  as  many 
patients  as  he  can,  and  to  keep  them  as 
long  as  he  can; — you  know  this,  and  yet 
you  are  anxious  to  induce  the  belief  that 
you  do  not  know  it  to  be  directly  opposed 
to  his  interest  to  allow  them  to  be  cured! 
His  design  is  not  to  cure,  but  to  keep  them, 
seeing  that  in  proportion  as  they  are  cured, 
so  in  proportion  do  his  emoluments  de- 
crease; it  being  from  them  only  that  his  in- 
come is  derived.  This  is  no  mere  assertion, 
sir,  based  upon  theory;  but  a  straightfor- 
ward, practical,  self-evident  truth.  Why 
then,  I  again  ask,  if  you  really  were  anx- 
ious for  the  restoration  of  your  brother,  did 
you  place  him  in  a  private  asylum?" 

44 1  did  all  for  the  best.  I  was  told  that 
he  would  have  every  attention." 

44  But  do  you  not  see  that  the  interest  of 
every  proprietor  of  a  private  asylum  runs 
counter  to  his  duty?" 

44  It  certainly,  I  must  confess,  seems 
feasible." 

44  Can  you  then  hesitate  to  release  him?" 

Walter  remained  silent. 

44 1  wish  you  to  understand,  sir,"  con- 
tinued Uncle  John,  l4  that  I  am  not  in  the 
habit  of  holding  forth  threats;  but  as  I  have, 
sir,  the  means  at  my  command — means  of 
which  you  little  dream,  for  you  cannot  for 
a  moment  suppose  that  I  derived  any  part 
of  my  information  from  the  proprietor  of 
this  asylum;  but  as  I  have,  sir,  the  means 
of  proving  not  only  that  your  brother  is  not 
mad,  but  that  the  possession  of  his  property 
was  the  object — the  sole  object  at  frhfon 
you  aimed,  those  means  shall  be  publicly 
employed  forthwith,  unless  you  consent  to 
restore  him  to  society.  I  wish  it  to  be  an 
act  of  yours.  I  wish  to  have  it  appear  that 
vou  are  willing  to  make  all  tin-  reparation 
in  your  power  for  the  injury  you  have  in- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


225 


flicted,  and  the  agony  you  have  caused  him 
to  endure.  Again,  therefore,  I  ask,  will  you 
release  him1?" 

"  But  what  can  I  do  with  him  then1?" 
cried  Walter. 

"  I  will  take  care  of  him.  I'll  undertake 
to  keep  him  secure  from  all  harm.  If  he 
be  insane,  let  it  be  fairly  and  openly  proved. 
What  objection  can  you  possibly  have1?  If 
your  object  be  to  see  him  taken  care  of,  and 
treated  with  a  view  to  his  restoration,  and 
not  the  possession  of  his  property,  pray  tell 
me  what  objection  you  can  have  to  his 
being  released1*" 

This  Walter  could  not  tell,  and  therefore 
kept  silent. 

"  Liberate  him  then,"  continued  LTncle 
John,  firmly,  "and  I  will  strive  to  allay 
any  ill  feeling  that  circumstances  may  have 
engendered.  But  you  know  his  benevolent, 
charitable  disposition;  you  know  that  he  is 
of  a  most  forgiving  nature.  If,  however, 
you  will  not,  his  liberation  can  and  shall  be 
accomplished,  without  your  assistance,  in 
which  case — I  speak  to  you  now  as  a  mere 
man  of  the  world,  looking  solely  to  your 
own  interest  and  security — I  will  urge  him 
to  banish  every  feeling  consanguinity  may 
have  implanted  in  his  breast,  and  to  proceed 
—as  a  matter  of  justice  to  society — against 
you  with  all  possible  rigor.  Your  own 
interest,  therefore,  if  nothing  else  be  suffi- 
ciently powerful,  the  very  consideration  of 
your  own  security  must  prompt  you  to  con- 
sent. Will  you  do  it?" 

"I  will!"  said  WT alter.  "I  will.  On  Mon- 
day morning,  the  first  step  shall  be  taken." 

"  I  may  rely  upon  you  in  this1?" 

*'  You  may.  Go  with  me  yourself.  Call 
early  on  Monday  morning,  and  we'll  pro- 
ceed to  the  asylum  together." 

"  Very  well.  Reflect  upon  all  that  I  have 
said.  I  depend  upon  you  firmly" 

Uncle  John  now  pushed  his  chair  from 
the  table,  and  wiped  his  forehead,  for  he 
had  been  so  extremely  energetic  that  he  was 
then  in  a  state  of  steaming  perspiration. 
*'  Will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  ring  for  my 
nephew!"  said  he,  and  the  bell  was  ac- 
cordingly rung,  when  as  Valentine  and 
Horace  were  summoned,  they  promptly  re- 
entered  the  room. 

"  Why,  what  in  the  name  of  all  that's 
incog,  have  you  two  unhappy  old  conspira- 
tors been  up  to?"  cried  Horace.  "  Plotting 
against  the  jolly  old  state?  Are  we  to  have 
another  Guy-Fawkesification?" 

"  Good  night,"  said  Uncle  John,  as  he 
rose  to  take  leave. 

"  What,  are  you  off?"  cried  Horace, 
with  a  look  of  amazement. 

"Good  night,"  repeated  Uncle  John, 
coolly,  as  he  drew  towards  the  door. 


«'  Well,"  cried  Horace,  "  you  are  about 
the  rummest  old " 

"Horace!"  cried  Walter. 

"  Well,"  continued  Horace,  "  I  was  only 
going  to  say! — because  look  here!— directly 
I  come  down,  you  cut  it — that's  all! — But, 
if  you  will  go,  you  know,  why  you  will, 
and  no  mistake  at  all  about  it!"  And  hav- 
ing thus  delivered  his  sentiments  upon  this 
subject,  he  saw  Uncle  John  and  Valentine 
out  with  all  the  politeness  which  charac- 
terised him  commonly. 

"  Well,"  he  continued,  on  returning  to 
the  room,  "  and  what  has  that  old  fool  been 
gammoning  you  about? — the  one  subject 
though,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,"  said  Walter.  "Heaven  only 
knows  where  he  obtained  his  information, 
but  he  knows  all  about  it,  from  beginning 
to  end." 

"  What!  has  that  avaricious  old  breeches- 
pocketed  crocodile — that  what's  his  name? 
— Holdem  been  splitting?" 

"  Not  he!  you  may  take  your  oath  that 
nothing  has  been  got  out  of  him." 

"  From  whom  then  did  the  old  fool  derive 
his  information?" 

"Can't  tell;  can't  guess,"  said  Walter. 
"  He  says  that  he  has  the  means  at  his 
command  of  proving  every  circumstance 
connected  with  the  affair;  and  I  believe 
him,  for  he  stated  to  me  all  that  I  knew  to 
be  true." 

"  Then  no  time  must  be  lost  in  removing 
the  old  nominal." 

"  He  can't  be  removed  now." 

"  W7hy  not?     WThat's  to  prevent  it?" 

"  You  may  depend  upon  it,  that  this  in- 
formation has  been  derived  from  the  fellows 
attached  to  the  asylum.  It  would  be  there- 
fore quite  useless,  if  even  it  were  possible, 
for  him  now  to  be  removed.  Besides,  I 
have  solemnly  promised  to  release  him." 

"  You  have  done  what?"  cried  Horace. 
"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me — Oh!  we  are  all 
up  the  flue! — Do  you  mean  to  say  you  have 
given  that  promise?" 

"I  have." 

"  Then  we  may  as  well  just  go  and 
smother  ourselves  in  the  thickest  possible 
mud  upon  the  face  of  the  earth.  It's  all  up! 
There's  no  mistake  at  all  about  the  matter! 
If  you  release  him,  I'd  strongly  advise  you 
to  sell  out,  and  cut  away  as  fast  as  you  can 
pelt  over  to  Van  Dieman's  Land  or  New 
Zealand,  and  establish  yourself  among  the 
blacks." 

"But  if/do  not  release  him,  he  will  bo 
released,  and  I  therefore  may  as  well  make 
a  virtue  of  necessity." 

"  Well,  you  know  my  sentiments.  Do 
as  you  like:  but  if  you  do  that,  mark  my 

20* 


226 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


words,  you'll  make  a  mull  of  it!     "What  do 
you  want  to  release  him  at  all  fnr? 

"The  thing  is  done,"  said  Walter,  "and 
can't  be  helped  now!" 

"  No;  the  thing  is  not  done!  it  can  be 
helped  now!" 

44  But  he  is  coming  on  Monday  morning 
to  go  with  me  to  the  asylum." 

"  What  of  that!"  cried  Horace,  "  what 
of  that!  Can't  you  go  down  to-morrow  and 
tell  Holdem  all  about  it,  and  have  him  re- 
moved in  the  night!  It  matters  not  a  straw 
about  to-morrow  being  Sunday;  all  days 
are  alike  to  them.  They  think  nothing  of 
Sunday  there.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to 
trot  down  in  the  morning,  and  explain  to 
Holdem  how  the  matter  stands;  and  if  he  I 
don't,  before  midnight,  remove  the  old  nomi- 
nal to  a  far  distant  den,  I'll  be  bound  to — to 
swallow  him  whole." 

**  But  what  am  I  to  say  on  Monday  morn- 
ing?" 

"  What  are  you  to  say  on  Monday  morn- 
ing!    Why  don't  you  see]     When  you  go 


tbe  bird  has  flown!  t  Bless  my  life!  Why, 
where  is  Mr.  Goodman?  He  is  nowhere  to 
be  found!  Who  saw  Mr.  Goodman  this 
morning?  Here,  Figgins,  Jenkins,  Hog- 
gins! have  you  seen  Mr.  Goodman!  Go, 
and  search  for  him  again!  Search  every 
room  in  the  asylum.  I  saw  him  last  night, 
poor  man!  and  he  seemed  a  little  befter. 
Well,  have  you  found  him?  not  found  him? 
Bless  my  life!  how  very  extraordinary!  He 
must  have  escaped!'  What  then  can  be 
done?  How  can  you  be  involved?  You 
went  expressly  in  order  to  release  him. 
What  could  a  man  do  more?  He  has  es- 
caped !  He's  not  there!  Let  his  friends 
find  out  then  where  he  is  if  they  can." 

Walter  looked  in  the  fire  thoughtfully. 
His  mind  was  by  no  means  made  np.  "I'll 
think  of  it,"  said  he,  at  length;  "I'll  think 
of  it.  Say  no  more  now.  Go  and  sit  with 
your  wife  and  mother;  go,  leave  me." 

Horace,  feeling  quite  certain  of  gaining 
his  point,  accordingly  left  Walter  musing 
alone. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 


VALENTINE  BECOMES  A  LITTLE  BETTER  ACQUAINTED  WITH  THE  CHARACTER  OF  LOUISE,  OF 
WHOM  HE  TAKES  HIS  FIRST  LESSON. 


THE  next  morning,  Valentine,  Uncle  John, 
and  Whitely  went  to  church,  and  nothing 
could  surpass  the  pure  fervor  with  which 
Whitely  offered  up  thanks  to  the  throne  of 
Mercy  for  his  deliverance.  He  had  not 
been  at  church  before  for  many  weary  years; 
and  hence,  although  he  had  prayed  con- 
stantly to  Him  in  whom  all  his  hopes 
were  concentered,  the  sacred  place  at  once 
awakened  the  sweetest  recollections  of  his 
youth.  All  the  miseries  he  had  endured 
were  forgotten.  His  heart  was  full  of  joy, 
and  he  wept  like  a  child.  Each  prayer — 
each  response — brought  fresh  tears  into  his 
eyes;  and  while  the  solemn  swell  of  the 
organ  struck  awe  into  his  soul,  the  voices 
of  the  children,  singing  the  praises  of  the 
Most  High,  seemed  to  him  so  celestial,  that 
he  felt,  during  the  service,  as  if  in  heaven 
with  the  angels,  and  left  inspired  with  the 
purest  happiness  a  mortal  cnn  know. 

He  and  his  friends  however  had  scarcely 
reached  home,  when  the  carriage  of  Mr. 
Raven  dashed  up  to  the  door,  and  when  th. 
•widow — who  would  trust  no  one  to  answer 
double  knocks— had  communicated  some 
Interesting  intelligence,  having  refercnn-  to 
ictof  Valentine  and  his"  Uncle  being 
at  home,  Mr.  Haven  himself  alighted,  and, 


I  according  to  instructions,  was  shown  at  once 
!  into  the  room. 

"Ah!  how  do,  my  friends?  How  do; 
how  do?"  cried  that  gentleman,  shaking 
J  them  both  by  the  hand  at  once.  "  I've 
come,  you  see,  without  any  aristocratic  cere- 
mony: come  to  press  you!  must  go!  I  want 
you  to  spend  the  whole  day  with  us.  Come, 
you're  not  engaged  ?" 

"  Why  the  fact  is,"  replied  Uncle  John, 
"  we  have  a  friend  staying  with  us  who" — 

44  Come,  now,  none  of  ^your  aristocracy! 
can  you  not  bring  your  friend  with  you?" 

44  He  is  not  sufficiently  well,"  said  Uncle 
John,  who  was  about  to  explain  in  continua- 
tion, when  Mr.  Raven, addressing  Valentino, 
said,  "Well,  I  must  have  you,  at  nil  events. 
Louise  is  in  the  carriage:  you  had  bett. 
in  at  onee,  while  I  see  what  1  can  make  of 
my  old  friend  here." 

Of  course  Valentine  did  not  remain  very 
long  in  the  room  after  that:  on  the  contrary, 
he  went  at  once  to  tnke  leave  of  Whitely, 
who  had  retired  on  the  approach  of  Mr. 
Haven,  and  whom  he  urged  to  arerpt  tln> 
invitation,  if  it  were  pressed,  and  then  with- 
out even  the  slightest  unnecessary  delay, 
proceeded  to  the  carriage  to  join  Lnuisr. 

Uncle  John,  to  the  utter  astonishment  of 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


227 


Raven,  now  briefly  explained  Whitely's 
case,  and  begged  of  him  at  the  conclusion 
to  believe  that  he  should  have  been  indeed 
happy  to  return  with  him;  but  that  he  was 
anxious  not  to  leave  his  poor  friend  so  long 
alone. 

44  But  why  can  he  not  come  with  us!" 
inquired  Mr.  Raven.  "  He  will  be  just  as 
well  there,  you  know,  as  here.  We'll  doc- 
tor him  up.  We'll  take  every  possible 
care  of  him.  Will  you  go  and  try  to  per- 
suade him  to  come1?" 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Uncle  John,  who 
went  at  once  for  that  purpose;  but  Whitely 
most  earnestly  begged  to  be  excused,  and 
at  the  same  time  endeavored  to  prevail  upon 
Uncle  John  not  to  remain  at  home  on  his 
account  one  moment. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Raven,  when  Uncle 
John  had  communicated  the  result,  "  then 
I  tell  you  what  I'll  do  with  you.  Suppose 
we  split  the  difference.  We  dine  at  six: 
will  you  join  us  then1?" 

"  I  will,  with  pleasure." 

"That's  all  right!  Now  we'll  be  off. 
When  your  poor  friend  is  well  enough  to 
come,  I  shall  be  happy  to  see  him.  But 
these  are  your  laws,  my  friend! — the  laws 
of  your  beggarly  aristocracy! — framed  on 
purpose  to  swindle  their  own  flesh  and 
blood!  But  they'll  come  down!  mark  my 
words,  they'll  come  down,  and  that  before 
many  more  years  roll  over  their  heads! 
However,  six  precisely!" 

44  I'll  be  punctual,"  said  Uncle  John,  and 
he  saw  Mr.  Raven  to  his  carriage,  expressly 
with  the  view  of  shaking  hands  with  Louise, 
who  looked  so  beautiful  and  so  happy,  and 
smiled  so  sweetly,  that  really,  while  her 
hand  was  in  his.  she  made  him  feel  that  he 
should  have  fallen  in  love  with  her  himself, 
had  he  seen  her  about  forty  years  before. 

The  carriage  of  course  was  not  long  roll- 
ing home;  but  had  it  been  dragged  by  a 
couple  of  crabs,  the  time  would  not  have 
seemed  long  to  Valentine  and  Louise.  They 
could  not  keep  their  eyes  off  each  other 
one  moment.  Every  instant  they  met, 
and  then  dropped,  and  met  again,  and  al- 
though Mr.  Raven  tried  to  fix  their  atten- 
tion upon  the  beggarly  characteristics  of 
certain  aristocratic  equipages  which  passed 
them  on  the  way,  the  attempt  was  in  every 
case  a  failure,  although  he  was  doomed  not 
to  know  it. 

They  now  reached  home,  and  Valentine 
assisted  Louise  out  of  the  carriage  with  all 
possible  grace,  only  being  unaccustomed  to 
the  business,  he  stood  as  a  mere  matter  of 
chance  on  the  wrong  side,  and  thus  took  the 
thing  entirely  out  of  the  hands  of  the  ser- 
vant. The  importance  of  this  was  however 
but  slight:  it  only  proved  to  Mr.  Raven, 


that  he  did  not  belong  to  the  "  beggarly 
aristocracy,"  and  as  he  led  Louise  into  the 
house  very  fairly,  he  thereby  recovered  his 
ground. 

It  was  not  very  long  before  Louise  again 
joined  him,  and  although  Mr.  Raven  was 
anxious  for  him  to  sit  over  a  biscuit  and  a 
glass  of  wine,  and  chat  about  the  aristo- 
cracy, she  very  soon  had  him  away.  He 
had  wtf  seen  those  beautiful  pictures:  he 
had  not  seen  those  funny  Dutch  chairs:  he 
had  not  even  been  in  the  library!  Oh!  he 
must  come:  She  had  so  much  to  show  him, 
and  so  much  to  say,  that  she  robbed  Mr. 
Raven  of  his  society  in  a  short  space  of 
time,  and  they  ran  about  the  house  like 
brother  and  sister.  She  called  him  plain 
Valentine,  and  taught  him  to  call  her  Louise; 
and  they  seemed  to  understand  each  other 
perfectly;  and  were  both  very  happy  in  that 
understanding;  and  thus  they  spent  the  first 
three  hours,  occasionally  looking  in  upon 
Mr.  Raven  just  to  see  how  he  got  on  with 
his  "  beggarly  aristocracy,"  and  then  start- 
ing off  again  upon  some  fresh  expedition. 

As  the  time  flew  away,  however,  Valen- 
tine thought  this  really  was  an  opportunity 
which  ought  not  to  be  lost.  They  were 
then  in  the  drawing-room,  and  the  beggarly 
aristocracy's  natural  enemy  was  below.  He 
therefore  went  to  the  window,  while  Louise 
was  looking  over  an  annual  with  the  view 
of  finding  a  piece  of  poetry,  which  she  held 
in  very  high  admiration,  and  began  to  weigh 
the  importance  of  the  first  sentence  he 
wished  to  utter  with  as  much  minuteness 
as  if  indeed  immortality  hung  upon  every 
word. 

"  Why,  whatt's  the  matter?"  cried  Louise, 
when  he  had  been  standing  in  this  position 
for  some  time.  "  Why  on  earth  are  you  so 
serious1?  I  know  what  you  are  thinking 
about,"  she  continued  smiling  archly,  as 
her  laughing  eyes  sparkled  with  pleasure. 
44 1  think  that  1  could  guess  pretty  nearly!" 

"  Indeed!  Tell  me  what  you  imagine 
my  thoughts  were  now,  come!" 

44  Nay,  I  will  not  tell  that:  but  it  strikes 
me  that  1  could  if  I  felt  so  disposed."  And 
she  ran  away  to  look  for  the  poetry  again, 
with  as  much  anxiety  as  if  that  really  bore 
upon  the  point. 

"  Louise!"  said  Valentine  after  a  pause, 
and  she  flew  to  the  window  at  which  he  was 
standing;  but  as  her  hasty  approach  drove 
away  all  his  courage,  he  simply  stated  it  to 
be  his  unbiassed  conviction  that  appear- 
ances were  decidedly  in  favor  of  rain. 

44  Oh!"  said  Louise.  44  And  is  that  all 
you  called  me  for?" 

'4  Why,"  returned  Valentine,  recovering 
himself  a  little,  44 1  certainly  had  something 
else  to  communicate,  and  have  still,  but — " 


228 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"  Anything  very  particular?" 

"  Very." 

44  Well,  tell  me  at  once  what  it  is.  I  am 
impatient  to  know  all  about  it." 

44  Louise,  I  am  really  so  awkward,  so 
stupid,  that  I  wish  to  become  at  once  a  pu- 
pil of  yours." 

"  And  pray  what  arn  I  to  teach  you?" 

*'  How  to  win  your  affections." 

"Indeed,  I  know  nothing  about  it,"  said 
Louise.  "  I  have  had  no  experience  in 
matters  of  that  sort."  And  ajrain  she  ran 
away,  but  only  pretended  this  time  to  look 
for  that  extremely  beautiful  piece  of  poetry. 

44  But,"  said  Valentine,  44 1  really  wish 
you  would  give  me  a  little  instruction!" 

44  But  how  can  1?  How  is  it  possible  to 
teach  you  that,  of  which  I  myself  am  ig- 
norant?" 

44  Many  begin  to  learn,  only  when  they 
begin  to  teach;  and  I  really  think  that  if 
anything  can  justify  that  practice,  it  is  a 
case  of  a  precisely  similar  character  to 
this." 

44  Well,"  said  Louise,  sitting  down  upon 
the  sofa,  4'  as  you  seem  to  be  so  very,  very 
anxious  to  learn,  I  will  give  you  a  lesson." 
And  Valentine  at  once  left  the  window,  and 
sat  beside  her.  44  In  the  first  place  then," 
she  continued  playfully,  "  you  must  be  a 
good  boy,  and  come  very,  very  often.  Se- 
condly: Whenever  I  expect  you,  and  you 
find  it  impossible  to  come,  you  must  send 
me  a  note  to  that  effect—" 

44  Exactly;  and  how  am  I  to  begin  it?" 

44  Why,  how  would  you  begin  it?" 

44  My  dear  Miss  Raven?  or  my  dear  ma- 
dam?" 

44  Neither,  sir!  Were  you  to  address  me 
as  4my  dear  madam;'  or  even  as  4  my  dear 
Miss  Raven,'  I  would  instantly  tear  off  that 
part,  and  send  it  back  in  a  very  sharp  note. 
My  dear  madam,  indeed!  My  dear  Louise! 
or  my  dearest  Louise!  or  something  even 
stronger  than  that;  and  then  go  on  to  say 
that  so  and  so,  whatever  it  may  be,  you 
know— precludes  the  possibility  of  your 
having  the  pleasure  or  the  happiness,  and 
so  on,  subscribing  yourself  Yours." 

44 1  see:  et  cetera,  et  cetera." 

44  No,  sir!  not  Yours  et  cetera,  et  cetera; 
but  Yours— you  may  say,  dear  Louise!  here 
again  if  you  please;  but  at  all  events,  Yours 
ever  faithfully  and  affectionately;  and  then 
sign  your  own  name — your  own  Christian 
name  at  full  length.  Well!  that  is  in  the 
second  place.  Thirdly:  you  must  never  say 
a  word  in  my  favor,  that  you  are  not  quite 
convinced  that  I  shall  believe  to  be  tnu •; 
for,  although  4a  little  flattery  sometimes 
does  well,'  we  cannot  bear  to  believe  it  to  be 
flattery— but  in  this  littlo  particular.  \  •  u 
may  go  to  some  extent  before  you  fall  into 


any  very  serious  error.  Fourthly:  you  must 
never — Good  gracious!"  she  continued,  sud- 
denly starting  from  her  playfully  energetic 
position,  and  looking  down  as  pensively  as 
possible. 

Valentine  slightly  turned  his  head,  and 
saw  Uncle  John  and  Raven  in  the  room. 

They  appeared  to  be  delighted;  but  Louise 
and  her  pupil  felt  really  so  confused!  What 
could  be  done?  It  is  true,  there  was  the 
Annual  lying  by  her  side;  but  then,  what 
is  an  Annual  in  such  a  case  as  this? 

44  Your  most  obedient,"  said  Uncle  John, 
holding  his  spectacles  to  his  eyes,  and  bow- 
ing very  profoundly. 

Louise  looked  up  and  smiled:  all  her 
courage  returned,  and  she  ran  to  shake 
hands  with  Uncle  John. 

44  I  thought  that  we  should  find  them  at 
last!"  said  Mr.  Raven. 

44  You  are  two  very,  very  naughty  crea- 
tures," said  Louise;  "  I  have  a  great  mind 
not  to  forgive  you.  How  long,  pray,  have 
you  been  behind  that  screen?" 

44  I  have  but  just  come,"  said  Uncle 
John. 

44  But  this  moment!  You  have  heard 
nothing,  then?  You  are  sure  you  have 
heard  nothing?— quite  sure?" 

44  We  simply  heard  you  giving  your  pu> 
pil  a  lesson." 

44  Now  that  is  too  bad  of  you,  really!  I 
was  simply  explaining" — 

44  Yes,  yes!  we  are  aware  you  were  sim- 
ply explaining,"  returned  Uncle  John. 
44  Well,  sir!  and  pray  have  you  nothing  to 
say  for  yourself!" 

Valentine  smiled  and  took  the  hand  of 
Louise,  but  was  silent. 

44  Well,"  said  Mr.  Raven,  who  had  been 
highly  amused,  44  when  you  have  finished 
the  fourth  division. — It  is,  I  believe,  the 
fourth? — Yes;  well,  when  the  fourth  divi- 
sion is  finished,  we,  perhaps,  may  have  the 
honor  of  your  company  below.  That's 
rather  aristocratic,  1  think!"  And  .Mr. 
Raven  really  laughed  very  merrily,  and  so 
did  Uncle  John,  whose  arm  he  took,  and 
left  the  apt  pupil  and  his  preceptress  to- 
gether. 

"  Dear  me!  how  very  awkward  to  be 
sure!"  said  Louise.  4t  What  tiresome  peo- 
ple to  come  in  just  then.  But,  gracious! 
how  odd  you  did  look!" 

44 1  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  of  it;  but 
then,  even  you  satiKU'hfit  changed!" 

44  Did  I?  Well,  I  dare  say  I  did.  But 
we  must  not  remain  here.  You  run  down 
at  once,  and  I'll  follow  immediately." 

44  Very  well,"  said  Valentine;  "  but  first 
let  me  whisper  one  word  in  your  ear.  They 
may  bo  even  now  behind  the  screen." 

44  Well,  what  is  it?  quick!"  said  Louise, 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


229 


and  as  she  held  her  ear  towards  him,  he 
kissed  her! — absolutely  kissed  her! — which 
was  very  extraordinary.  Yet  what's  in  a 
kiss?  Really,  when  people  come  to  reflect 
upon  the  matter  calmly,  what  can  they  see 
in  a  kiss?  The  lips  pout  slightly  and  touch 
the  cheek  softly,  and  then  they  just  part, 
and  the  job  is  complete.  There's  a  kiss  in 
the  abstract!  view  it  in  the  abstract! — take 
it  as  it  stands!  look  at  it  philosophically! — 
what  is  there  in  it?  Millions  upon  millions 
of  souls  have  been  made  happy,  while  mil- 
lions upon  millions  have  been  plunged  into 
misery  and  despair  by  this  kissing;  and  yet 
when  you  look  at  the  character  of  the  thing, 
it  is  simply  a  pouting-  and  parting  of  the 
lips.  In  every  grade  of  society  there's  kiss- 
ing. Go  where  you  will,  to  what  country 
you  will,  you  are  perfectly  sure  to  find  kiss- 
ing! There  is,  however,  some  mysterious 
virtue  in  a  kiss  after  all,  and  as  every  one 
knows  what  kissing  is,  it  perhaps  will  be 
just  now  sufficient  to  state,  that  the  pecu- 
liarly sweet  kind  of  influence  which  it  has 
was  by  no  means  unfelt  by  either  Valentine 
or  Louise,  although  they*  actually,  in  less 
than  five  minutes  after,  sat  at  the  table,  and 
in  the  presence  of  Raven  and  Uncle  John, 
looking  precisely  as  if  nothing  of  the  kind 
had  occurred! 

During  dinner  the  "lesson"  was  a  source 
of  great  amusement;  for  both  Uncle  John 
and  Raven  rallied  Louise  and  her  pupil  at 
every  point. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  said  Raven,  "  shall 
I  send  you  some  soup?" 

This  kept  them  merry  for  some  time. 

"  Secondly,"  said  Uncle  John,  "  shall  I 
have  the  pleasure  to  take  wine  with  you?" 

This  also  told  well,  and  so  indeed  did 
every  division  of  the  subject,  even  up  to 
the  nineteenth;  but  as  Valentine  and  Louise 
took  up  the  weapons  of  their  assailants, 
they  eventually  beat  them  completely  out 
of  the  field. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Raven,  immediately 
after  dinner,  "  and  what  is  your  opinion  of 
the  state  of  things  in  general?" 

"  Do  you  allude  to  the  state  of  the  coun- 
try?" inquired  Uncle  John. 

"  The  country,  sir,  I  blush  for  the  coun- 
try. I  blush,  sir,  for  those  who  rule  the 
destinies  of  the  country.  My  firm  impres- 
sion is,  sir,  that  the  country  is  going  to 
pot." 

•*  Indeed!  Really  I  have  heard  nothing 
at  all  of  it!  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that." 

"  Sorry!  and  so  am  I,  sir,  sorry;  but  how 
can  it  be  helped?  Look  at  the  state  of 
things  in  general!  Every  thing  is  in  the 
hands  of  our  beggarly  aristocracy;  and 
when  that  is  the  case,  sir,  what  country  can 
prosper?" 


"  But  how  long  has  this  country  been  in 
the  hands  of  the  aristocracy?" 

"  How  long?  It  always  has  been  in  their 
hands,  ever  since  it  was  a  country." 

"That  is  to  say,  that  they  have  always 
had  the  government  of  it — the  ruling  of  its 
destinies?" 

"  Precisely." 

"  Then  by  that  I  am  of  course  to  under- 
stand that  they  have  made  this  country  what 
it  is?" 

"  To  be  sure  they  have,  they  and  they 
alone,  sir,  have  made  it  what  it  is." 

"The  envy  of  surrounding  nations,  and 
the  admiration  of  the  world!" 

"  But  we  have  not  to  thank  the  aristo- 
cracy for  that!" 

"  If  they  have  made  this  country  what  it 
is,  they  have  made  it  great  and  glorious 
beyond  all  other  nations  of  the  earth;  and 
if  they  have  made  it  so  great  and  so  glori- 
ous, they  cannot  in  the  long  run  have  mis- 
managed much." 

"  But  what  would  this  country  have  been, 
sir,  had  it  not  been  for  them?" 

"  It  is  utterly  impossible  for  me  to  tell." 

"Greater,"  continued  Mr.  Raven,  "ten 
thousand  times  greater  and  more  glorious! 
But,  waiving  this  subject,  just  look  at  the 
set!  Can  you  conceive  a  more  arrogant, 
haughty,  upstart  set  of  wretches?  Why, 
nineteen,  sir,  out  of  every  twenty  are  pau- 
pers, viewing  the  country  as  their  parish, 
and  living  upon  the  rates." 

"  But  there  is  great  wealth  amongst 
them!" 

"  No  doubt  of  it;  but  what  I  complain 
of  most  is,  that  they  who  have  it  will  not 
even  support  their  own  children.  They 
must  quarter  them  upon  the  public:  they 
must  make  them  national  paupers.  In  their 
view  the  provision  for  one  son  in  each 
family  is  sufficient:  all  the  rest — it  matters 
not  a  single  straw,  sir,  how  many  there  may 
be — must  be  provided  for  out  of  the  public 
purse.  That  is  what  I  look  at!  and  I  mean 
to  contend  that  it  is  monstrous  that  this 
country  should  be  taxed  for  the  support  of  a 
legion  of  aristocratic  locusts  who  suck  the 
pucuniary  blood  of  the  people,  and  who, 
while  they  suck,  tyrannise  over  and  tram- 
ple them  to  the  earth.  Look  at  them!  See 
with  what  aristocratic  contempt  they  look 
down  upon  a  man  who,  by  dint  of  honest 
industry,  has  realised  sufficient  to  buy  a 
thousand  of  them  up!  They  will  prey 
upon  him,  borrow  of  him,  gamble  with  him, 
cheat  him,  but  they  will  not  associate  with 
him.  Oh,  no;  his  veins  are  untainted  by 
aristocratic  blood,  the  impurity  of  which  is 
notorious.  They  will  dance  with  a  dust- 
man, drink  with  a  sweep,  shake  hands  with 
a  pugilist,  a  jockey,  or  a  black-leg;  but  he 


230 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


comes  too  near  them,  his  wealth  cuts  them 
out,  he  can  buy  them  all  up! — they'll  do 
neither  with  him.  The  whole  system  is 
rotten,  sir,  rotten  at  the  core.  If  we  have 
an  aristocracy  at  all,  sir,  let  it  be  a  mohied 
aristocracy:  an  aristrocacy  of  wealth.  He 
who  has  most  should  stand  first:  the  richest 
man  should  be  king.  That,  sir,  is  the  sort 
of  aristocracy  to  establish;  not  a  beggarly 
aristocracy,  composed  of  mean,  stiff-necked 
hereditary  paupers.  What  would  become 
of  the  crew,  were  it  not  for  the  public  purse? 
Why,  they'd  run  about  as  bare,  sir,  as  un- 
fledged birds:  they  would  not  have  a  rag  to 
their  backs — not  a  rag;  but  as  it  is  they 
make  John  Bull  stand  Sam,  and  John  Bull 
is  an  ass;  but  when  he  does  kick — and  kick 
he  will,  mark  my  words,  soon — down  comes 
your  beggarly  aristocracy." 

To  Uncle  John  all  this  was  highly  amus- 
ing: he,  of  course,  saw  in  a  moment  how 
the  matter  stood  between  the  aristocracy 
and  Mr.  Raven,  and  felt  disposed  to  humor 
him,  seeing  that  he  cared  to  converse  upon 
no  other  topic;  but  to  Louise  and  her  pupil 
the  thing  was  really  tiresome  in  the  extreme, 
and  therefore  Valentine  no  sooner  lost  his 
fair  preceptress  than  he  resolved  upon  chang- 
ing the  subject  at  once. 

"You  see,  sir,"  continued  Mr.  Raven, 
having  refilled  his  glass,  "  when  we  speak 
of  an  aristocracy  as  an  aristocracy — " 

"  Ahem!"  cried  Valentine,  throwing  his 
voice  near  the  legs  of  the  speaker. 

"Hullo!  Who  have  we  here1?"  cried 
that  gentleman,  looking  most  anxiously  un- 
der the  table.  "  Who  are  you?" 

"  One  of  the  aristocracy,"  said  Valen- 
tine. 

44  One  of  the  aristocracy?"  and  again  Mr. 
Raven  looked  under  the  table,  but  really 
could  see  no  one  there.  "  One  of  the  aris- 
tocracy?" he  repeated  looking  earnestly  in 
the  face  of  Uncle  John. 

"  I  heard  some  one,"  said  Uncle  John, 
say,  '  One  of  the  aristocracy,'  and  he  also 
looked  with  great  apparent  anxiety  beneath 
the  table,  although  he  perfectly  well  knew 
from  whom  the  voice  had  proceeded. 

44  Ahem!"  repeated  Valentine,  throwing 
his  voice  this  time  beneath  the  easy  chair  in 
which  Raven  was  sitting. 

44  Oh  you're  here,  are  you?"  cried  Mr. 
Raven,  starting  at  once  upon  his  legs,  and 
upsetting  the  chair  in  question.  4*  Why, 
where  on  earth! — where  can  he  be!"  he 
continued.  44  He  must  be  somewhere!" 
And  he  looked  round  the  room  with  an 
anxious  eye,  and  turned  the  chair  upside 
down  with  the  view  of  making  quite  sure 
that  the  invisible  one  of  the  aristocracy  was 
not  in  reality  perched  upon  the  i 

"I  don't  see  him,"  observed  Uncle  John, 


with  an  air  of  mystery,  which  did  him 
great  credit. 

41  Nor  do  I,"  said  Mr.  Raven,  "but  then 
he  must  be  here! — A^ain  I  ask,  who  are 
you?" 

44  Again  I  say,  one  of  the  aristocracy!" 

This  was  indeed  held  to  be  very  strange. 
The  idea  of  one  of  the  aristocracy  being 
concealed  in  his  room,  struck  Raven  as  be- 
ing about  the  most  extraordinary  thing  in 
life.  He  had  heard  of  nothing — read  of 
nothing  in  history  either  ancient  or  modern 
— at  all  to  be  compared  with  it,  and  there- 
fore said,  "  W7hat  do  you  want?" 

41  To  converse  with  you  upon  that  great 
topic,"  said  Valentine. 

44  What  right  have  you  here?  But  come 
out  and  let's  have  a  look  at  you!"  And  he 
quietly  winked  at  Uncle  John — which  wink 
seemed  to  signify  that  he  simply  wished  to 
see  him — that  was  all. 

44  Pray  be  seated,"  said  Valentine. 

44 1  will  nut  be  seated  till  I  see  who  you 
are." 

44  Come,  come,  now  be  calm." 

44  Calm!  I  will  not  be  calm.  What  busi- 
ness have  you  here,  sir? — who  are  you?" 

44  One  of  the  aristocracy!"  said  Valentine, 
with  an  emphasis  which  implied  that  he 
had  said  so  before. 

Raven  thought  this  indeed  most  mysteri- 
ous, but  he  cried  with  great  energy,  "  Will 
you  come  out?" 

44 Not  till  you  are  perfectly  tranquil." 

44  Tranquil!  I'll  summon  my  servants 
and  expel  you  with  the  utmost  violence!" 

44  You  have  not  the  power.  The  power 
is  all  in  the  hands  of  the  aristocracy." 

44  We'll  see  about  that!"  and  he  rang  the 
bell  with  due  desperation,  and  then  paced 
the  room  with  an  air  of  some  considerable 
dignity  and  importance. 

A  servant  now  entered. 

44 Bring  William  and  Thomas  with  you," 
said  Raven.  "Tell  them  to  come  instantly, 
with  John,  and  Coachman  too,  if  they  are 
below." 

The  servant,  looking  very  droll — for  he 
did  not  understand  it — proceeded  rather 
mysteriously  to  obey  orders. 

44  I'll  guard  the  door,"  said  Uncle  John, 
who  enjoyed  it  very  much,  but  kept  his 
countenance  pretty  well;  "  and  Val!  suffer 
no  one  to  dart  through  the  window!" 

Each  now  took  his  station,  and  Raven 
still  walked  about,  chuckling  at  the  idea  of 
how  lie  would  trounce,  when  he  cauglit  the 
invisible  one  of  the  aristocracy. 

The  servants  entered.  They  all  looked 
remarkably  odd.  They  had  done  nothing! 
Why  were  they  carpeted? 

44  Now  you  fellows,"  cried  Raven,  who 
drove  them  like  slaves,  and  ruled  them 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


231 


with  a  rod  of  iron,  because  he  didn't  belong 
to  the  aristocracy,  "search  the  room! 
there's  some  vagabond  here!— find  him 
out!" 

A  change  came  over  the  countenances  of 
the  servants.  There  was  nothing  to  be 
charged  against  them,  and  as  they  naturally 
at  the  moment  held  that  to  be  a  blessing, 
they  commenced  a  strict  search,  with  un- 
paralleled zeal.  They  looked  under  every 
chair,  and  into  every  crevice  sufficiently 
large  for  a  mouse  to  be  concealed,  but  of 
course  no  human  being  could  they  see,  and 
they  expressed  themselves  eventually  and 
precisely  to  that  effect. 

"  You  must  find  him  somewhere,"  said 
Raven.  "I  know  he's  in  the  room!"  And 
again  they  looked  about  with  the  utmost 
minuteness,  until  they  positively  began  to 
believe  that  their  master  must  have  made  a 
slight  mistake! 

"Ahem!"  cried  Valentine,  seeing  them 
together  in  one  corner,  and  throwing  his 
voice  dexterously  into  the  corner  opposite. 
"Ahem!" 

"  Now  then!"  cried  Raven,  "  Now — now 
—secure  him!"  and  away  flew  the  servants 
to  the  corner  of  the  room  from  which  the 
voice  had  apparently  proceeded,  prepared 
both  to  clutch  and  to  torture  the  very  first 
man  whom  they  saw.  But  they  were  able 
to  see  no  man — no  ghost  of  a  man.  Their 
master  had  evidently  made  no  mistake;  but 
then,  where  was  the  vagabond  in  question] 

They  found  it  impossible  to  tell.  They 
could  not  so  much  as  conceive. 

"You'd  better  come  out!"  cried  Coach- 
man, desirous  of  conveying  an  idea  of 
mercy  being  extended  in  the  event  of  a 
voluntary  surrender.  "  It'll  be  all  the  worse 
for  you  if  you  don't!" 

"  Do  you  think  so?"  said  Valentine, 
making  his  voice  appear  to  come  from 
another  quarter  of  the  room,  and  away  the 
servants  rushed  to  that  particular  quarter, 
but,  of  course,  with  no  greater  success. 

Where,  where  could  he  be?  He  was 
nowhere  above — he  must  be  beneath  the 
carpet,  and  Coachman  was  proceeding  to 
pull  the  carpet  up,  but  the  rest  acutely  feel- 
ing that  they,  in  that  case,  should  have  a 
most  unpleasant  job  in  the  morning,  put  a 
veto  upon  the  proceeding  in  the  similitude 
of  a  hint,  that  if  they  heavily  trampled  over 
every  part  of  it,  it  would  have  a  more  im- 
mediate effect. 

They  acted  upon  this  suggestion — they 
did  trample  over  it,  and  assuredly  if  any 
one  had  been  beneath,  he  would  have 
known  it:  but,  no!  they  met  with  no  lump 
—no  obstruction — the  carpet  was  perfectly 
smooth. 

They  now  began  to  feel  that  all  must 


have  been  mistaken,  and  they  looked  at 
each  other  with  the  view  of  imparting  some 
icjea  of  what  they  felt,  and  there  really  ap- 
peared to  be  a  perfect  unanimity  establish- 
ing itself  among  them,  when  Raven  cried, 
"Come!  look  about!  look  about!  I'll  have 
him  found!" 

The  servants  obviously  had  an  idea  at 
this  moment  that  it  was  all  very  well  for 
Mr.  Raven  to  say,  "I'll  have  him  found! 
I'll  have  him  found!"  but  where  were  they 
to  find  him!  That  was  the  grand  point  at 
issue. 

They  did,  however,  recommence  their 
search  with  the  most  praiseworthy  diligence, 
looking  again  in  every  quarter  in  which 
they  knew  that  they  had  looked,  as  well  as 
in  every  quarter  in  which  they  conceived 
that  they  had  not. 

Again  they  relaxed.  They  really  felt  it 
to  be  of  no  use.  They  were  tired  and  very 
warm.  Their  collars  and  cravats  were  dis- 
arranged; in  short,  their  exertions  were  up- 
setting each  particular  thing  which  their 
nature  had  taught  them  the  expediency  of 
keeping  tidy. 

"  Come,  come!"  cried  Mr.  Raven,  on  no- 
ticing this  natural  disinclination  on  their 
part  to  do  more  than  the  existing  circum- 
stances really  required.  "I'll  not  have  you 
give  up.  He's  about  here  somewhere.  I 
will  have  him  found." 

"  Ahem!"  repeated  Valentine,  find  ing  that 
they  required  some  slight  additional  "spur 
to  prick  the  sides  of  their  intent,"  and  they 
were  all  alive  again  in  a  moment.  But 
they  now  looked  angry  and  desperate;  and, 
doubtless,  if  they  had  discovered  any  one 
then,  they  would  have  handsomely  reward- 
ed him  for  all  their  trouble.  They  only 
wanted  to  find  him.  They  wanted  nothing 
more.  They  knew,  at  that  interesting  mo- 
ment, of  no  other  wish  than  that!  But,  un- 
blest  souls!  even  that  was  denied  them. 
They  could  not  discover  the  object  of  their 
search,  although  they  really  did  run  about 
the  room  with  an  energetic  zeal,  altogether 
unexampled. 

They  stopped  again  to  blow  a  little  after 
a  time.  But  Raven  wouldn't  have  it.  He 
loudly  insisted  upon  ther  keeping  up  the 
search,  and  as  Valentine  cried  "Ahem!" 
again  at  this  point,  they  flew  across  the 
room  with  renewed  desperation,  upsetting 
every  chair  which  stood  in  the  path  of  their 
flight. 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter?"  cried 
Louise,  darting  into  the  room  at  this  mo- 
ment. "  Good  gracious,  what  in  the  world 
can  it  be?" 

Raven  seized  the  arm  of  Valentine,  and 
telling  him  to  take  her  away,  promptly  hur- 
ried them  both  out  of  the  room. 


232 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


The  game  was  up.  The  real  "  One  of 
the  aristocracy"  was  no  longer  present. 
Still,  although  they  heard  no  more  aheming, 
they,  for  a  long  time,  continued  to  prosecute 
the  search. 

Uncle  John  tried  to  calm  Mr.  Raven;  but 
nothing  could  banish  from  his  mind  the 
conviction  that  some  one  was  still  in  the 
room.  He  thought  it  strange — of  course, 
he  thought  it  very  strange — 'but  then  he  felt 
it  to  be  impossible  for  them  all  to  have  been 
deceived.  He  wouldn't  believe  it— he 
couldn't  believe  it!  But  what  was  to  be 
done1?  There  were  the  servants  panting 
with  unspeakable  energy,  and  really  look- 
ing greatly  fatigued:  they  had  searched 
every  corner — every  crevice — every  hole — 
and  yet  could  not  find  one  of  the  aristocracy! 
Why,  it  was  marvellous!  Raven  himself 
felt  it  to  be  marvellous;  and,  having  eventu- 
ally explained  that  he  felt  it  to  be  so  with 
great  promptitude  and  point,  he  dismissed 
the  sweating  servants,  who  were  really 
quite  knocked  up,  and  sat  down  with  a  sub- 
dued spirit  to  argue  the  case  with  Uncle 
John. 

«•  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  this]"  said 
he — "  what  do  you  think  of  this?  It  strikes 
me.  as  bein<r  rather  of  the  ratherest!" 

*'  I  certainly  heard  a  voice,"  said  Uncle 
John;  "  I  don't  think  that  I  can  be  mistaken 
in  that." 

"  Mistaken!  I'd  take  my  oath  of  it.  1 
have,  it  is  true,  heard  of  imps  and  such  cat- 
tle; and  I  have  also  heard  that  they  are  in 
the  service  of  the  aristocracy;  but  I  never 
had  faith  in  the  existence  of  such  things; 
and  yet,  what  in  the  world  could  it  have 
been?  It  is  pretty  clear  now  that  there  is 
no  one  in  the  room  but  ourselves.  What 
think  you?" 

"  Oh,  that  has  been  abundantly  proved," 


said  Uncle  John,  and  he  looked  with  an  air 
of  mystery  again  round  the  room,  which 
was  then  in  a  state  of  the  utmost  confusion. 
"  Well,  I've  seen  and  heard  of  many 
marvellous  things  in  my  lifetime,  that's 
clear;  but  this  beats  all  that  I  ever  saw  or 
heard  of!  Dear  me,  though,  what  strange 
unaccountable  things  there  are  in  nature  to 
be  sure!  I  have  heard  of  haunted  houses; 
but  I  never  heard  noises  in  this  house  be- 
fore!" At  this  moment,  quite  a  novel  idea 
seemed  to  strike  him,  for  he  at  once  seized 
the  poker  and  thrust  it  up  the  chimney, 
which  clearly  contained  his  last  hope.  "  No! 
— no!"  he  continued,  having  brandished 
that  instrument  with  infinite  tact  and  dex- 
terity in  vain.  "Well!  this  is  extraordi- 
nary! I  will  not  believe  it  to  have  been  any 
supernatural  thing;  and  yet,  what  on  earth 
could  it  have  been!  I'd  give  any  money  to 
know  what  it  was." 


"  You  have  no  parrot  in  the  house,  I  pre- 
sume"?" said  Uncle  John. 

"  Parrot!— bless  your  life,  no! — nothing 
of  the  sort!  Besides,  where  is  the  parrot 
in  nature  that  could  articulate  '  one  of  the 
aristocracy'  with  so  much  distinctness?  No, 
that  was  no  parrot!" 

Uncle  John,  of  course,  kept  the  whole 
thing  a  profound  secret;  and  as  he  did  so,  Mr. 
Raven  could  make  nothing  at  all  of  it.  The 
more  he  tried  to  unravel  the  mystery,  the 
more  entangled,  in  his  judgment,  it  became; 
and  when  he  had  so  confused  himself  with 
conjectures — some  of  which  were  of  a  very 
extraordinary  character— that  he  declared 
that  he  would  puzzle  himself  no  more  about 
the  matter,  he  most  appropriately  apologised 
for  the  way  in  which  the  peace  of  the  even- 
ing had  been  disturbed,  and,  shortly  after- 
wards, Valentine  and  his  Uncle  left  the 
house  inexpressibly  delighted. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 


IN  WHICH  GOODMAN  IS  LIBERATED  FROM  THE  LUNATIC  ASYLUM. 


ON  the  following  morning,  Horace,  who 
had  been  quite  unsuccessful  the  previous 
day  in  convincing  Walter  of  the  perfect 
soundness  of  his  advice,  tried  again  to  make 
him  feel  that,  if  he  did  not  adopt  the  pre- 
cise course  he  had  suggested,  their  pros- 
pects would  be  gathered  within  the  dark 
pale  of  ruin. 

**  I  suppose  that  you  have  been  turning 
that  point  again  over  in  yonr  nob?"  said  he, 
alluding  in  the  first  place  to  the  proposition 
for  sending  Goodman  to  a  distant  asylum 


in  a  fictitious  name,  and  in  the  second  to 
the  head  of  his  honored  father:  "  I  suppose 
you  have  deemed  the  point  worth  another 
thought?" 

"  I  have,"  replied  Walter. 

"  Then  of  course  you  mean  to  go  the 
whole  quadruped?" 

Walter  looked  as  if  a  slight  interpreta- 
tion were  essential  to  a  perfect  understand- 
ing of  that  question. 

14 1  say,"  continued  Horace,  really  mar- 
velling at  his  father's  dense  stupidity;  "  I 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


233 


say,  of  course  you  mean  to  do  as  I  suggest, 
and  have  him  taken  off  at  once1?" 

"  Most  decidedly  not,"  replied  Walter, 
"I  have  considered  the  matter  in  all  its 
bearings;  I  have  looked  at  it  in  every  con- 
ceivable point  of  view,  and  having  done  so, 
I  have  arrived  at  the  fixed  determination  to 
set  him  free." 

"Then  of  course,"  said  Horace,  "we 
may  just  go  and  groan.  We  have  not  half 
a  chance.  ^Ve  must  go  to  the  pups.  In 
my  view,  there's  nothing  now  stares  us  in 
the  face  but  lean,  leaden-visaged,  lantern- 
jawed  starvation." 

"And  what  have  we  had  for  months 
staring  us  in  the  face  but  the  most  appalling 
wretchedness?" 

"Wretchedness!  pooh!  Don't  talk  to 
me  about  wretchedness.  Have  we  not  had 
money? — I  will  not  contend  that  they  can- 
not coexist;  but  he  who  is  wretched  with 
money  is  a  fool,  while  he  who  is  not 
wretched  without  it  must  be  mad.  Look 
at  the  wretchedness  involved  in  starvation. 
Stop  till  we  haven't  a  dinner  and  can't  get 
one!  then  behold  howenviable  will  be  our  po- 
sition! What  multitudes  of  friends  we  shall 
have  pouring  in!— what  lots  of  assistance 
they  will  be  anxious  to  offer!  what  mobs 
of  grouse,  pheasants  and  fawns  will  be  sent 
when  they  know  that  our  pantry  is  empty!" 

"  Aye,  aye!  that  is  all  very  fine;  but  you 
look  at  the  dark  side  of  the  picture." 

"The  dark  side!— Show  me,  if  you  can, 
that  that  picture  has  a  bright  one! — He 
must  pursue  one  of  two  courses;  he  must 
either  discard  you  and  prosecute  the  matter 
no  farther,  or  proceed  at  once  against  you 
for  the  recovery  of  that  portion  of  his  pro- 
perty which,  of  course,  you  are  utterly  un- 
able to  restore.  It  matters  not  a  straw, 
therefore,  which  he  may  choose;  either 
must  involve  us  in  beggary." 

"  But  suppose  we  can  persuade  him  that 
we  believed  him  to  be  insane?" 

"I  can't  suppose  anything  half  so  absurd." 

"I've  no  patience  with  you,  Horace!" 
exclaimed  Walter,  pettishly.  "A  more 
rash  and  unreasonable  fellow  never  lived! 
One  can't  reason  with  you  at  all!" 

"Oh!  of  course  not:  I  knew  that  last 
year! — But  do  you  mean  to  think  that  you'll 
make  me  believe  that  you  fancy  yourself 
that  he  can  be  led  to  suppose  that  we  en- 
tertained any  such  impression?" 

"  I  do! — Can  we  not  say  that  we  were 
strongly  recommended,  in  the  first  place, 
to  have  the  advice  of  two  eminent  physi- 
cians, and  in  the  second,  to  place  him  under 
the  care  of  Dr.  Holdem— understanding  that 
he  was  a  most  humane  man — when  those 
eminent  physicians  had  pronounced  him  to 
be  insane?" 
21 


"No  doubt  of  it! — Of  course  we  can  say 
all  this,  and  just  as  much  more  as  we  please. 
But  that  is  not  the  grand  point: — the  ques- 
tion is,  will  he  believe  it?" 

"  My  firm  impression  is,  that  he  will: 
for  as  his  friend — Valentine's  uncle — has 
promised  to  do  all  in  his  power  to  allay 
whatever  ill  feeling  he  may  entertain  to- 
wards us,  we  have  but  to  play  our  cards 
well  to  win  the  game." 

"Win  the  game!"  echoed  Horace.  "How- 
ever any  man,  in  the  possession  of  all  his 
blessed  faculties,  can  cut  away  and  stake 
his  future  prospects  in  life  upon  an  argu- 
ment so  palpably  rotten,  is  a  thing  which 
altogether  surpasses  my  weak  comprehen- 
sion. But  of  course  you  must  have  your 
own  way!" 

"  In  this,"  said  Walter,  firmly,  "  I  will. 
I  have  borne  enough  already.  I'll  endure 
no  more.  Whatever  may  be  the  result  of  his 
liberation,  liberated  he  certainly  shall  be!" 

"  Oh,  well;  pursue  your  own  course:  I 
have  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"  Yes,  Horace,  you  have:  you  have  much 
to  do  with  it.  It  will  be  useless  for  us  to 
oppose  each  other  now;  but  by  acting  in 
concert,  we  may  succeed,  at  least  in  avert- 
ing a  great  portion  of  that  calamity  which 
you  hold  to  be  inevitable." 

"Oh!  if  that's  it;  if  that's  what  you 
mean!  why  of  course  I  shall  stick  to  you 
as  tightly  as  mortar  can  stick  to  a  brick. 
My  only  object  was  to  show  that  the  specu- 
lation was  any  thing  but  a  safe  one;  but  as 
you  are  resolved  to  enter  into  it,  and  no- 
thing can  change  you,  why  the  oracle  must 
be  worked  in  the  best  manner  possible.  Of 
course  I  must  be  as  anxious  for  his  libera- 
tion as  you  are?" 

"  Precisely;  nay,  more  so:  you  must  for 
months  have  been  doino-  all  you  could  to 
persuade  me  to  release  him;  but  while  I  felt 
naturally  anxious  to  do  so,  I  reluctantly  sacri- 
ficed that  natural  feeling  to  that  which  I  con- 
ceived to  be  essential,  as  well  to  his  imme- 
diate safety,  as  to  his  eventual  restoration." 

"  I  see!"  cried  Horace,  "  I  see.  It  is 
not  a  bad  move  by  any  means." 

"So  that  if  even  he  should,"  continued 
Walter,  "  be  in  the  first  instance  bitter 
against  me,  the  probability  is  that  he  will 
do  something  for  you,  which  will  at  all 
events  be  one  point  gained." 

"And  a  grand  one!"  cried  Horace,  "a 
grand  one.  I'll  work  it.  He  shall  be  ut- 
terly amazed  at  the  constancy  and  zeal  with 
which  I  have  been  in  the  habit  of  advocating 
his  cause." 

"  Here  they  are,"  cried  Walter,  as  a  coach 
rattled  up  to  the  door,  containing  Uncle 
John  and  Valentine.  "  Come,  you  had  bet- 
ter go  with  us." 


234 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"  Of  course!"  cried  Horace,  "  I  have  to 
play  the  first  fiddle,  and  in  a  case  of  this 
kind  it's  no  fool  of  a  fiddle  to  play." 

Valentine  now  entered  to  ascertain  if  they 
were  ready  to  join  Uncle  John  in  the  coach, 
and,  on  being  informed  that  they  were,  he 
was  about  to  return,  when  Horace  arrested 
his  progress.  "You  are  just  the  very  fel- 
low I  want,"  said  he,  unhooking  what  ap- 
peared to  be  a  piece  of  coarse  frieze  from  a 
peg  in  the  passage, — "Just  help  me  to  get 
into  my  new  pea.  It's  a  rum  un.  There's 
no  mistake  about  it." 

Nor  was  there.  It  had  two  sleeves,  two 
gaping  pockets,  and  sundry  large  horn  but- 
tons in  front,  which  comprised  its  entire 
shape  and  make,  and  so  exceedingly  conve- 
nient was  the  thing  upon  the  whole,  that  it 
might  have  been  put  on  upside  down,  and 
worn  with  the  tail  round  the  throat,  and  the 
collar  luxuriating  about  the  knees  without 
making  any  material  difference  in  point  of 
fit. 

"Well,  how  do  you  like  it!"  said  Horace, 
when  Valentine  had  succeeded  in  getting  as 
much  of  it  on  as  the  maker  originally  de- 
signed for  that  purpose;  "  What  do  you 
think  of  it?" 

'*  Why  its  ugly  enough,"  replied  Valen- 
tine. 

"  That's  the  beauty  of  it,"  said  Horace. 
"Nine  and  six!  Lined  with  this  blue  busi- 
ness all  regular.  There  were  'only  two  of 
them  left.  I  wanted  the  Governor  to  have 
the  other,  but  no,  he  wouldn't  bite:  I  did 
all  that  a  man  could  do  to  inspire  him  with  a 
high  appreciation  of  the  difference  it  would 
make  in  his  personal  appearance;  but  it  was 
no  go:  the  Goth  wouldn't  have  it." 

By  this  time  Walter  had  entered  the 
coach,  and  as  Valentine  and  Horace  imme- 
diately followed,  they  were  the  next  mo- 
ment whirled  from  the  door.  As  they  pro- 
ceeded, Walter,  Uncle  John,  and  Valentine 
felt  strongly  disposed  to  be  silent;  but 
Horace  displayed  the  most  restless  anxiety 
to  explain  to  Uncle  John  how  inexpressibly 
delighted  he  had  been  to  find  that  that  which 
he  had  been  so  long  and  so  ardently  striv- 
ing in  vain  to  effect  had  at  length  been  ac- 
complished. "The  very  moment  I  heard 
of  his  incarceration,"  said  he,  whispering 
very  mysteriously  in  the  ear  of  Uncle  John, 
"  I  begged  of  the  Governor  to  have  him 
home  again  that  we  might  attend  to  him 
ourselves,  for,  although  you  know  he  might 
have  been  a  little  far  gone,  he  might  not 
have  been  dangerous,  and  if  even  he  had 
been,  we  could  have  engaged  a  private 

keeper;  but  you  see " 

"Young  man,"  interrupted  Uncle  John 
"it  gives  me  no  pleasure  to  hear  any  per- 
son speak  against  his  father." 


"You  mistake,"  rejoined  Horace,  "I 
was  about  to  observe  that  his  argument  was, 
that  as  uncle  weuld  be  much  better  treated 
in  an  asylum,  he  could  not  in  justice  to  him 
consent " 

"I  see  it  all;  I  see  it  all,"  said  Uncle 
John.  "  I  see  it  all. — I  require  to  have 
nothing  explained.  You  are  doubtless  an 
intelligent,  and  a  very  amiable  young  man; 
but,  excuse  me,  I  have  something  of  im- 
portance to  think  of." 

This  certainly  was  not  what  Horace  ex- 
pected. He  did  not  anticipate  that  a  com- 
munication of  so  much  interest  and  truth 
would  have  been  received  with  so  much 
coldness  and  apparent  incredulity.  He, 
nevertheless,  looked  out  of  the  window,  and 
having  examined  the  horses  which  drew 
them,  observed  that  he  would  bet  any  man 
ten  pounds  to  a  tin  pot  that  he  would  buy  a 
much  better  pair  of  trotters  for  five-and- 
forty  shillings  any  market-day  in  Smith- 
field;  and  as  this  observation  absolutely  fell 
unheeded  to  the  ground,  he  declared  that  he 
was  not  going  to  strike  life  into  a  lot  of 
dummies,  arid,  therefore,  the  whole  of  the 
remaining  distance  was  accomplished  in 
silence. 

They  now  reached  the  hateful  bastile, 
where  Uncle  John  and  Valentine  anticipated 
a  storm,  for  which  their  companions  were 
quite  unprepared.  The  bell  was  rung;  the 
gates  were  opened,  the  coach  was  ordered 
to  wait  and  they  entered.  Walter  sent  in 
his  card,  and  they  had  scarcely  reached  the 
receiving  room  when  the  Doctor  himself 
made  his  appearance.  To  Walter  he  was 
particularly  obsequious,  and  to  Horace,  who 
nodded  knowingly,  he  was  scarcely  less 
polite,  but  when  he  recognised  Uncle  John 
and  Valentine  his  countenance  changed  as 
if  by  magic,  and  he  stepped  back  and  look- 
ed at  them  with  an  expression  of  fierceness 
which  was  doubtless  designed  to  be  appal- 
ling. 

"  Why  these  are  the  very  men,"  said  he, 
"  these  are  the  very  persons  who  burglari- 
ously entered  my  asylum,  for  the  purpose 
of  stimulating  my  patients  to  break  loose!" 

"We  had  no  such  object,"  said  Valen- 
tine. 

"  Silence!"  exclaimed  Dr.  Holdem,  in  a 
tone  of  authoritative  thunder. 

"Silence!"  said  Valentine,  contemptu- 
ously; "you  are  the  keeper  of  an  asylum  it 
is  true;  but  recollect  that  /  am  not  one  of 
your  patients!" 

The  Doctor  looked  at  him  scowlingly 
through  his  beetle  brows  as  if  he  Wy  wish- 
ed that  he  had  been!  "Do  you  know  those 
fellowsl"  said  he,  addressing  \Y;iltrr. 

"  Oh  yes;  they  are  friends  of  my  brother." 

41  Friends  of  your  brother!  They  are  ene- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


235 


mies  to  society.  They  wish  to  let  maniacs 
loose  upon  society!  They  came  the  other 
day  and  got  over  rny  wall,  and  would  have 
set  every  madman  I  have  in  the  place  free, 
had  my  servants  not  been  on  the  alert  to 
frustrate  their  impudent  design." 

'*  It  is  false,"  cried  Valentine,  "  you  mi- 
serable mass  of  wickedness,  you  know  it  to 
be  false!" 

"  How  dare  you,"  cried  the  Doctor;— 
"  how  dare  you  talk  in  this  manner  to  me1?" 

"  I  say  again  and  again  that  it  is  false! 
We  had  no  such  design  and  you  know  it." 

"  We  told  you  at  the  time,"  said  Uncle 
John,  «*  that  it  was  purely  accidental." 

"  Purely  accidental!  It  was  purely  acci- 
dental, I  suppose,  that  you  assisted  one  of 
my  best  patients  to  escape! — a  raving 
maniac! — one  whom  I  had  had  for  a  num- 
ber of  years,  and  who  has  never  been  heard 
of  since!  that  I  suppose  was  also  purely 
accidental1?" 

"  By  one  of  your  best  patients,"  said 
Uncle  John  with  great  point,  "  I  presume 
you  mean  one  of  those  patients  for  whom 
you  were  best  paid!" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir?  What  do  you 
mean  by  that  gross  insinuation!  I  am  not 
to  be  insulted  with  impunity,  and  I  will  not 
by  any  man,  sir! — not  by  any  man!"  and 
he  struck  in  an  instant  an  extraordinary 
attitude,  and  squared  at  his  antagonist,  with 
grace  it  must  be  granted,  but  with  a  pecu- 
liarly cold-blooded  aspect;  while  Uncle 
John,  whose  knowledge  of  the  science  of 
pugilism  may  be  said  to  have  been  equal 
with  that  of  the  Doctor,  had  his  eye  upon 
his  man,  while  he  held  his  hat  in  one  hand, 
and  doubled  up  the  other  into  a  striking 
gladiatorial  fist. 

**  Well  done  old  pigswig!"  cried  Horace, 
giving  the  Doctor  a  patronising  pat  upon 
the  shoulder,  "you  have  been  taking  lessons 
lately  I  see!  Now  keep  up  your  nob,  and 
hit  straight  from  the  armpits.  You  have 
nothing  to  do  but  to  go  in  and  win." 

The  Doctor  scowled  at  the  enemy  with 
due  darkness,  and  firmly  maintained  his 
appalling  position.  He  would  not  move  a 
muscle,  so  perfectly  conscious  did  he  feel 
that  his  picturesque  attitude,  being  in  the 
abstract  terrific,  had  a  tendency  to  strike  an 
immense  amount  of  awe  into  the  soul  of 
Uncle  John. 

"  We  did  not  come  here  to  fight!"  cried 
Valentine,  who  had  been  standing  between 
the  belligerents,  watching  the  outstretched 
arm  of  the  Doctor  very  sharply.  "  WTe  came 
here  to  liberate  our  friend  Mr.  Goodman." 

The  Doctor  dropped  his  imposing  guard, 
and  looked  earnestly  at  Walter:  The  last 
words  of  Valentine  had  so  far  unnerved  him 
as  to  render  him  for  the  time  being  quite 


indisposed  to  do  battle.  "I  would  speak  a 
word  with  you,"  said  he  to  Walter.  "  Do 
me  the  favor  to  step  into  this  room  for  one 
moment." 

"  If  you  desire,"  said  Uncle  John,  "  to 
do  justice  to  your  brother;  if  you  desire  to 
keep  faith  with  me;  if  you  desire  to  have 
allayed  whatever  feelings  of  enmity  injustice 
may  have  engendered  in  his  breast,  you  will 
hold  no  private  communication  with  that 
man." 

"  I  desire  nothing,"  said  Walter,  "  but 
that  which  is  perfectly  open  and  straight- 
forward." 

"  Then  you  can  have  no  objection  to  this 
matter  being  arranged  in  the  presence  of  us 
all." 

"  None  whatever!  None  whatever!  De- 
cidedly not.  Dr.  Holdem,  I  am  anxious  to 
remove  my  brother  forthwith." 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  you  wish  to 
remove  him  now!" 

"  I  wish  to  take  him  back  with  me  this 
morning." 

"  What!  as  he  is!"  cried  the  doctor.  "  He 
is  not  fit  to  be  removed.  It  will  not  be  by 
any  means  safe  to  remove  him." 

"Is  he  so  ill!"  inquired  Walter. 

"111!  In  his  paroxysms,  which  have  of 
late  been  unusually  powerful  and  wild,  he 
has  been  knocking  himself  all  to  pieces." 

"  Indeed!"  said  Uncle  John,  who  found 
it  difficult  to  control  his  indignation.  "  Let 
us  see  him.  We  shall  then  be  able  to  judge 
of  his  fitness  to  be  removed." 

"  I  have  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 
you,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  I  have  no  know- 
ledge of  you  in  the  transaction.  With  this 
gentleman  only  I  have  to  deal." 

"  Then  be  pleased  to  let  him  be  brought," 
said  Walter,  "  that  we  may  see  if  we  can 
with  safety  take  him  with  us." 

"  Well,  well;  if  you  insist,  I  have  but  to 
produce  him,  and  if  contrary  to  my  judg- 
ment you  deem  it  safe  for  him  to  leave,  you 
are  of  course  at  perfect  liberty  to  take  him." 

"  Thus,"  said  Valentine  privately  to 
Uncle  John,  as  the  doctor  left  the  room, 
"  Thus  any  man  whom  avarice  or  malignity 
may  prompt  can  take  the  whole  of  this 
odious  law  of  lunacy  into  his  own  hands! 
He  can  liberate,  you  see,  as  well  as  confine: 
and  yet  the  law,  in  an  enlightened  age  too, 
is  the  instrument  with  which  he  works!" 

"  It  is  monstrous!"  said  Lrncle  John, 
"  truly  monstrous.  It  is  amazing  that  such 
a  law  should  be  suffered  to  exist." 

"  If  one  political  faction  could  incarce- 
rate the  other,"  rejoined  Valentine:  "  if  the 
little  band  who  make  up  the  majority  of  the 
House  of  Commons:  if  twenty  or  twenty- 
three  members  were  to  be  seized  just  before 
a  division  on  some  party  question,  though 


236 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


they  were  liberated  within  the  hour,  a 
speedy  remedy  would  be  found;  but  I  fear 
that  until  we  can  drag  faction  into  it  in  some 
way,  until  we  can  make  faction  feel  that  its 
interests  are  either  mediately  or  immediately 
involved,  the  glaring  evil  will  not  be  re- 
moved." 

"  We  shall  see,  my  dear  boy,"  said  Uncle 
John.  "  We  shall  see.  The  thing  cannot 
have  been  properly  tried.  We  shall  see." 

"  What  an  everlasting  length  of  time  this 
old  unhappy  pigswig  is!"  cried  Horace. 
"I  wonder  whether  nature  has  implanted 
in  him  the  smallest  idea  of  his  being  able 
to  fight!  I  should  like  to  be  clear  upon 
that  point,  because  it  is  one  of  great  public 
interest,  inasmuch  as  if  she  has,  the  fact 
ought  to  be  exhibited  at  the  British  Museum 
among  the  rest  of  the  natural  phenomena 
forthwith.  I  say  Val!  what  wouldn't  I  give 
to  see  him  set  to  in  a  regular  ring  with  his 
match!  The  magistrate  who  would  inter- 
fere to  put  an  end  to  such  sport  ought  no 
longer  to  be  in  the  commission  of  the  peace. 
It  would  be  one  of  the  most  interesting 
battles  that  have  come  off  since  knives, 
pikes,  and  daggers  have  been  popularly 
patronised  as  an  improvement  upon  British 
bone  and  muscle." 

The  door  now  opened  and  the  doctor  re- 
appeared. He  was  followed  by  three  of 
his  myrmidons,  who  supported  in  their  arms 
a  pale  emaciated  creature  of  frightful  aspect, 
with  hollow  eyes,  which  seemed  glazed 
with  the  film  of  death.  It  was  Goodman! 

"My  God!"  cried  Uncle  John,  as  the 
tears  gushed  forth  in  torrents.  "  Why — 
why!"  He  was  unable  to  articulate  another 
syllable;  his  utterance  was  choked. 

Goodman  feebly  pressed  his  hand  and 
that  of  Valentine,  and  having  kissed  them, 
held  them  still,  and  faintly  whispered, 
*'  God  will  bless  you,  my  dear  friends! — 
God  will  bless  you!"  but  he  seemed  to  be 
unable  to  shed  a  tear. 

The  ruffians  now  placed  him  upon  the 
sofa,  and  as  Valentine  naturally  imagined 
that  if  Walter  and  Horace  approached  he 
might  spurn  them,  which  they  still  had  the 
power  to  resent,  as  he  was  not  yet  free,  he 
suggested  to  his  uncle  the  policy  of  keep- 
ing them  off  if  possible  until  the  whole 
thing  had  been  arranged. 

With  this  view  Uncle  John.on  the  instant 
joined  Horace,  and  urged  the  necessity  for 
an  immediate  removal. 

"  Then  you  think  he  is  fit  to  be  removed]" 
said  Dr.  Holdem. 

"  Decidedly,"  replied  Uncle  John,  "and 
the  sooner  the  better.  It  is  the  only  thing 
that  can  in  my  judgment  save  his  life." 

"  And  do  yuu  think  that  he  ought  to  be 


removed  in  that  state?"  said  the  doctor,  ad- 
dressing Walter. 

"  Why,  I  really  cannot  say,"  replied 
Walter,  displaying  a  strong  disposition  to 
waver.  "I  wish  to  be  guided.  If  you 
think  that  he  had  better  remain  a  few  days 
longer  where  he  is,  why,  perhaps  it  would 
be  better." 

"  My  firm  impression  is," — said  the  doc- 
tor— "  and  I  have  had  some  experience  in 
these  matters — my  firm  impression  is,  that 
if  you  take  him  with  you  now,  he  will  ex- 
pire before  you  reach  home." 

This  settled  the  irresolution  of  Walter. 
It  decided  the  point  at  once.  His  death 
was  the  very  thing  he  most  desired,  for  the 
will  was  in  his  favor  then!  He  therefore 
turned  to  Uncle  John  with  alacrity,  and 
asked  him  what  he  thought  had  better  be 
done,  when,  finding  him  to  be  still  strongly 
in  favor  of  a  removal,  he  said,  "  Well,  it 
shall  be  so;  I  am  anxious  to  be  guided  en- 
tirely by  you.  Dr.  Holdem,  we  have  de- 
cided on  taking  him  with  us." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  doctor.  "  Very 
well.  Do  as  you  please;  but  remember 
you  will  have  killed  him,  not  I! — Here," 
he  continued  addressing  one  of  the  keepers, 
"  tell  Jones  to  make  out  Mr.  Goodman's 
bill  immediately." 

"  The  amount,  without  the  items,  will 
be  sufficient,"  suggested  Uncle  John. 

"The  amount  of  the  balance!"  cried  the 
doctor.  "  Bring  it  with  you.  Be  quick." 

"  Will  you  allow  one  of  your  men  to  tell 
the  coachman  to  drive  into  the  gates,  that 
he  may  take  up  at  once  at  your  door?"  said 
Uncle  John. 

"No,  I  shall  not,"  replied  the  doctor, 
"  I  shall  do  no  such  thing.  Nor  will  I 
allow  the  coach  to  come  inside  my  gates. 
If  you  will  take  him,  take  him  outside,  and 
the  sooner  you  are  all  gone  the  better.  Now 
then,  here  is  my  bill,"  he  added,  taking  a 
slip  of  paper  from  the  hand  of  his  servant, 
and  passing  it  on  to  Walter. 

"  Bless  me!"  cried  Walter,  on  looking  at 
this  document,  "  I  had  no  idea  of  its  being 
so  much  as  this.  Why,  it  was  but  the 
other  day  I  paid  up.  However,  I'll  send 
you  the  amount  in  the  morning — of  course 
that  will  dol" 

"  By  no  means.  I  trust  no  man.  The 
account  must  be  setteld  before  I  part  with 
the  patient.  He  is  the  only  security  I  have 
for  its  discharge." 

"Horace,"  said  Walter,  "what  money 
have  you  about  you]" 

"  Come,  I  like  that,"  said  Horace. 
"  That's  good.  It's  about  the  richest  thing 
I  have  heard  for  some  time.  Why?  you 
know  I've  no  money.  I  never  have! — you 
always  take  special  care  of  that." 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


237 


"  What  is  the  amount  of  if?"  inquired 
Uncle  John. 

"  Thirty  pounds  and  six-pence,"  said 
Horace;  "  I  had  no  idea  of  its  being  more 
than  seven  or  eight." 

"  How  much  did  you  bring?" 

44  Just  ten  pounds." 

"  We  shall  be  able  to  manage  with  that, 
no  doubt.  Val,  my  boy,  give  me  your 
purse." 

11  Valentine  threw  it  from  the  sofa  upon 
which  he  was  sitting  with  Goodman,  when 
thirty  sovereigns  and  a  sixpence  were  placed 
upon  the  table. 

«*  Now,"  said  Uncle  John,  "  we  will  be 
off."  And  he  placed  one  of  poor  Goodman's 
arms  round  his  neck,  while  Valentine  placed 
the  other  round  his,  and  having  joined 
hands,  they  lifted  him  carefully  up  and 
carried  him  slowly  to  the  coach. 

The  moment  they  had  entered,  Horace 
prepared  to  follow,  which  Goodman  no 
sooner  perceived,  than  he  shrunk  back,  and 
begged  that  he  might  not  be  suffered  to 
come  near. 

44  Your  brother  wishes  to  be  with  us," 
said  Uncle  John,  as  Walter  stood  upon  the 
step. 

"Well,"  said  Walter,  4' but  where  am 
I  to  ride1? — with  the  coachman1?" 

44  If  you  do,"  cried  Horace,  44  where  am 
/to  ridel  That's  the  point  at  issue!  But 
I  suppose  /may  hang  on  behind  or  tie  my- 
self to  one  of  the  spokes  of  the  wheel,  and 
be  twirled  round  and  round  to  town  in  that 
way.  Of  course  I  may  do  what  I  please 
with  my  body!"  And  he  went  at  once  to 
look  at  the  state  of  things  behind,  but  as  he 
found  the  foot-board  studded  with  formida- 
ble spikes,  he  returned  on  the  instant  and 
exclaimed,  '4  Now  you  must  get  inside.  It's 
all  spikey  behind — so  you  see  if  you  ride 
with  the  jarvey  there'll  be  no  room  for  me, 
unless  I  crawl  into  the  boot,  and  consent  to 
be  smothered  between  two  nose-bags." 

44  Do  not  detain  us,"  said  Uncle  John 
earnestly.  "  Indeed,  sir,  you  must  not  de- 
tain us.  Surely  there  are  plenty  of  other 
conveyances  by  which  you  can  ride  to 
town!" 

44  There's  short  stages  passes  every  quar- 
terv  a  nour,"  observed  the  coachman,  as 
he  put  up  the  steps  and  closed  the  door. 
44  There's  vun  on  em  comen  along  now." 


44  Dear  bless  me!"  observed  Horace,  "you 
don't  say  so,  Mr.  Jarvis.  Do  you  mean 
it?" 

The  coachman  looked  at  him;  but,  taking 
no  further  notice,  mounted  his  box  to  obey 
the  orders  of  Uncle  John,  to  drive  back  with 
all  possible  speed. 

44  Well,  if  this  isn't  gratitude,"  cried 
Horace,  as  the  coach  dashed  away,  44 1 
don't  know  what  it  is.  I  did  expect — I 
won't  deny  it— I  did  expect  to  be  cocked  on 
the  box  with  the  jarvey,  but  I  did  not  ex- 
pect to  be  mulled  out  of  it  altogether.  This 
is  what  you  get,  you  see,  by  doing  an  act 
of  kindness!  But  never  mind,  here  is  the 
stage:  we  shall  be  in  town  now  as  soon  as 
they  are.  That's  one  consolation." 

Before,  however,  the  coach  reached  the 
point  at  which  they  stood,  it  very  suddenly 
struck  Walter  that  he  had  not  a  shilling! 
He  had  brought  but  ten  sovereigns  out  with 
him,  and  those  he  had  given  to  Uncle  John 
towards  the  payment  of  Holdem's  account. 

44  Don't  hail  the  coach,"  said  he,  44  don't 
stop  the  coach.     We  can't  ride.     I've  no- 
money." 

44  No  what!"  exclaimed  Horace,  almost 
petrified.  '4  No  money1? — But  come,  I  say, 
governor!  you  don't  mean  that"?" 

44  All  that  I  had  went  to  settle  Holdem's 
bill." 

44 1  wish  that   Holdem's    bill  were  in 
Holdem's   breeches-pocket,    and    that  his 
i  breeches-pocket  were  dangling  just   half- 
j  way  down  his  throat.     Here  we  have  ano- 
\  ther  proof  of  what  men  get  by  acts  of  kind- 
ness!— Well!  nevermind.    We  must  tramp 
it.    It  isn't  more  than  seven  miles,  or  seven 
and  a  half,  I  suppose.     Come  along.    But, 
I  say!  are  you  quite  sure  you  haven't  such 
a  thing  as  a  little  sixpence,  just  to  get  us 
the  ghost  of  a  bait  on  the  road'?" 

44 1  haven't  a  penny!"  replied  Walter. 

44  Well,  this  is  a  blessing!  There  can't 
be  two  rational  opinions  about  it!  It's  a 
pure  unadulterated  blessing;  one  of  those 
which  peculiarly  spring  from  an  act  of  hu- 
man benevolence.  But,  come,  let  us  make 
a  beginning!"  And  they  did  make  a  begin- 
ning; and  they  walked  on  and  on  with  the 
most  exemplary  perseverance  for  six  miles 
and  a  half,  when  they  miraculously  met 
with  a  four-wheeled  cab,  which  took  them 
in  triumph  to  the  door. 


21* 


238 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

CONTAINS    AN   ACCOUNT    OF    A    BREACH    OF   THE     PRIVILEGES    OF    THE   COMMONS'    HOUSE 

OF    PARLIAMENT. 


CONTRARY  to  the  expressed  conviction  of 
the  delicate  and  disinterested  doctor,  when 
Goodman  arrived  at  the  house  of  the  widow 
— who  was  delighted  to  see  him,  for  more 
reasons  than  one — he  was  not  only  alive, 
but,  so  powerful  is  the  influence  of  the 
mind  over  the  body,  much  better  than  when 
he  left  the  asylum,  and  that  which  tended 
to  reanimate  him  still  more,  was  the  sight 
of  his  valued  friend  Whitely,  of  whose 
escape  he  had  been,  up  to  that  hour,  uncon- 
scious. 

Notwithstanding  these  favorable  symp- 
toms, however,  Uncle  John  at  once  sent  for 
a  celebrated  physician,  and  a  general  prac- 
titioner of  some  eminence.  These  gentle- 
men came  promptly.  They  met  at  the 
house.  Uncle  John  unreservedly  stated  the 
case,  and  when  they  had  duly  examined  the 
patient,  they  decided  that  his  frame  had 
been  so  shattered,  and  his  line  constitution 
so  cruelly  undermined,  that  although  there 
was  no  immediate  danger,  his  complete  re- 
storation would  amount  almost  to  a  miracle. 

The  fact  of  there  being  no  immediate 
danger,  satisfied  Uncle  John  for  the  time 
being.  For  the  rest,  he  hoped! — and  he 
was  a  man  with  whom  hope  had  great 
weight.  He  begged  of  them,  earnestly,  to 
pay  all  possible  attention  to  his  friend,  and 
to  call  into  action  all  the  talent  they  pos- 
sessed, and  they  in  return  gave  him  certain 
instructions,  which  he  took  great  delight  in 
having  performed  to  the  very  letter. 

Of  course,  as  the  patient  was  excellently 
well  nursed,  having  Uncle  John,  Whitely, 
the  widow,  and  her  two  servants  constantly 
attending  to  him,  Valentine  was  not  much 
required  at  home.  But  if  even  he  had  been, 
it  is  questionable  whether  Louise  would 
have  spared  him  for  two  consecutive  days, 
BO  imperative  had  she  become,  and  so  firmly 
did  she  insist  upon  his  visiting  her  daily. 
It  was  therefore,  perhaps,  fortunate  that 
there  was  no  real  necessity  for  his  running 
counter  to  her  wishes  in  this  respect;  and 
as  there  was  none,  no  man  could  have  been 
more  constant  in  his  attendance  upon  her 
who  had  obtained  full  possession  of  his 
heart. 

Now,  it  happened  at  this  memorable 
period  of  British  history,  that  the  majority 
of  the  Commons'  House  of  Parliament, 
being  composed  chiefly  of  men  of  extra- 
ordinary sapience,  and  being,  therefore, 
greenly  jealous  of  their  dignity  and  import- 


ance, moral,  legal,  and  political,  sought  to 
establish  to  all  eternity — First:  That  the 
virtue  of  their  Will  was  superior  to  that 
of  the  British  Constitution;  and  Secondly: 
That  having  elevated  themselves  above  the 
Law,  they  had  a  clear  and  inalienable  right 
to  denounce  and  to  repudiate  the  decision  of 
any  old  fool  of  a  judge  who,  in  the  due  ad- 
ministration of  the  Law,  had  nothing  what- 
ever but  the  Law  for  his  guidance.  The 
marvellous  wisdom  involved  in  these  two 
eternal  principles  will  be  seen  by  the  en- 
lightened at  a  glance;  but  the  particular 
j  species  of  diablerie  which  caused  the  full 
j  development  of  that  beautiful  spirit,  which 
I  forms  the  very  essence  of  those  two  eternal 
|  principles,  it  will  be  highly  correct  to  ex- 
plain here,  that  the  present  stiff-necked 
generation  may  understand  that  if  anything 
analogous  should  occur  during  their  brief 
existence,  they  must  not  presume  to  set  up 
their  dark  views  in  opposition  to  the  bright 
views  of  those  who  compose  by  prescrip- 
tion the  first  assembly  of  the  first  gentlemen 
in  the  world. 

In  the  first  place  then,  at  the  period  in 
question  the  libel  laws  in  England  were  so 
extremely  comprehensive  that  anything  was 
a  foul  and  malicious  libel  at  which  any  man 
cho&e  to  take  oflence.  Of  course  the  truth 
or  falsehood  contained  in  that  libel  had 
legally  a  great  deal  to  do  with  the  matter, 
inasmuch  as  its  truth  was  adduced  in  ag- 
gravation, and  vice  versa — it  being  held  that 
"  the  greater  the  truth  the  greater  the  libel," 
truth  having  the  greater  tendency  to  provoke 
a  breach  of  the  peace,  so  that  the  libel 
which  was  most  strictly  true  was  the  foulest 
and  most  malicious,  while  that  which  was 
really  the  most  venial  was  the  libel  which 
contained  the  most  infamous  falsehoods. — 
That  such  laws  were  just,  may  be  rationally 
inferred  from  their  existence;  but,  indepen- 
dently of  this  potent  and  indisputable  proof, 
confirmation  may  be  gathered  from  the  re- 
cognised fact  that  innumerable  petitions  had 
been  presented  to  the  Commons'  House  of 
Parliament,  praying  for  their  revision  in 
vain.  It  is  manifest,  therefore,  that  the 
members  of  that  day,  in  the  fulness  of  tin  ir 
wisdom,  conceived  that  the  existing  law  of 
libel  was  so  equitable  and  sound  that  it 
ought  to  be  neither  repealed  nor  revised. 

Such  being  the  admirable  state  of  things 
then,  a  philanthropic  publisher— who,  hav- 
ing an  eye  to  the  improved  morals  of  the 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


239 


rising  generation,  was  unlike  the  generality 
of  publishers,  inasmuch  as  he  published 
works  which  others  would  have  contemp- 
tuously rejected — found  his  celebrated  name 
set  forth  in  a  certain  report  on  the  state  of  cer- 
tain prisons,  as  the  publisherof  a  certain  book 
found  in  a  certain  ward  in  Newgate,  in  which 
certain  young  gentlemen  had  been  with  a 
view  to  their  edification  confined. 

As  this  was  most  true,  it  was  of  course 
a  most  foul  and  malicious  libel,  and  the  phi- 
lanthropist accordingly  brought  his  action 
thereon,  and  as  this  did  not  succeed  to  his 
heart's  content,  action  upon  action  was 
brought  for  the  self-same  libel,  notwith- 
standing the  publishers  of  the  libel  were 
the  servants  of  the  House  of  Commons, 
and  the  members  of  the  House  of  Commons 
had  declared  by  resolution  that  they  were 
privileged  to  authorise  the  publication  of 
whatever  libels  they  pleased,  and  upon 
whomsoever  they  pleased,  and  that  there- 
fore, he  who  dared  to  bring  an  action  for 
any  such  authorised  libel,  and  all  concerned 
with  the  plaintiffin  such  action,  were  guilty 
of  a  breach  of  the  privileges  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  would  be  mercifully  dealt 
with  accordingly. 

Notwithstanding  this,  however,  the  plain- 
tiff in  this  case  proceeded.  He  had  at 
length  obtained  a  comfortable  verdict,  and 
absolutely  went  on  to  execution.  The  ser- 
vants of  the  House  of  Commons  of  course 
would  not  pay:  their  chattels  were  therefore 
seized  by  the  sheriff  and  deliberately  and 
ignominiously  sold!  What  then,  under 
these  afflicting  circumstances,  did  the  ma- 
jority of  the  House  of  Commons  do1?  Why, 
stung  to  the  very  quick  by  the  contumacious 
temerity  of  the  wretches,  they  sent  the  plain- 
tiff to  prison;  they  sent  the  plaintiff's  attor- 
ney to  prison;  they  sent  the  attorney's  son 
to  prison,  and  the  attorney's  clerk  to  prison; 
they  also  sent  the  sheriffs  to  prison,  and 
here  they  stopped.  But  why1?  Why  did 
they  stop  at  this  point]  Why  did  they  not 
imprison  all  concerned  in  this  villanous  pro- 
ceeding, from  the  judge  to  the  broker,  in- 
cluding the  jury,  counsel,  officers,  and  all? 
This  strong  disinclination  to  do  more  than 
was  absolutely  essential  to  the  vindication 
of  their  dignity  is  attributable  only  to  their 
proverbial  forbearance. 

But  that  which  made  the  matter  worse, 
as  far  as  the  sheriffs  were  concerned,  was 
the  fact  of  their  setting  up  a  plea  of  justifi- 
cation! They  pleaded,  forsooth,  that  they 
were  compelled  to  act  as  they  did  act 
by  law!  which  was  perfectly  monstrous, 
inasmuch  as  they  were  bound  by  an  abso- 
lute resolution  in  direct  opposition  to  the  law 
to  act  in  obedience  to  the  will  of  those  who 
had  set  themselves  above  it.  They,  more- 


over, pleaded  that  they  could  not  have  acted 
in  opposition  to  the  law  without  violating 
their  baths;  which  was  more  monstrous 
still,  for  what  were  their  oathsl — what  were 
they  when  compared  with  their  manifest 
duty  to  the  majority  of  the  Commons' 
House  of  Parliament?  They  were  bound  to 
obey  the  behest  of  that  majority,  as  their 
imprisonment  proved.  The  mere  fact  of 
their  behest  in  this  case  being  directly 
opposed  to  the  law  had  nothing  whatever 
to  do  with  the  matter.  They  were  privi- 
leged to  trample  upon  the  law  if  they  liked: 
they  were  privileged  to  establish  whatever 
privileges  they  pleased.  Their  power  to 
create  privileges  for  themselves,  with  the 
view  of  meeting  every  conceivable  exigen- 
cy, was  unlimited,  and  the  only  wonder  is 
that  that  higk-souled  majority,  when  they 
found  themselves  vilified  and  denounced  in 
all  quarters,  did  not  start  a  privileged  peri- 
odical, wherein  to  lampoon  their  opponents 
right  and  left,  and  to  choke — if  they  dared 
to  bring  their  actions — to  choke  with  the 
contumacious  both  Newgate  and  the  Tower. 
Nearly  all  who  composed  that  majority 
would  have  contributed  to  such  a  periodical. 
They  might  have  got  it  up  without  any  as- 
sistance of  a  literary  character,  and  brought 
it  out  daily;  while,  being  a  privileged  pub- 
lication, matters  would  not  have  been  min- 
ced in  any  sensible  degree.  This  is  clearly 
what  they  ought  to  have  done  under  the  pe- 
culiar circumstances  of  the  case,  and  the 
fact  of  their  having  abstained  from  the  per- 
suit  of  such  a  course  shows  the  extent  of 
their  noble  forbearance. 

Now  this  question  of  privilege  as  it  was 
termed — although  it  was  in  reality  no  ques- 
tion at  all,  there  being  no  question  about 
anything  being  a  privilege  which  the  majo- 
rity chose  to  designate  a  privilege — was  one 
which  the  anti-aristocratic  Mr.  Raven  enter- 
ed into  with  infinite  spirit.  He  happened 
to  be  on  terms  of  close  intimacy  with  one 
of  the  sheriffs,  and  their  incarceration  was 
a  source  of  great  comfort  to  him,  seeing  that 
as  he  viewed  it  as  an  act  of  purely  aristo- 
cratic tyranny,  he  entertained  a  lively  hope 
that  its  tendency  would  be  to  bring  the 
abhorred  of  his  soul,  the  aristocracy,  down. 
In  this,  however,  Mr.  Raven  made  a  slight 
mistake.  The  aristocracy  had  little  or  no- 
thing to  do  with  it.  There  were  members 
of  the  aristocracy  in  the  majority,  it  was 
true;  but  then  all  their  political  associations 
were  with  the  democracy;  and  although  they 
were  joined  by  certain  eminent  men  who 
had  placed  themselves  politically  in  the 
aristocratic  ranks,  they  were  chiefly  men  of 
plebeian  origin,  whom  Mr.  Raven  usually 
held  in  high  esteem. 

The  fact,  therefore,  of  its  being  an  essen- 


240 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


lially  democratic  movement  proved  the 
purity  of  his  character,  by  affording  a  strong 
guarantee  that  there  was  nothing  in  it  bear- 
ing the  semblance  of  tyranny,  it  being  pro- 
verbial that  democrats  cannot,  in  the  nature 
of  things,  be  actuated  by  anything  like  a 
tyrannous  spirit. 

Mr.  Raven,  however,  did  not  care  to  look 
at  the  matter  in  this  point  of  view.  He 
contended  that  all  power  was  in  the  hands 
of  the  aristocracy,  and  that  therefore,  every 
exercise  of  power  was  an  act  of  aristocratic 
tyranny.  "  I  am  going  to  see  these  victims 
of  your  beggarly  aristocracy,  these  martyred 
incarcerated  sheriffs,"  said  he  to  Valentine, 
a  few  mornings  after  poor  Goodman's  liber- 
ation. "  Will  you  accompany  mel" 

"  Oh  yes!  I  shall  feel  great  pleasure," 
said  Valentine,  "  I  should  like  to  see  them 
much." 

The  carriage  was  ordered,  and  they  soon 
after  started,  Mr.  Raven  having  put  on  his 
most  haughty  frown  and  screwed  his  lips 
into  an  expression  of  contempt  the  most 
superb. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  this  question?" 
said  he  on  the  way — "  this  unparalleled 
barbarous  question!" 

"  Why,"  replied  Valentine,  "my  impres- 
sion is  that  while  on  the  one  hand  the  par- 
ticular publication  complained  of  ought  not 
to  be  held  to  be  a  libel  at  all,  on  the  other, 
if  the  servants  of  the  House  of  Commons 
are  to  be  privileged  to  write  and  publish 
what  they  please  of  any  man  with  impu- 
nity, as  we  possess  no  security  against  the 
malignity  of  such  servants,  they  may  as- 
sail in  their  reports  the  reputation  of  any 
honorable  man  and  plunge  him  and  his 
family  into  inextricable  ruin." 

As  this  was  an  extremely  narrow  view  of 
the  matter,  Mr.  Raven  agreed  with  every 
word,  and  contended,  moreover,  that  the 
Commons'  House  of  Parliament  had  no 
constitutional  right  to  create  for  themselves 
just  what  privileges  they  pleased,  which 
was  in  the  abstract  particularly  stupid. 

The  carriage  now  stopped,  and  they 
alighted,  and  were  ushered  with  others,  by 
a  remarkably  thin  individual,  into  the  pre- 
sence of  two  dark  jolly  looking  gentlemen, 
who  were  in  fact  the  martyred  sheriffs. 
They  did  not  appear  to  be  much  cut  up:  on 
the  contrary,  they  looked  rather  waggish  as 
if  they  would  not  have  cared  to  intimate 
privately  and  confidentially  that  as  a  whole 
they  rather  liked  it  than  not.  One  of  them 
it  is  true  seemed  to  want  a  change  of  air, 
for  his  breath  was  rather  short,  and  he 
wheezed  sometimes  slightly;  but  with  this 
single  exception  they  appeared  to  be  per- 
fectly easy  in  their  minds,  and  absolutely 
induced  the  belief  that  they  derived  from 


their  position  a  very  considerable  amount  of 
secret  satisfaction.  Of  course  they  spoke 
firmly  and  boldly  on  the  subject.  They  de- 
clared that  they  would  never  give  in!  They 
had  by  some  strange  perversion  of  reason 
deluded  themselves  into  the  conviction  that 
in  acting  in  direct  opposition  to  the  supreme 
will  of  themajority  of  the  Houseof  Commons 
they  had  actually  done  no  more  than  their 
duty,  and  such  being  the  case,  they  gave 
pointed  expression  to  their  fixed  and  immov- 
able determination  to  suffer  death  rather  than 
yield  to  what  they  denounced  as  a  most  ty- 
rannous exercise  of  unconstitutional  power. 
They  couldn't  do  it!  They  wouldn't  do  it! 
— their  principles  wouldn't  let  them!  They 
felt  of  course  grateful  to  those  affectionate 
friends  who  had  done  them  the  honor  to 
visit  them  there  in  the  dark  foggy  day  of 
tribulation;  but  as  for  surrendering  to  the 
tyrannous  majority  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons!— they  wouldn't. 

Of  course  as  these  strong  and  nndutiful 
expressions  reached  the  ears  of  those  who 
composed  the  majority  against  whom  they 
were  directed,  no  merciful  consideration 
could  be  hoped  for  from  them.  They  were 
daring  expressions,  remarkably  daring.  The 
noble  and  jealous  majority,  who  felt  that 
they  ought  to  be  treated  with  the  utmost 
deference  by  those  whom  they  had  incarce- 
rated for  a  breach  of  their  privileges,  strong- 
ly disapproved  of  those  expressions,  and 
hence  when,  a  few  days  afterwards,  a  meet- 
ing was  convened  by  the  contumacious 
sheriffs  to  take  into  consideration  the  cir- 
cumstances connected  with  their  imprison- 
ment, and  to  adopt  such  proceedings  as 
might  be  expedient  to  effect  their  liberation, 
a  deputation  from  that  noble  majority,  com- 
posed of  half  a  dozen  of  the  most  popular 
statesmen — backed  by  a  legion  of  indivi- 
duals, each  of  whom  had  been  secured  by  a 
small  retaining  fee  to  advocate  privilege  for 
ever!— marched  into  the  hall  in  which  the 
meeting  was  to  be  held,  about  an  hour  be- 
fore the  regular  proceedings  were  to  com- 
mence. 

Having  thus  obtained  possession  of  the 
place,  they  determined,  instead  of  waiting 
for  those  tardigrade  creatures  whose  pro- 
vince it  was  to  lead  the  business  of  the 
meeting,  to  commence  and  carry  on  the  pro- 
ceedings themselves,  and  therefore  one  of 
the  deputation  stepped  forward  to  propose 
that  another  of  the  deputation  should  be  re- 
quested to  take  the  clrair.  This  |>r<'<!mv<l 
some  slight  disapprobation,  forasmuch  as 
there  were  already  a  few  "friends  of  fair- 
play"  in  the  room,  they  protested  a-jv.inst 
the  under-sheriffs — whom  the  sin-rill's  had 
deputed  to  attend — being  thus  by  a  digniuYil 
manoeuvre  forestalled. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


241 


**  Gentlemen!"  said  the  proposer,  ad- 
dressing the  retainers,  "  Is  it  your  wish 
that  our  old  and  tried  friend  should  take  the 
chair?" 

In  the  midst  of  a  slight  senatorial  yell, 
the  question  was  nominally  seconded  and 
carried  with  surpassing1  unanimity,  and  the 
old  and  tried  friend  vaulted  iuto  the  chair  in 
the  due  course  of  nature. 

"  We  are  met  here  to-day,"  said  that 
statesman,  "  to  discuss  a  vital  principle  of 
extraordinary  vitality." 

"  You  have  not  been  elected  to  the  chair!" 
cried  one  of  the  friends  of  fair  play. 

"  Haven't  1?"  said  the  statesman.  "  Never 
mind,  I  am  in  it!"  and  he  winked  at  the 
senators  around  him.  "  I  am  not  going  to 
make  a  long  speech,"  he  continued.  "  Has 
any  gentleman  a  resolution  to  submit  to  the 
meeting]" 

"  I  have  a  resolution!"  cried  a  remarkable 
senator,  who  took  great  delight  in  behold- 
ing dead  bodies,  and  prided  himself  espe- 
cially upon  the  statesmanlike  quality  of 
making  faces  of  a  character  peculiarly  gro- 
tesque. "I  have  a  resolution  to  propose." 

One  of  the  friends  of  fair  play  here  pro- 
tested against  the  irregularity  of  the  pro- 
ceedings. 

"  Why,  your  honest  and  straightforward 
chairman,"  exclaimed  the  remarkable  sen- 
ator, "asked  if  any  one  had  a  resolution  to 
propose.  I  answer,  yes,  I  have  one." 

"  I  beg  to  rise  to  order,"  said  a  gentle- 
man, who  was  at  that  time  well  known  in 
the  city. 

"Order!"  cried  the  remarkable  senator, 
"why  there's  no  disorder  now,  except  that 
which  you  make." 

The  gentleman,  however,  insisted  upon 
suggesting,  that,  in  their  eagerness  to  do 
business,  they  had  forgotten  to  read  the  re- 
quisition, which,  just  for  the  sake  of  quiet- 
ing that  gentleman,  was  borrowed  and  read. 

"  Now,"  said  the  senator,  who  was  still 
on  his  legs,  "  we  have  every  thing  regular, 

and " 

But,"  interrupted  an  enemy  to  privi- 

'  we  want  fair  play!" 
Why,  the  gintleman  who  calls  for  fair 
play,"  cried  one  of  the  deputation,  who 
boasted  of  having  tropically  a  tail  with 
seven  million  supple  joints,  "  is  ugly  enough 
to  be  angry.  Did  ye  iver  now  say  sich  an 
ugly  baste1?  Be  me  soul  thin,  he's  ugly  in 
the  extrame." 

This  sound  and  unanswerable  argument 
in  favor  of  the  privileges  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  consequently  in  favor  of  the 
incarceration  of  the  sheriffs,  had  an  electric 
effect,  and  again  cleared  the  way  for  that 
remarkable  senator,  who  was  still  in  pos- 
session of  the  chair.  "  We  have  to  con- 


sider," he  resumed — "  we  have  to  consider, 
in  the  first  place " 

"Down!  down!"  shouted  the  friends  of 
fair  play. 

"Indeed!"  said  the  senator  with  an  ex- 
pression of  contempt.  "Down!  down! 
Don't  you  wish  you  may  get  it]  Down! 
who's  to  do  it]  Who'll  put  me  down"? 
that's  what  I  ask:  who'll  put  me  down? 
Down!  It  won't  do!  It's  no  go!  It's  been 
tried  on  before." 

"Are  you  a  freeholder"?"  demanded  one 
of  the  friends  of  fair  play. 

"  Am  I  a  freeholder1?  there's  a  pretty  fel- 
low! there's  a  most  sensible  animal!  Why 
the  fellow  must  be  a  natural  fool  to " 

Here  there  were  loud  cries  of  question. 

"Question!"  cried  the  senator.  "The 
question  is  too  much  for  you.  You  have 
too  much  stupidity  to  understand  the  ques- 
tion. I  arn  not  at  all  surprised  at  a  lot  of 
idiots  bawling  out  *  question!  question! 
question!' "  And  the  senator,  screwing  up 
his  legislatorial  mouth,  gave  interesting 
imitations  of  the  various  tones  in  wrhich  the 
word  question  was  capable  of  being  uttered. 

An  elderly  gentleman  on  the  hustings 
here  had  the  unblushing  audacity  to  call 
"  Order." 

"  I  wish,"  said  the  senator  with  infinite 
propriety,  "  that  I  had  a  straight  waistcoat 
for  that  old  lunatic." 

This  observation  was  greatly  applauded, 
but  before  the  applause  had  died  away 
another  gentleman,  who  was  dressed  rather 
better  than  any  member  of  the  deputation, 
suggested  the  propriety  of  the  speaker  con- 
fining his  remarks  to  the  object  for  which 
the  meeting  had  been  called.  "What  do 
you  mean]"  cried  the  senator.  "Who  is 
this  man-milliner  who  dares  to  interrupt  me'? 
What  has  he  done  with  his  band-box]" 

At  this  interesting  stage  of  the  proceed- 
ings the  under-sheriffs  entered  with  their 
friends,  among  whom  were  several  highly 
influential,  but  grossly  deluded  magistrates 
of  the  county.  They  proceeded  at  once  to  the 
platform,  and  one  of  the  under-sheriffs  had 
the  daring  to  request  the  statesman  who  oc- 
cupied the  chair  to  give  it  up.  To  this  cool, 
but  extremely  audacious  request  of  course 
that  great  statesman  refused  to  concede. 
"I  am  here,"  said  he,  "and  here  I  stick, 
and  no  mistake  about  it!"— an  appropriate 
observation  which  called  forth  a  remark 
from  the  under-sheriff,  to  the  effect,  that  an 
attempt  had  been  made  to  corrupt  the  meet- 
ing, which  remark  had  no  sooner  been  ut- 
tered than  a  rush  was  made  from  the  back 
of  the  platform,  of  which  the  object  was 
obviously  to  hurl  the  under-sheriffs  and 
their  influential  friends  headlong  into  the 
body  of  the  meeting. 


242 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


There  were  many  superficial  individuals 
at  this   time  present,  who  conceived  that 
this  \vas  not  precisely  the  fashion  in  which 
a  great  principle  ought  to  be  discussed;  but  j 
then  these  individuals  really  knew  nothing  i 
at  all   about  the    matter:    they   foolishly! 
imagined  that  it  was  the  duty  of  the  depu- 
tation to  allow  the  sheriff's  friends  to  be 
heard,  whereas  it  was  their  duty — a  duty 
which    they  owed  to  that  majority  whom 
they  fairly  represented — to  silence  the  she- 
riff's friends,  by  all   the   means  at  their 
command. 

The  under-sheriffs,  notwithstanding,  kept 
their  ground,  with  that  physical  inflexibility  | 
by  which  bold  bad  men  are  in  the  aggregate 
characterised,  and  a  regular  battle  ensued. 
The  deputation  themselves  were  particularly 


active,  while  the  spirit  and  courage  deve- 
loped by  their  retainers  were  admirable  in 
the  extreme.  They  tore  down  the  partition 
that  enclosed  the  platform,  as  if  it  had  been 
touch-wood,  and  crumbled  the  chairman's 
table  into  one  chaotic  mass  of  infinitesimal 
dust. 

"The  Riot  Act!  The  Riot  Act!"  ex- 
claimed one  of  the  dastardly  enemies  to 
unlimited  privilege,  and  the  under-sheriffs 
actually  did  read  the  Riot  Act,  and  quitted 
the  room  with  their  friends  like  cowards, 
leaving  the  noble  deputation  of  the  majority 
of  the  Commons'  House  of  Parliament  in 
full  possession  of  the  field,  after  having  tri- 
umphantly struck  the  conviction  into  every 
British  breast,  that  both  in  and  out  of  the 
House  they  were  resolved  to  reign  supreme! 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 


SHOWS  WHAT  CURIOUS  CREATURES  LADIES  IN  LOVE  MAY  APPEAR. 


IN  the  course  of  their  lives,  men  frequently  I 
find  their  estimate  of  the  character  of  ladies 
to  be  incorrect;  and  although  it  may  occa-  j 
sionally  happen — say  once  in  an  age — that! 
a  lady  will  mistake  the  real  character  of  a  ' 
man,  the  striking  truth  involved  in  the  posi- 
tion loses  none  of  its  legitimate  force,  for  it 
has  but  to  be  experienced  to  inspire  the  soul 
with  a  due  appreciation  of  its  purity  and 
importance. 

It  does  not,  however,  by  any  means  fol- 
low of  necessity,  that  when  circumstances 
prompt  men  to  form  a  second  estimate,  the 
second  must  be  more  correct  than  the  first, 
for  the  qualities  of  ladies,  especially  if  they 
be  loveable,  lovely,  and  young,  are  so  vari- 
ously developed  and  concealed,  that  a  man 
can  make  sure  of  being  somewhat  out,  only, 
when  after  having  added  the  little  items  up, 
he  discovers  that  he  has  reckoned  the  amount 
to  be  an  angel. 

It  will  hence  be  perceived,  that  how 
various  and  irreconcilable  soever  may  be 
the  estimates  of  men  touching  this  extreme- 
ly interesting  point,  it  is  perfectly  possible 
for  the  first  to  be  the  true  one,  albeit  the 
probability  inclines  to  the  second.  It  is, 
however,  strictly  within  the  scope  of  the 
imagination  to  conceive  that  they  may  in 
some  cases  be  equally  wrong,  and  in  order 
to  prove  this  remarkable  fact,  it  will  be 
necessary  to  explain  how  Valentino,  after 
having  formed  his  first  estimate  of  the  cha- 
racter of  Louise,  was  induced  to  form  a 
second,  and  how  that  was  found  to  be  quite 
as  incorrect  as  the  first. 


He  had  for  some  time  observed  what  he 
conceived  to  be  an  inexplicable  change  in 
the  general  tone  and  bearing  of  Louise.  She 
had  become  in  his  view  more  imperative, 
more  haughty,  more  assuming,  and  labored 
apparently  to  make  him  understand  that  she 
had  an  inalienable  right  to  insist  upon  his 
devoting  the  whole  of  his  time  and  attention 
to  her.  Whenever  he  failed  to  call  pre- 
cisely when  she  happened  to  expect  him, 
she  would  address  him  in  a  style  which 
bore  the  semblance  of  asperity,  and  demand 
to  know  the  reason;  when,  if  he  did  not 
explain  to  her  entire  satisfaction,  she  would 
turn  from  him  at  once,  and  for  hours  sit  sul- 
lenly silent  alone. 

Of  course  Valentine  did  not  approve  of 
this  mode  of  displaying  affection.  He  felt 
that  she  might  love  him  indeed,  fondly, 
passionately:  still  he  conceived  that  the 
object  she  had  in  view  was  to  make  him. 
her  slave,  to  which  his  spirit  would  not  al- 
low him  to  submit.  His  feelings  towards 
her  were  of  the  purest  and  most  affectionate 
caste:  he  had  cherished  those  feelings  from 
the  first,  and  still  fostered  them  fondly,  al- 
beit he  had  been  led  to  suspect  that  she  was 
not  that  sweet-tempered,  mild,  calm,  pentlo 
creature  his  heart  induced  him  originally  to 
believe  her  to  be;  but  when  he  discovered, 
or  thought  he  had  discovered,  that  she  pre- 
sumed upon  the  existence  of  those  feelings 
and  appeared  to  take  delight  in  wounding, 
playing  with,  and  tyrannising  over  them,  he 
naturally  I'ck  that  if  thn  spirit  by  whirli 
>hc  was  actuated  were  not  promptly  check- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


243 


ed,  it  would  eventually  acquire  Wo  much 
strength  to  be  subdued. 

The  more  he  tried,  however,  to  accom- 
plish the  task  he  had  proposed,  the  more 
impatient  she  became.  He  remonstrated 
calmly,  and  delicately  pointed  out  the  folly 
of  giving  way  to  a  habit  which  could  be 
productive  of  nothing  but  discontent.  "  My 
dear  Louise!"  he  would  exclaim,  "  why  do 
you  thus  strive  to  make  me  wretched?  Why 
assume  a  false  character!  This  is  one  to 
which  I  am  sure  you  have  no  real  claim, 
and  I  cannot  for  the  life  of  me  conceive  what 
pleasure  you  can  derive  from  its  assumption, 
when  you  know  it  to  be  a  source  of  unhap- 
piness  to  me." 

"  Sir,"  she  would  reply,  "  understand 
that  I  am  not  to  be  schooled  like  a  child.  I 
will  not  be  spoken  to  thus.  I  cannot  bear 
it.  It  displays  an  overbearing  disposition 
to  which  I  will  never  submit.  If  I  am  so 
odious  that  my  society  is  the  source  of  pain 
to  you,  I  do  not  conceive  that  you  are  bound 
to  endure  it.  There  are  others  more  amiable, 
more  calculated  doubtless  to  impart  plea- 
sure. I  am  therefore  surprised  that  you  do 
not  prefer  their  society  to  mine." 

These,  and  other  remarks  of  a  similar 
character  had  the  effect  of  inducing  Valen- 
tine to  believe,  that  while  her  ostensible 
aim  was  to  monopolise  the  whole  of  his 
time  and  attention,  her  latent  object  was  to 
tire  him  out,  and  thus  to  force  him  to  do 
that  which  she  was  anxious  to  avoid  doing 
directly  herself.  He  knew  that  on  the  death 
of  her  father  she  would  be  mistress  of  some 
considerable  wealth;  he  knew  that  Raven 
belonged  to  the  mere  monied  aristocracy, 
and  that  his  purse-proud  spirit  had  been  im- 
bibed to  some  extent  by  Louise;  it  was, 
therefore,  but  natural  for  him  to  imagine 
that,  on  its  being  discovered  that  his  expec- 
tations were  nothing  at  all  comparable  with 
hers,  her  father  had  prompted  her  to  resort 
to  some  indirect  means  of  breaking  off  what 
he  considered  an  ineligible  match. 

Of  course  he  no  sooner  conceived  this 
idea  than  he  resolved  to  absent  himself  at 
least  for  a  time.  There  had  been  nothing 
in  Raven's  conduct  towards  him  to  justify 
such  an  impression,  while  his  hopes  were 
in  favor  of  its  being  utterly  false;  still  he 
felt  himself  bound,  as  a  matter  of  common 
justice  to  himself,  to  have  recourse  to  the 
only  available  mode  of  ascertaining  if  the 
notion  he  had  conceived  were  well  founded 
or  not. 

He  accordingly  ceased  to  visit  as  usual, 
and,  as  he  kept  away  for  two  entire  days 
without  hearing  one  word  from  Louise,  he 
began  to  be  particularly  wretched  in  the 
conviction  that  what  he  had  imagined  was 
really  correct.  On  the  third  day,  however, 


his  hopes  revived,  when  he  saw  Raven's 
carriage  drive  up  to  the  door.  He  was,  of 
course,  "not  at  home,"  but  that  was  per- 
fectly unnecessary,  seeing  that  Louise,  who 
was  alone  in  the  carriage,  simply  inquired 
after  the  state  of  his  general  health,  and, 
having  sent  in  her  father's  card,  drove  oifat 
once. 

The  lightness  and  freedom  with  which 
Valentine,  after  this,  breathed  were  remark- 
able. He  actually  began  to  feel  himself 
again,  and  it  really  required  but  little  to  re- 
assure him  that  Louise  loved  him  still. 

"Why,  Val,"  said  Uncle  John,  who  en- 
tered the  room  as  the  card  was  brought  up. 
"  What  is  the  matter,  my  boy,  between  you 
and  your  ladylove — anything  wrong!" 

"  I  am  not  quite  satisfied,"  said  Valen- 
tine. 

"Not  quite  satisfied!  then  you  ought  to 
be.  That's  my  impression — you  ought  to 
be  satisfied.  What  would  you  have!  She 
is  interesting,  amiable,  beautiful,  intelli- 
gent. What  more  can  you  desire!" 

"  Sincerity!"  replied  Valentine. 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  she  is 
not  sincere!  Pooh,  absurd!  I'll  not  believe 
it.  She  is  full  of  sincerity;  that  girl  is  all 
heart.  I  know  it:  I  am  sure  of  it!  Val,  you 
must  not  have  such  fancies.  You  deceive 
yourself  while  you  trifle  with  her,  and  no 
man  has  a  right  to  play  with  the  feelings 
of  a  woman." 

"That,  I  am  sure  I  have  no  desire  to  do; 
but  she  appears  to  take  pleasure  in  trifling 
with  mine." 

"  Why,  of  course!  They  all  do  it.  You 
ought  to  know  that.  It  is  a  thing  which 
every  man  must  expect.  It  is  their  pro- 
vince, but  their  object  is  simply  to  see 
what  men  are  made  of." 

"  That  may  be  very  correct,"  said  Valen- 
tine, "they  may  all  be  coquettes  more  or 
less;  but  I  fear  that,  as  I  am  not  rich  and 
they  are,  the  impression  of  Raven  is  that 
Louise,  by  marrying  me,  would  be  to  some 
extent  sacrificed." 

"Sacrificed!"  exclaimed  Uncle  John, 
with  an  appropriate  look  of  indignation. 
"  Why  what  does  he  mean  by  that!  What 
does  he  mean  by  his  daughter  being  sacri- 
ficed! Does  he  take  you  for  a  pennyless 
beggar!  Never  enter  the  house  again,  my 
boy!  Show  your  independence! — sacrificed 
indeed!" 

"  Recollect  I  have  no  proof  of  this  being 
his  impression." 

"  But  have  you  any  reason  to  suppose  it 
to  be  so!" 

"I  cannot  say  that  I  have  any  strong 
direct  reason  to  believe  it." 

"  But  has  he  ever  hinted  such  a  thing1? 
Has  he  ever  in  any  shape  given  you  the 


244 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


slightest  intimation  of  anythinor  of  the 
kind?" 

"  Never." 

"Then  how  came  you  to  entertain  the 
notion!" 

*'  Simply  because  I  have  of  late  observed 
a  change  in  the  manner  of  Louise." 

"Is  that  all?  Why  you  silly  fellow! 
Did  you  ever  expect  to  find  her  always  the 
same?  do  you  not  know  that  all  women  are 
as  variable  as  the  wind?  A  change  in  her 
manner!  why,  they  are  always  changing. 
They  are  continually  at  it!  And  so  because 
she  has  simply  done  that  which  is  recog- 
nised generally  as  being  one  of  their  privi- 
leges, poor  things!  you  consider  yourself 
justified  in  supposing  that  she  is  anxious  to 
discard  you  in  consequence  of  her  pecuniary 
expectations  being  somewhat  more  brilliant 
than  your  own!  Don't  be  stupid.  Go  as 
usual.  If,  indeed,  any  hint  of  the  kind  be 
given,  you  will  know  how  to  act;  leave  the 
house  that  very  instant  and  never  enter  it 
again.  But  I  don't  believe  anything  of  the 
sort.  The  girl  is  passionately  fond  of  you. 
I  am  sure  of  it.  Can  you  imagine  that  she 
would  have  called  here  this  morning  if  her 
object  were  what  you  suspect  it  to  be?  Is 
it  likely?  My  boy,  you  do  her  an  injustice. 
Go  to  her  at  once.  You  are  wounding  her 
feelings,  which  you  ought  as  a  man  to  be 
anxious  to  avoid.  Depend  upon  it,  Val, 
she  is  a  good  little  creature.  She  is  the 
very  sort  of  girl  with  whom,  if  I  were  again 
young,  I  should  be  likely  to  fall  over  head 
and  ears  in  love." 

As  the  firmness,  as  well  as  the  birth  of 
affection,  in  a  great  degree  depends  upon 
our  views  being  backed  by  the  judgment  of 
others,  Valentine  heard  this  with  pleasure. 
He  felt  at  the  time  quite  sure  that  the  opin- 
ion expressed  by  Uncle  John  was  correct, 
and  therefore  made  up  his  mind  to  call  the 
following  morning.  In  the  evening,  how- 
ever, while  engaged  in  a  conversation 
touching  the  villany  of  Goodman's  rela- 
tives, a  note  superscribed  by  Louise  and 
emblazoned  with  the  flaming  crest  of  Ra- 
ven, was  brought  into  the  room,  with  the 
information  that  the  servant  had  been 
desired  to  wait. 

The  note  was  immediately  opened  of 
course,  and  the  following  were  found  to  be 
its  affectionate  contents: — 

"  Miss  Haven  has  to  apologise  for  having 
thus  taken  the  liberty  of  troubling  one  so 
superior  in  every  respect  to  herself;  but  as 
she  has  the  presumption  to  conceive  it  to 
be  possible  that  he  may  condescend  to  state 
whether  she  may  expect  him  to  honor  her 
with  a  call  to-morrow  morning,  and  if  not, 
whether  she  will  be  justified  in  expecting 
ever  to  have  that  high  honor  again;  she 


humbly  begs  the  favor  of  some  slight  in- 
formation on  the  subject,  albeit,  she  is  fully 
aware  of  its  being  one  which  to  him  is  ex- 
tremely displeasing." 

Twice  Valentine  read  this  affectionate 
note,  being  naturally  anxious  to  understand 
all  its  peculiar  points  and  bearings,  and 
then  smiled  as  he  submitted  it  to  Uncle 
John,  who  having  laughed  very  merrily, 
handed  it  to  Whitely,  upon  whom  it  had  a 
totally  differpnt  effect,  for  he  shed  tears  the 
moment  he  saw  it,  and  on  being  strongly 
urged  to  state  the  reason,  explained  that  it 
was  in  consequence  of  its  being  precisely 
like  the  handwriting  of  her,  by  whom 
fifteen  years  before,  he  had  been  shamefully 
dishonored. 

"  Bless  my  life  and  soul!"  said  Uncle. 
John.  "  Why,  how  was  that?" 

'•Some  day,"  replied  Whitely,  "I  will 
explain.  It  is  a  long  sad  tale — a  tale  of 
wretchedness  on  the  one  hand,  and  infamy 
on  the  other;"  and  fresh  tears  gushed  forth 
as  he  looked  again  at  the  writing,  which 
appeared  to  call  up  recollections  of  a 
character  the  most  painful. 

While  Whitely  was  thus  occupied, 
Valentine  was  preparing  to  answer  the 
note.  He  knew  not  how  to  begin,  "  My 
dear  Louise?" — No,  that  would  not  do. 
"Madam?"  no:  nor  would  that.  At  length, 
having  decided  upon  sending  an  answer>4n 
a  style  corresponding  with  her  own  for  the 
time  being,  he  wrote  thus:  — 

"  Miss  Raven  is  hereby  informed,  that 
he,  whose  immense  superiority  has  been  so 
happily  acknowledged,  will  have  the  pecu- 
liar condescension  to  honor  Miss  Raven 
with  a  visit  in  the  morning." 

This  he  thought  very  fair  and  highly  ap- 
propriate, considering;  and,  having  des- 
patched it,  he  turned  to  resume  the  conver- 
sation having  reference  to  Goodman's  posi- 
tion with  his  brother.  Whitely  was,  how- 
ever, then  deeply  engaged  with  his  own 
thoughts,  while  Uncle  John  seemed  quite 
disposed  to  commune  with  himself  in 
silence;  and,  therefore,  as  Valentine  also 
had  private  considerations  to  entertain  him, 
the  subject  was  not  renewed,  and  they  all 
retired  early. 

Valentine  slept  most  soundly  that  night. 
His  rest  had,  for  some  time  previously,  been 
broken.  He  had  had  dreadful  dreams:  nay, 
his  vivid  imagination  had  actually,  on  one 
occasion,  placed  him  in  a  position  from 
which — although  hotly  pursued  by  a  mob 
of  individuals  whom  he  wished  to  avoid — 
he  was  utterly  unable  to  stir  an  inch!— 
which  was  very  unpleasant.  His  mind 
was  now,  however,  comparatively  tranquil; 
and  as  he,  in  consequence,  made  up  to  some 
extent  for  the  sleep  which  he  had  lost,  he 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


245 


rose  in  the  morning  very  sensibly  refresh- 
ed, and,  having  eaten  an  unusually  hearty 
breakfast,  proceeded  to  keep  his  appoint- 
ment with  Louise. 

44 1  wonder,"  thought  he  on  the  way — "  I 
wonder  how  she  will  receive  me!  Angrily, 
perhaps — perhaps  coldly — perhaps  with  a 
smile."  He  could  scarcely  tell  which  of 
the  three  was  the  most  probable  conjecture, 
although  it  may  just  as  well  at  once  be  con- 
fessed, that,  as  his  hopes  were  with  the  last, 
he  inclined  to  the  belief  that  the  greatest 
amount  of  probability  rested  decidedly  upon 
that. 

The  thing  was,  however,  soon  proved. 
He  reached  the  house,  and  was  shown  into 
a  room,  in  which  Louise  sat  in  state.  He 
approached  her:  she  bowed  with  that  pecu- 
liar grace  which  freezes  on  the  hottest  day 
in  June.  He  took  her  hand:  she  withdrew 
it.  He  attempted  to  kiss  her!— she  would 
not  allow  that  attempt  to  succeed,  but  waved 
her  hand  towards  a  chair  in  the  distance. 

"  Louise,"  said  he,  tranquilly,  "  may  I 
know  your  object  in  wishing  me  to  visit  you 
this  morning?" 

44  Sir,  my  object  was  to  ascertain  why 
you  treat  me  with  contempt.  I  conceived 
that  if  even  you  had  no  regard  for  rne,  you 
at  least  had  the  feelings  of  a  gentleman. 
But  it  appears  that  even  in  that,  I  have  been 
grossly  deceived." 

"  You  are  inclined  to  be  severe,  Miss 
Raven,"  said  Valentine,  good  humoredly. 

"  Not  more  so  than  circumstances  war- 
rant. If,  after  having  been  but  too  success- 
ful in  inducing  me  to  believe  that  your  pro- 
fessions were  sincere,  you  discovered  in  my 
character,  or  general  conduct,  anything  cal- 
culated to  render  my  society  painful,  why 
had  you  not  the  manliness  to  avow  it! — why 
absent  yourself  from  me  without  a  single 
word  of  explanation — without  uttering  a 
syllable  having  reference  to  the  cause?  Is 
it  gentleman-like?  Is  it — " 

41  Miss  Raven,  shall  I  call  to-morrow 
morning?  The  probability  is,  that  you  will 
then  be  more  calm." 

44 1  am  sufficiently  calm  now,  sir.  I  shall 
never  be  more  calm  until  you  have  explained 
to  me  that  which  seems  attributable,  not  to 
mere  caprice,  but  to  something  far  worse. 
What  have  I  done?  What  offence  have  I 
committed?  Why  have  you  not  called  here 
as  usual?  Give  me  a  single  reason  for  your 
absence,  and  then  at  least  I  shall  know  how 
to  act." 

*4  Louise,  I  will  be  frank  with  you,"  said 
Valentine,  who  still  preserved  his  calm- 
ness, 44 1  will  candidly  explain  to  you  the 
cause  of  my  absence.  When  I  first  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you,  and  for  some  time 
after  I  had  discovered  your  residence,  it 
22 


was  not  alone  your  beauty  by  which  I  was 
enthralled,  although  to  that  I  was  never 
insensible — " 

4kSir!"  interrupted  Louise,  44 1  am  aware 
that  we  are  all  sufficiently  open  to  flattery; 
but  allow  me  to  suggest,  that  there  are 
times  at  which  it  becomes  too  palpable  to 
be  pleasing.  I  demand  to  know,  as  briefly 
as  possible,  the  reason  why  you  have  ab- 
sented yourself  from  me?" 

44  Upon  my  word,  Miss  Raven,  you  are 
somewhat  imperious." 

44  Have  I  not  a  right,  sir,  to  demand  this, 
after  what  has  happened?  What  was  the 
cause?" 

44  Briefly  this:  I  have  noticed,  of  late,  an 
extraordinary  change  in  your  conduct  to- 
wards me,  and,  conceiving  that  my  presence 
had  become  somewhat  irksome,  I—" 

44  How  could  you  possibly  imagine  any- 
thing of  the  kind,  when  you  know  that  I 
have  done  all  in  my  power  to  induce  you  to 
call  more  constantly  than  ever?" 

44  Nay,  nay,  hear  me  out.  Having  con- 
ceived this,  I  felt  that  there  must  be  some 
motive,  some  secret  cause  for  so  sudden  a 
change;  and,  being  utterly  unconscious  of 
having  done  aught  to  induce  it,  I  naturally 
attributed  the  fact  to  your  knowledge  of  my 
expectations,  in  a  pecuniary  point  of  view, 
being  greatly  inferior  to  your  own." 

44  What  have  I  to  do  with  pecuniary  ex- 
pectations? Have  I  ever  inquired  what  they 
were?  Have  I  ever  dropped  a  syllable, 
which  could  be  construed  into  a  hint  upon 
the  subject?  Never!  But  you  conceal  the 
real  cause,  which  lies  deeper.  You  once 
saved  my  life;  you  saved  the  life  of  my 
father,  and,  therefore,  know  that  I  am 
bound  to  you  in  gratitude  for  ever.  You 
presume  upon  that,  and  hence  trifle  with, 
arid  trample  upon  my  feelings;  or  if  not, 
you  have  been  introduced  to  some  brilliant 
coquette,  some  fascinating  creature,  more 
accomplished  and  highly  connected  than 
myself,  in  whose  society  you  experience 
more  pleasure  than  in  mine,  and  to  whom 
you  devote  all  your  happier  hours." 

44  Indeed,  Louise,  you  do  me  wrong,  and 
I  feel  that  in  your  calmer  moments  you  will 
acknowledge,  at  least  to  yourself,  that  your 
expressed  views  on  both  points  are  baseless 
and  unjust." 

44  You  then  wish  me  to  believe  that,  al- 
though you  thus  shun  me,  you  neither  take 
advantage  of  the  circumstance  I  have  named, 
nor  court  the  society  of  another?  You  wish 
me  to  believe  this?" 

44  I  wish  you  to  believe,  that  although 
my  affections  are  fixed  upon  you  firmly,  I 
never  will  consent  to  be  a  passive,  abject 
slave,  to  be  tyrannised  over,  and  tortured 
perpetually  by  the  violence  of  her  from 


246 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


whom  I  ought  to  expect  nothing  but  gentle- 
ness and  love." 

"You  understand,  sir,  of  course,"  said 
Louise,  with  great  dignity,  "  that,  at  least 
as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  you  are  perfectly 
free." 

"  It  would  give  me  great  pleasure  to 
make  you  understand,  that,  at  least  as  far 
as  I  am  concerned,  these  strong  bursts  of 
passion  are  very  painful." 

«'  You  would  have  me  then  endure  all  in 
silence! — though  spurned,  shunned,  con- 
temned, and  treated  with  every  other  species 
of  contumely,  I  must  be  silent!  She  to 
whom  you  have  devoted  the  last  three  days 
may  do  this,  but  be  assured  that  I  will 
not." 

"  The  last  three  days  I  have  devoted  to 
those  poor  old  gentlemen,  of  whom  I  have 
so  frequently  spoken." 

"  Assuming  such  to  have  been  the  case, 
even  that  would  not  justify  your  conduct  to 
me.  If  you  derive  more  pleasure  in  the 
society  of  two  old  lunatics  than  in  mine,  I, 
of  course,  feel  flattered,  and  can  only,  under 
the  circumstances,  say  that  you  had  better 
return  to  it  at  once."  " 

"  I  will  do  so,  if  you  wish  it." 

"You  wilH— You  will  leave  me1?" 

"  Most  certainly,"  said  Valentine,  and  he 
rose  on  the  instant. 

"  Go,"  said  Louise,  who  bit  her  lips 
violently,  and  turned  pale  with  passion. — 
"  I  have  no  right,  no  wish,  to  detain  you. 
By  all  means,  sir,  go.  But  remember,  if 
you  do,  if  you  do  leave  me  thus — never, 
never— my  heart  will  break! — I  cannot  bear 
it—" 

"  Louise!"  cried  Valentine,  who  flew  to  her 
side  instantly,  and  caught  her  in  his  arms, 
as  she  was  falling.  She  had  fainted.  The 
perspiration  stood  like  dew  upon  her  brows 
which  were  icy  cold,  and  she  looked  pale  as 
death.  For  a  moment  he  felt  paralysed. — 
He  knew  not  how  to  act.  He  gazed  upon, 
and  kissed  her;  but  no  sign  of  reanimation 
appeared.  He  reached  the  bell,  still  bear- 
ing her  in  his  arms,  but  the  rope  seemed 
useless.  He  tried  the  other.  The  shock 
was  far  too  great  for  that;  it  came  down  as 
instantaneously  as  if  it  had  been  held  by  a 
single  thread,  but  before  it  descended  he 
had  unconsciously  made  sufficient  noise  to 
alarm  all  the  servants,  of  whom  four  rushed, 
at  once,  into  the  room,  in  a  state  of  great 
excitement. 

Of  course,  they  were  all  stunned  on  be 
holding  Louise,  like  a  dead  individual,  in 
Valentine's  arms;  but  the  attitude  of  the 
coachman  was  the  most  picturesque,  al 
though  many  might  have  admired  the  repose 
of  the  porter,  an  extraordinary-looking,  sen- 
timental scoundrel,  whose  comprehensive 


mind  teemed  with  horrid  suspicions,  and 
whom  the  scene  struck  physically  tranquil. 

"  My  goodness  me,  what  is  the  matter!" 
cried  the  lady's  maid,  in  whose  peculiar 
apron  had  been  established  two  remarkable 
pockets,  which  were  always  as  open  as  the 
day.  "  My  dear  Miss! — come! — poor  thing! 
— Run  and  fetch  the  Eau  de  Cologne,"  she 
continued,  addressing  one  of  the  servants. 
"It  is  lying  on  the  table— a  long,  narrow 
bottle,  all  neck!  You  will  find  it — but 
stay;  I'll  run  myself." 

"  You  had  better  remain,"  said  Valentine, 
"  you  had  better  not  leave." 

"  Tell  Susan  to  get  it  then:  tell  her  to 
make  haste!  I  hope  to  goodness  her  papa 
will  not  return  before  she  recovers;  if  he 
should,  there'll  be  such  a  to  do!  My  dear 
young  lady! — look  up!  I  never  saw  her  so 
before.  I  never  did.  I  cannot  think  what 
it  could  be.  I  cannot  conceive.  Susan! 
Susan!  What  a  time  the  girl  is,  to  be  sure. 
But  there's  no  getting  anything  done  unless 
one  does  it  one's  self.  Coachman,  see  after 
Susan.  What  can  she  be  about1?" 

Susan  entered,  and  the  Eau  de  Cologne 
was  applied  to  the  nostrils,  the  temples, 
and  palms  of  Louise,  who  eventually  sigh- 
ed, and  thus  at  once  dispelled  Valentine's 
fears.  That  sigh  was  the  prelude  to  her 
recovery.  Her  bosom  began  to  heave  with 
its  usual  freedom;  the  blood  gradually  re- 
turned to  her  cheeks,  and  she  looked  round 
with  perfect  self-possession. 

"  Lead  me  to  my  room,"  said  she,  faintly, 
to  the  servants,  who  carefully  raised  her 
from  the  sofa.  "  I  am  better,  much  better, 
but  I  shall  there  be  more  quiet  and  at  ease." 

Valentine  offered  his  hand,  which  she 
pressed  and  kissed  warmly,  and  as  she  left 
him,  he  fondly  conceived  that  her  gaze  de- 
veloped a  pure  and  affectionate  heart. 

"  She  still  loves  me,"  said  he,  on  being 
left  alone.  "  She  cannot  conceal  that;  but 
as  her  peace  of  mind  as  well  as  my  own  is 
involved  in  this  struggle,  I  must  not  yield 
now.  It  is  lamentable  that  she  thus  allows 
angry  passions  to  disguise  the  beauty  of  her 
natural  affections,  but  more  lamentable  still 
would  it  be  if  those  passions  were  allowed 
to  gain  a  permanent  mastery.  It  is  clear 
that  my  impressions  were  false.  She  has 
no  wish  to  break  off  the  connection.  Her 
object  is  simply  to  contend  for  her  own 
supremacy,  with  a  view  to  the  establish- 
ment of  a  species  of  domestic  despotism, 
which  all  experience  proves  to  be  pernici- 
ous; nay,  utterly  destructive  of  the  happi- 
ness both  of  her  who  is  the  ruler,  and  of 
liim  \vhom  she  rules.  I  feel  that  I  am  as 
little  inclined  as  most  men,  to  be  a  domes- 
tic tyrant,  but  this  spirit  must  In;  chiM-krd; 
and  as  I  imagine  tha't  I  possess  sufficient 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


247 


influence  to  check  it,  I  consider  myself 
bound  to  exert  that  influence  by  all  the 
means  at  my  command." 

Being  unable  to  ring:  the  bell,  he  now 
desired  the  peculiarly  sentimental  porter, 
who  was  still  engaged  in  turning  up  the 


yellows  of  his  eyes  in  the  hall,  to  make  the 
necessary  inquiries,  and  having  at  length 
ascertained  that  Louise  had  completely  re- 
covered, he  at  once  left  the  house,  with  a 
firm  determination  to  carry  the  object  he 
had  proposed  to  himself  into  effect. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 


VALENTINE    VISITS    THE    ZOOLOGICAL    GARDENS. 


THE  next  morning  Valentine  called  and  left 
his  card,  having  learned  that  Louise  was 
quite  well.  It  is  true,  that  he  was  not  ex- 
actly satisfied  with  having  done  this  simply. 
Had  his  feelings  been  unfettered,  had  he 
consulted  them  alone,  he  would  have  seen 
her;  but  as  prudence  suggested  that  the 
better  course  was  that  which  he  had  pur- 
sued, he  started  off  for  a  long  walk  instead. 
He,  notwithstanding,  a  thousand  times 
wished  she  had  been  with  him,  and  as  the 
morning  was  delightfully  clear  and  calm, 
he  actually  turned,  on  arriving  at  the  gates 
of  the  Regent's  Park,  with  a  view  of  re- 
tracing his  steps.  Prudence,  however, 
again  interposed,  and  compelled  him  to  walk 
on  alone. 

This  was  harsh  on  the  part  of  Prudence, 
and  her  dictates  are  often  particularly  harsh, 
although  it  happens — by  mere  chance  of 
course — that  she  is  almost  invariably  right 
in  the  long  run,  seeing  that  she  looks  be- 
yond the  enjoyment  of  the  passing  hour. 
It  is,  however,  a  striking  fact,  and  one 
which  cannot  be  too  extensively  known, 
that  that  which  lexicographers  generally 
call  Irresolution,  is  frequently  mistaken  for 
Prudence!  It  is  strange,  that  so  pernicious 
a  mistake  should  be  made — that  the  one 
should  be  taken  for  the  other;  yet  it  is  so, 
yea,  even  as  a  bitter  bad  shilling  is  fre- 
quently taken  for  a  good  one.  For  exam- 
ple; a  man  is  anxious  to  know  himself,  and 
goes  to  an  accomplished  phrenologist,  who 
finds  an  extraordinary  bump  about  the  mid- 
dle of  each  partietal  bone.  "  You  have  a 
deal  of  caution,"  observes  the  professor,  as 
he  gropes  about  in  vain  for  some  counter- 
acting organ.  "A  deal  of  caution,"  and 
assuming  the  "science"  of  phrenology,  for 
the  nonce  to  be  in  this  small  particular  cor- 
rect, that  man  would  be  considered  a  pru- 
dent man,  by  those  who  confound  prudence 
with  irresolution.  But  see  such  a  man  in 
the  street.  He  wants  something:  he  wants 
it  very  much,  but  he  doesn't  know  whether 
to  have  it  or  not.  He  has  a  very  strong 
desire  to  enter  a  house.  He  goes  up  to  the 


door,  stops  to  hesitate  a  little,  and  then 
turns  away  to  think  it  over  again.  Well, 
shall  he  go  in?  Eh?  Yes — and  yet— no. 
But  then,  let — him — see!  and  he  walks 
back  again.  He  can't  make  up  his  mind. 
He  wants  to  gc  in! — but,  perhaps — no;  and 
again  he  walks  away  a  few  paces;  and  thus 
he  will  amuse  you  by  trotting  to  and  fro, 
knitting  his  brows  and  scratching  his  head 
just  as  long  as  you  like  to  look  at  him. 
Catch  such  a  man  taking  unto  himself  a  wife, 
or  entering  into  anything  like  a  speculation. 
You  cannot  do  it.  He  is  not  to  be  caught. 
He  has  not  a  single  spark  of  the  spirit  of 
enterprise  in  him.  He  must  "  see  his  way 
clear;"  and  even  then  he  wont  move,  for  "  a 
bird  in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in  the  bush." 
A  perfect  specimen  of  this  peculiar  species 
would  be  a  blessing  to  himself  and  an  honor 
to  his  country,  for  he  would  never  volun- 
tarily stir,  because  he  would  never  be  able 
to  make  up  his  mind  to  do  it.  A  perfect 
specimen,  however,  perhaps  never  existed. 
Hypochondriacal  individuals  approach  the 
nearest  to  perfection  in  this  respect,  their 
disease  being  the  fruit  of  irresolution  legiti- 
mately ripened  into  rottenness. 

Mighty  minds  must  therefore  hold  it  to 
be  marvellous,  that  prudence  should  be  so 
generally  confounded  with  irresolution,  and 
although  it  is  perfectly  possible  that  Va- 
lentine might  not  have  thought  of  this  as  he 
walked  round  the  park,  it  is  clear  that  he 
was  guided  at  the  time  by  real  prudence, 
and  was  sad  only  because  he  then  felt  it  to 
be  harsh. 

Having  reached  a  gate,  which  he  found 
on  inquiry  to  be  that  of  the  Zoological  Gar- 
dens, it  struck  him  that  as  he  never  had 
been  in,  he  might  as  well  spend  an  hour  in 
viewing  the  "  wonderful"  animals,  as  they 
are  termed,  solely  because  they  are  in  this 
country  rare,  which  is  partial  and  unjust, 
seeing  that  fleas,  which  are  not  rare  in  civi- 
lised Europe,  are  equally  wonderful,  their 
physical  organization  being  equally  per- 
fect. 

Caring,  however,  but  little  for  this,  he 


248 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


xvent  up  to  the  lodge,  and  having  tendered 
his  shilling,  was  asked  for  a  ticket. 

"I  have  no  ticket,"  said  Valentine. 

"  You  can't  be  admitted  without,"  said 
the  man. 

"  Well,  where  am  I  to  get  one?" 

"Oh,  any  where!— at  any  of  the  shops. 
But  you  can  pass  with  the  next  party." 

At  this  moment  a  person  approached, 
and,  havinjr  tendered  a  small  slip  of  paper, 
with  a  shilling,  walked  in,  when  Valentine 
put  down  his  shilling  and  followed,  which 
made  all  the  difference. 

On  entering  the  grounds,  the  first  thing 
that  attracted  his  attention  was  a  pole, 
established  in  the  centre  of  a  well,  at  the 
bottom  of  which  three  melancholy  bears 
were  crawling  round  and  round,  as  pensive- 
ly as  possible.  Two  of  these  gentlemen 
had  very  decent  coats  to  their  backs,  but 
the  third  was  rather  ragged,  inconsequence, 
probably,  of  his  prospects  having  in  early 
life  been  blighted,  by  circumstances  over 
which  he  could  have  no  control. 

Round  the  verge  of  this  well  stood  sun- 
dry individuals,  of  whom  the  majority  had 
purchased  buns,  biscuits,  and  cakes,  where- 
with to  treat  the  animals  generally,  and  who 
were  having  recourse  to  every  species  of 
suasion,  with  the  view  ofinducingone  of  the 
bears  to  mount  the  pole.  Biscuit  after  bis- 
cuit was  thrown  into  the  well,  and  bun  after 
bun,  in  little  pieces;  but,  as  the  bears  swal- 
lowed all  without  even  looking  up  to  ex- 
press thanks,  the  generous  donors  became 
distrusted  with  their  ingratitude,  and  stop- 
ped the  supplies.  This  had  a  very  sensi- 
ble effect,  for,  almost  immediately  after- 
wards, one  of  the  bears  climbed  the  pole, 
and  leaned  back,  with  his  mouth  wide  open, 
to  receive  whatever  might  happen  to  be  put 
in,  which  went  instantaneously,  without 
mastication,  down  into  the  general  stock. 
At  this  moment,  how  pure  was  the  delight 
of  those  around!  They  experienced  such 
happiness! — nothingcould  surpass  it!  They 
only,  by  whom  buns  to  bears  have  been 
given,  can  know  the  soft  pleasure  of  which 
it  is  the  source.  Every  person  who  had  a 
bun  gave  it  to  bruin  in  many  little  pieces, 
that  the  pleasure  might  be  multiplied  just 
as  many  fold.  Sometimes  half  a  dozen 
would  be  at  it  together,  in  which  case  the 
gentlemen  below  stood  a  chance,  although 
a  poor  one;  for,  as  a  general  thing,  the  one 
on  the  pole  caught  all,  without  either  trou- 
ble or  care. 

"  Now  then!"  said  Valentine,  throwing 
hia  voice  into  the  widely-extended  mouth 
of  the  animal — "  You  are  not  half  quick 
enough:  come!" 

The  feeders  started.  Upon  them  the  effect 
was  striking.  It  shook  all  their  nerves,  and 


they  looked  at  each  other  with  an  expres- 
sion of  wonder.  Was  it  possible?  They 
turned  the  matter  over  in  their  minds.  No, 
surely  they  must  have  been  deceived.  Pooh! 
Ridiculous!  Absurd!  and  yet,  had  they  not 
heard  ill— and  could  they  not  believe  their 
own  ears? 

While  they  were  thus  trying  to  solve  this 
mysterious  piece  of  business,  the  bear,  find- 
ing that  nothing  was  put  into  his  mouth, 
thought  that  he  might  as  well  climb  to  the 
top  of  the  pole  as  not;  and,  having  done  so, 
he  placed  his  paws  over  the  ball,  and  ap- 
peared to  be  exceedingly  anxious  to  ascer- 
tain the  true  cause  of  the  mental  confusion 
of  his  feeders.  He  looked  at  them  steadily, 
and  they  looked  at  him;  but  they  did  not 
appear  to  understand  each  other,  even  then, 
exactly! 

"What  are  the  odds?"  said  Valentine, 
throwing  his  voice  into  the  animal's  mouth, 
as  before — "  What  are  the  odds,  that  I  don't 
spring  right  in  amongst  you?" 

No  odds  were  offered.  Nothing  of  the 
sort.  They  flew,  in  an  instant,  from  the 
spot  like  uncivilised  beings,  while  bruin 
stuck  firmly  to  the  pole,  wondering  what  on 
earth  could  be  the  matter.  The  thing  ap- 
peared to  him  to  be  utterly  inexplicable. 
He  couldn't  make  it  out.  He  seemed  per- 
fectly puzzled.  He  looked  at  the  people, 
as  if  anxious  to  induce  them  to  come  back; 
but  no!— they  continued  to  keep  at  a  most 
respectful  distance,  until  he  conceived  it  to 
be  useless  to  waste  any  more  of  his  valuable 
time  there,  when  he  descended  with  the 
view  of  communicating  the  circumstances, 
as  far,  at  least,  as  he  understood  them,  to 
his  brother  bears  below. 

The  very  moment  he  had  descended,  the 
people  began  to  explain  to  each  other  their 
views  on  the  subject,  with  eloquence  and 
force,  starting  all  sorts  of  curious  conjec- 
tures, and  bringing  old  JEsop  to  illustrate 
the  point,  with  remarkable  tact  and  eru- 
dition. As  Valentine,  however,  like  bruin, 
conceived  it  to  be  useless  to  waste  any  more 
of  his  valuable  time  there,  he  left  the 
amazed  ones,  before  even  the  boldest  of  the 
group  had  reinspired  sufficient  courage  to 
return  to  the  well,  and  pursued  his  way 
along  the  most  frequented  path. 

As  he  proceeded,  an  infinite  variety  of 
ugly  animals  met  his  view;  but,  regarding 
them,  as  he  did,  as  creatures  formed  by  Ata 
Creator,  he  perceived  points  of  beauty  in 
them  all. 

44  Would  you  like  to  have  a  ride,  sir?" 
inquired  a  man  who  had  charge  of  a  irin.ile 
rlr|ili;mt,  which  seemed  to  stand  in  awe  of 
;i  little  ragged  switch— "she's  as  tame  as 
a  Christian,  and  goes  along  as  steady  us 
life." 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


249 


•*  Does  she  trot?"  inquired  Valentine. 

"Why,  it  aint,  you  see,  exactly  a  trot, 
'cause  she  ony  makes  a  shuffle  on  it,  'cause 
she's  so  big  about  the  pins;  but  she'll  do  a 
good  eight  mile  an  hour!" 

"Well,  mount,"  said  Valentine,  "I'll 
have  a  ride  by  proxy." 

The  keeper  simply  said  to  his  charge, 
"  Come,"  when  the  elephant  dropped  upon 
her  knees;  and,  having  allowed  him  to 
mount,  rose,  and  shuffled  along  the  path, 
with  a  gait  precisely  like  that  of  an  exqui- 
site walking  upon  his  toes. 

This  was  a  source  of  great  amusement 
to  sundry  young  ladies,  whose  presence 
caused  Valentine  to  wish  that  Louise  had 
been  there;  but  as — after  having  rewarded 
the  keeper  of  the  elephant — he  went  into  the 

glace  in  which  the  monkeys  were  exhibited, 
er  absence  no  longer  annoyed  him. 

There  had  been,  just  previously  to  that 
period,  a  remarkable  mortality  among  mon- 
keys. The  sharp,  easterly  winds  had  swept 
off  the  tender  creatures  by  wholesale,  and 
the  cages  were,  in  consequence,  compara- 
tively empty.  The  few  that  remained, 
however,  did  not,  by  any  means,  fail  to 
excite  the  admiration  of  the  ladies,  who 
watched  them  as  anxiously  as  if  they  had 
been  children,  and  applauded  their  playful 
manoeuvres  with  really  affectionate  warmth. 
"Look  at  that  little  dear!11  said  one,  point- 
ing to  a  ragged  little  gentleman,  sitting  in 
a  singularly  graceful  position,  while  two 
little  friends  of  his  were  hunting  up  the 
fleas  about  his  dear  little  person,  and  biting 
off  their  heads  as  they  caught  them,  with 
infinite  dexterity — "  Isn't  he  a  love1?  Pretty 
creature!  Look!  Bless  him,  how  patiently 
he  sits!" 

"Disgusting,"  said  Valentine,  directing 
his  voice  behind  her  whose  admiration  had 
thus  been  so  strongly  excited.  "Are  you 
not  ashamed?" 

It  appeared  that  she  was,  for  she  dared 
not  look  round,  but  c'ropped  her  veil  hastily, 
and  quitted  the  place  with  her  friends,  when 
all  the  other  ladies  who  were  present  had 
at  once  the  good  sense  and  propriety  to  fol- 
low their  example. 

Valentine  now  went  to  see  the  giraffes, 
and  found  them  exceedingly  beautiful  crea- 
tures; but  his  attention  was  soon  arrested 
by  what,  at  first  sight,  appeared  to  be  a 
little,  emaciated,  withered  old  man,  who 
had  recently  experienced  some  appalling 
domestic  calamity,  or  in  consequence  of 
bad  debts,  or  a  falling  off  in  business,  ex- 
pected every  day  to  have  the  docket  struck 
against  him,  with  something  like  fourpence 
in  the  pound  flitting  scraggily  across  his 
diseased  imagination.  He  accordingly  ap- 
proached this  diminutive  individual — who, 


as  he  sat  with  remarkable  gravity  in  a  chair, 
appeared  to  have  made  up  his  mind  to  begin 
life  again  with  a  blanket— but  as  he  found 
the  cage  in  which  that  individual  was  con- 
fined, duly  labelled  " Pithecus  Satyrus.- 
Orang  Utan,"  all  his  sympathy  vanished. 
And  yet  the  little  animal  looked  most  un- 
happy. Indeed,  it  was  abundantly  mani- 
fest, that  he  had  not  only  caught  an  ex- 
tremely severe  cold,  but  had  something  then 
pressing  upon  his  mind,  with  sufficient 
weight~to  impart  to  his  whole  countenance 
an  expression  of  sadness. 

"  Now  there's  a  striking  specimen  of  the 
animal  creation,"  observed  a  grave  person 
in  spectacles,  accompanied  by  a  friend  from 
the  country,  whom  he  felt  quite  determined 
to  astonish.  "  Do  you  know  now,  when- 
ever I  look  at  these  creatures,  I  always  feel 
puzzled!  Did  you  ever  see  any  living  thing 
look  so  much  like  a  man?  Look  at  his 
hands,  look  at  his  eyes,  look  at  his  lips, 
look  at  his  cheeks,  nay,  look  at  his  general 
aspect!  Talk  to  me  about  instinct  and  rea- 
son! Draw  the  line!— draw  the  line,  I  say; 
show  me  the  difference— distinctly  point 
out  to  me  where  the  one  ends  and  the  other 
begins,  and  I'll  then,  but  not  till  then,  give 
in.  Here  we  have,  without  doubt,  the  con- 
necting link  of  Nature's  extraordinary  chain. 
Just  l(°ok  at  him  picking  his  teeth  with  a 
straw!  Is  there  any  other  thing  besides 
man,  in  the  comprehensive  scope  of  creation, 
that  understands  how,  why,  and  when  to  do 
that?  And  then  see  how  he  folds  that 
blanket  around  him!  Is  there  any  other 
animal  on  earth  besides  man  that  under- 
stands what  a  blanket  is  for?" 

"  As  to  that,"  observed  the  friend  of  this 
gentleman,  "  I  suppose  he  keeps  that  on 
because  he  finds  it  warm." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it!  Not  by  any  manner  of 
means,  because,  in  a  blanket  there's  no 
warmth  to  find.  He  knows  there's  no 
warmth  in  a  blanket.  He  knows  that  a 
blanket  would  warm  him  no  more  than  it 
would  a  lump  of  lead.  No!  —  he  keeps  it 
on  solely  because  he  is  cognisant  of  its  vir- 
tue being  to  check  the  evaporation  of  per- 
spiration. And  does  any  man  mean  to  tell 
me,  that  a  creature  that  can,  aye,  and  does 
do  this,  being  moreover  conscious  of  what 
he  is  doing,  is  utterly  destitute  of  reason? 
Will  any  man  contend  that  the  creature  be- 
fore us  don't  know  as  well  what  he's  about 
as  we  do — or  that  he  ever  does  anything — 
for  that't  the  grand  point — without  having 
a  reason — mark,  having  a  reason,  for  doing 
what  he  does?  Why,  the  very  idea  is  ab- 
surd! Few  men  who  have  lived  since  the 
ancients  have  studied  this  subject  more 
deeply  than  I  have.  You  may,  therefore, 
with  safety  depend  upon  this,  that  that 

22* 


250 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


animal  there  is  a  species  of  man.  It  is  true 
he  is  not  in  every  particular  precisely  like 
either  you  or  me,  hut  then  show  me,  if  you 
can,  in  the  whole  scope  of  the  universe,  two 
men  that  are  precisely  in  every  particular 
alike.  Show  me  two — hut  two — that  look 
alike,  walk  alike,  think  alike,  act  alike, 
laugh  alike,  frown  alike,  or  feel  alike,  pre- 
cisely, and  then  I'll  give  in." 

"Now,  if  so  be  as  these  things  here 
could  talk,  I'd  then  say  something  to 
you." 

"Talk,  my  dear  sir! — they  can  talk. 
They  can  talk  in  their  own  language." 

*' Aye,  yaye! — but  not  in  ours!" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that!"  cried 
Valentine,  sharply,  making  his  voice  ap- 
pear to  proceed  from  the  animal  in  question 
— "  Do  you  wish  to  insult  me]" 

The  mouth,  hands,  and  eyes  of  the  amazed 
country  gentleman  were,  in  an  instant,  wide 
open,  while  his  learned  friend  started  from 
the  rail  upon  which  he  was  leaning,  and 
established  his  spectacles  more  firmly  upon 
his  nose;  but  the  creature  in  the  blanket 
displayed  more  astonishment  than  either, 
for,  after  having  turned  his  head  right  and 
left  rapidly,  being  startled  by  the  sound  of 
a  human  voice  so  near  him,  he  muttered, 
and  chattered,  and  sprang  from  his  chair, 
and  having  reached  the  highest  branch  of 
the  stump  in  the  ca^e,  sat  and  grinned  with 
extraordinary  fierceness. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that!"  said  the 
spectacled  individual;  but  his  friend  could 
not  tell  at  all  what  to  think  of  it.  He  shook 
his  head,  and  scratched  it,  but  made  no 
reply. 

"  Why,"  said  Valentine,  throwing  his 
voice  as  before — "  why  don't  you  acknow- 
ledge your  error  like  a  man,  instead  of 
standing  there  scratching  your  head  like  a 
fool?  Do  you  hear  me?" 

Again  the  alarmed  animal  leaped  from 
branch  to  branch.  The  thing  was  alto- 
gether new  to  him.  He  had  never  either 
heard  of,  or  met  with,  anything  like  it.  The 
idea  of  a  voice  thus  hovering  about  his  ears, 
without  being  able  even  to  guess  where  it 
came  from,  was  really  too  much  for  his 
nerves!  He  did  not  approve  of  it  atall,  but 
shook  his  head,  and  showed  his  teeth,  and, 
at  length,  made  such  an  extraordinary  chat- 
tering, that  the  man  who  had  the  care  of 
him  entered  the  place,  wondering  what 
could  be  the  matter. 

"  You'd  better  stand  a  leetle  furder  off, 
marm,  please,"  said  the  man,  as  he  drew 
near  the  animal's  cage.  "  If  you  don't,  the 
giraffe  there'll  nibble  off  the  whole  of  them 
green  leaves  of  yourn,  and  they  does  him 
no  good." 

In  an  instant  the  lady  to  whom  this  was 


addressed  placed  her  hand  upon  her  bonnet, 
and  found  her  wreath  gone. 

"  Now,  what's  the  matter,  Jocko1?"  said 
the  keeper.  "  What  have  they  been  doing 
to  you,  eh?" 

"  Oh,  we've  been  doing  nothing,"  ob- 
served the  spectacled  individual.  "  I  was 
merely  conversing  with  my  friend,  when 
the  animal  inquired  if  we  wished  to  insult 
him." 

"The  animal! — what — Jocko — what — in- 
sult him!"  cried  the  keeper,  who  felt  quite 
disposed  to  laugh  loudly — "and  so  you 
heard  him  speak,  sir,  eh,  did  you?  He 
talks  very  well,  sir,  considering,  don't  he?" 

"  It's  wonderful!— really  t  never  heard — 
I'd  no  idea  of  that  species  of  creation  being 
able  to  talk  in  our  language!" 

"  Lor  bless  you,  sir! — didn't  you?" 

"  Never!  1  couldn't  have  conceived  it  to 
he  possible.  If  1  hadn't  with  rny  own  ears 
heard  him,  no  power  on  earth  could  have 
made  me  believe  it." 

"  No,  I  dare  say  not.  There  aint  many 
that  would." 

"  I'm  astonished,  absolutely  astonished, 
that  the  fact  is  not  made  more  generally 
known.  It  ought  to  be  disseminated 
throughout  the  whole  scope  of  creation. 
Nothing  but  that  was  required  to  settle  the 
point  of  the  connecting  link  for  ever." 

"  That's  just  my  sentiments  to  a  h  lir." 

"  And  who  taught  him.  my  friend?" 

"  Why,  that  1  can't  say,  sir,  exactly" 

"  He  deserves  well  of  his  country,  be  he 
whomsoever  he  may." 

"  Jocko  perhaps  can  tell,  sir,  if  you  ask 
him." 

"  Dear  me,  I  shouldn't  wonder.  I  never 
thought  of  that.  My  little  man,"  he  con- 
tinued, addressing  the  animal,  as  the  keeper, 
who  was  able  no  longer  to  bear  it,  burst 
into  a  loud  roar  of  laughter,  of  which,  how- 
ever, the  querist  took  no  direct  notice.  "  My 
little  man,  who  taught  you  the  English 
language?" 

"  Indeed,  I  shall  not  tell  you,"  said  Va- 
lentine, through  Jocko.  "I  feel  most  in- 
dignant." 

"  Hullo!"  cried  the  keeper,  whose  coun- 
tenance changed  as  if  by  magic,  as  Jocko 
again  jumped  about  and  looked  perfectly 
bewildered.  "  What't  the  meaning  of  all 
this?  Is  the  creatur  bewitched?" 

He  went  round  to  the  door  at  the  side  of 
the  cage,  and  having  opened  it  said,  "  Why, 
Jocko!" 

"  Don't  speak  to  me,"  cried  Valentine; 
"  I've  been  grossly  insulted.  Away! — or 
I'll  be  revenged  on  you." 

As  Jocko  flew  towards  him,  in  all  proba- 
bility for  protection,  being  alarmed  whrn- 
BTi  r  Y  aluniine  spoke,  the  keeper  closed  tho 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


251 


door  in  an  instant,  and  said,  "  Well,  this 
beats  all  my  acquaintance!"  He  now  no 
longer  addressed  the  spectacled  gentleman 
in  tones  of  roguish  sarcasm,  for  he  felt  that 
however  ahsurd  it  might  have  appeared,  he 
could  not  then  dispute  the  apparent  fact  of 
the  animal  having  spoken. 

"  Why,  how  in  the  world  is  this?"  ex- 
claimed the  person  in  spectacles.  "  How 
comes  it  that  you  are  so  greatly  surprised?" 

The  keeper  felt  himself  compelled  to  ac- 
knowledge, that  he  had  been,  as  he  termed 
it,  "roasting"  that  gentleman,  never  having 
heard  the  animal  in  his  life  speak  before; 
which  was  all  very  well,  and  cleared  the 
way,  of  course,  as  far  as  it  went;  but  the 
chief  point,  the  grand  consideration,  the 
assumed  fact  of  his  having  then  actually 


spoken  the  English  language,  with  the  ac- 
cent and  the  emphasis  of  an  Englishman, 
remained. 

Various  were  the  guesses  of  the  gentle- 
man in  spectacles, — his  friend  from  the 
country  was  too  much  amazed  to  say  a 
word, — and  bold  were  the  assertions  of  the 
keeper  touching  Jocko's  being  victimised 
by  witchcraft;  but,  although  they  both  dis- 
played great  imaginative  power,  and  no  in- 
considerable amount  of  ingenuity,  the  more 
they  labored  to  unravel  the  mystery  the 
more  entangled  it  became;  and  as  Valentine 
now  began  to  feel  that  he  had  been  suffi- 
ciently amused  by  their  ridiculous  conjec- 
tures, he  quitted  the  gardens  and  walked 
home  to  dine. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 


WHEREIN  WHITELY  EXPLAINS  THE  REAL  CAUSE  OF  ALL   HIS  MISERY. 


FROM  the  moment  Whitely  mentioned  the 
fact  of  his  having  been  dishonored  by  her, 
in  whom  all  his  hopes  of  happiness  on  earth 
had  been  centred,  Uncle  John  had  expe- 
rienced an  irrepressible  anxiety  to  know 
the  whole  of  the  circumstances  involved 
from  first  to  last.  We  may  hear  of  the 
occurrence  of  such  deep  misfortunes  daily, 
pass  them  over  with  a  word  and  think  of 
them  no  more;  but  when  so  great  a  calamity 
befals  either  a  friend  or  one  of  whom  we 
have  some  knowledge,  however  slight  it 
may  be,  our  curiosity  as  well  as  our  sym- 
pathy is  awakened,  and  we  regard  as  deeply 
interesting  each  minute  point. 

No  idea  of  the  real  cause  of  Whitely's 
abject  wretchedness  had  theretofore  entered 
the  imagination  of  Uncle  John.  He  had 
attributed  the  fact  of  his  being  then  a  for- 
lorn, broken-spirited  creature,  to  the  brutal 
treatment  he  had  experienced  in  the  asylum, 
but  had  never  thought  of  inquiring  how  or 
by  whom  he  had  been  placed  in  that  asy- 
lum, until,  on  glancing  at  the  note  of 
Louise,  Whitely  mentioned  the  subject  in 
tears.  But  even  then,  Uncle  John  regarded 
any  farther  allusion  to  the  matter  as  a  point 
of  extreme  delicacy,  seeing  that  his  im- 
pression was,  that  Whitely's  calamity  had 
driven  him  to  absolute  madness,  which  had, 
of  course,  justified  his  incarceration:  still, 
being  extremely  anxious  to  know  all,  he 
resolved  on  giving  Whitely  the  very  ear- 
liest opportunity  of  performing  the  direct 
promise  he  had  given,  that  all  should  be 
explained. 


Accordingly,  after  dinner,  on  the  day  of 
Valentine's  visit  to  the  Zoological  Gardens, 
he  started  the  subject  of  the  character  of 
Louise,  with  a  view  of  bringing  the  matter 
round.  "  Well,"  said  he,  "how  was  Miss 
Raven  this  morning?" 

"  Quite  well,"  replied  Valentine. 

"  Ah!  quite  recovered? — And  did  she  let 
out  again,  Val  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  simply  left  my  card." 

"What!  did  you  not  see  her?  I'll  tell 
you  what  it  is,  my  boy:  you'll  play  with 
that  poor  little  girl  till  you  lose  her.  You 
ought  to  have  gone  in  by  all  means.  You 
ought  to  have  made  her — without  taking 
the  slightest  notice  of  what  had  happened— 
put  on  her  things  to  go  for  a  walk.  That's 
the  way  I  used  to  do  when  I  paid  my  ad- 
dresses to  the  girls;  and  it's  the  best  way 
too,  you  may  depend  upon  that.  What  do 
you  think  her  state  of  mind  has  been  to-day, 
now,  to  bring  the  matter  close?  Why, 
there  she  has  been,  poor  thing!  sitting  alone, 
sighing,  and  moping,  and  fretting  her  little 
life  out;  whereas,  had  you  taken  her  for  a 
walk,  it  would  have  cheered  her  up,  and 
made  her  so  happy,  that  nothing  could  be 
like  it.  It's  all  very  fine,  and  very  flatter- 
ing, to  be  able  to  break  a  girl's  spirit,  and 
tame  her  down  to  nothing;  but  what  is  she 
fit  for,  when  your  object  has  been  accom- 
plished? What  is  she  fit  for  as  a  wife? 
She's  fit  for  nothing!  she  is  not  even  fit  to 
be  trusted  !  All  she  can  do,  is  to  administer 
to  the  despicable  vanity  of  him,  by  whom 
the  sickening  milk-and-watery  namby-pam- 


252 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


byism  of  slavish  obedience  is  exacted.  It 
strikes  me  I'm  about  right  there,  my  friend?" 
he  added,  addressing  Whitely,  who  was 
paying  great  attention  to  every  word. 

"Quite,  quite  right,"  replied  that  gentle- 
man. "Thousands  have  been  plunged  into 
misery  and  despair,  through  breaking  the 
spirit  of  those  whom  they  love,  and  thus  de- 
priving them  at  once  of  that  shield  which  is 
essential — no  matter  how  innately  virtuous 
they  may  be — to  the  resistance  of  powerful 
temptations." 

44  So  you  see,  my  boy,"  resumed  Uncle 
John,  "  that  you  must  not  expect  to  have  it 
all  your  own  way.  But  there's  another 
thing  to  be  thought  of:  It  isn't  always  that 
a  man  can  break  a  woman's  spirit,  if  he 
tries;  and  when  he  fails  in  the  attempt,  she 
either  rewards  him  before  marriage,  or  set- 
tles with  him  afterwards  in  full  of  all  de- 
mands. Besides— and  that's  another  thing 
to  look  at — jou'll  not  find  every  woman  fool 
enough  to  marry  a  man  who  displays  a  dis- 
position to  reign  supreme:  so  you'd  better 
look  out,  Val,  you'd  better  look  out!" 

"  But  I  am  quite  sure,"  said  Whitely, 
44  that  Valentine  has  no  disposition  to  play 
the  tyrant." 

44  And  so  am  I,"  said  Uncle  John,  *'  so 
am  I.  But  he's  such  a  proud  independent 
dog! — I'm  sure  he'll  lose  her:  I'm  sure  of 
it,  if  he  don't  mind  what  he's  about.  And 
she's  a  beautiful  girl,  too!  a  most  beautiful 
girl!  You  never  saw  her,  I  believe1?" 

44  No,  1  should  like  to  see  her  much," 
replied  Whitely. 

44  Well!  you  have  only  to  sny  when  you'll 
go! — By  the  way,  it  is  strange — I  have 
often  thought  of  it  since — that  you  should 
have  been  so  much  struck  with  her  hand- 
•writino!" 

44  It  is  strange,"  said  Whitely,  44  and  yet 
it  is  after  all,  probably  attributable  to  the 
fact  of  my  not  having  seen  a  lady's  writing 
before  for  years." 

44  Very  likely.  But  then,  hers  is  not  a 
common  hand  by  any  means.  Where  is 
that  note,  my  boy1?" 

Valentine  produced  it. 

44 1  should  know  this  hand  from  a  million, 
there  is  something  so  peculiar  in  the  forma- 
tion of  the  letters.  It  is  what  I  should  call 
a  remaikable  hand.  There  is  nothing,  you 
see,"  he  continued,  as  he  gave  the  note  to 
Whitely,  44  there  is  nothing,  you  see,  formal 
or  stiff  about  the  style:  all  is  perfectly  free." 

44  It  is  not  a  common  hand,  which  makes 
the  resemblance  the  more  extraordinary. 
Fifteen  years  since,  I  could  have  sworn, 
conscientiously  have  sworn,  to  this  being 
the  handwriting  of  her  who  was  my  wife. 
But  alas!"— 

Whitely  paused,  and  both  Uncle  John 


and  Valentine  watched  him  intently.  In 
his  eye  there  was  no  tear,  but  his  heart's 
wound  appeared  to  have  been  reopened. 

"  Had  you  been  married  long,"  said 
Uncle  John  at  length,  "  when  the  unhappy 
separation  took  place?" 

44  Five  years,  only:  five  short  happy, 
happy  years." 

4k  You  will,  I  am  afraid,  think  me  too 
curious;  but  ever  since  you  alluded  to  that 
lamentable  affair,  I  have  felt  deeply  anxious 
to  have  the  circumstances  connected  with 
it  explained.  It  will,  however,  be  too 
painful  to  you,  perhaps,  to  relate  them]" 

44  No,  my  friend,  no;  the  relation  of  our 
woes  is  sometimes  a  relief:  but  I  shall 
weary  you.  Calamities  which  strike  to 
the  very  hearts  of  those  who  bear  them, 
have  indeed  but  little  effect  upon  men  by 
whom  their  force  has  been  happily  unfelt." 

44  You  need  not,  my  friend,  be  at  all  ap- 
prehensive of  wearying  me.  I  feel  too  deep 
an  interest  in  the  subject  to  be  wearied.  You 
are  a  native  of  London  I  believe?" 

44  Yes;  and  no  man  ever  had  or  could  have 
had  a  fairer  prospect  of  a  long  life  of  hap- 
piness before  him  than  I  had  from  the  period 
of  rny  marriage,  up  to  the  time  when  every 
earthly  hope  was  blasted.  My  father  died 
while  I  was  a  minor,  leaving  me  that  which 
I  ever  regarded  as  a  competence,  but  I  re- 
mained single  for  some  years  after  I  had 
attained  my  majority.  At  length,  I  met 
her  in  whom  my  heart  would  permit  me  to 
see  nothing  but  perfection.  She  was  an 
orphan,  and  was  living  at  the  time  as  com- 
panion to  a  lady,  who  had  known  me  from 
childhood.  A  more  amiable  or  a  more  in- 
teresting creature  never  breathed:  I  believe 
her  to  have  had,  then,  a  heart  as  free  from 
guile  as  that  of  an  infant.  We  married; 
and  for  nearly  five  years,  lived  in  the  pure 
and  uninterrupted  enjoyment  of  each  other's 
society,  when  a  viper,  an  illiterate,  low, 
cunning  miscreant  whom — were  he  now 
before  me — I  could  strangle,  poisoned  the 
mind  of  her  whom  I  valued  more  highly 
than  my  life,  and  eventually  induced  her  to 
leave  me." 

44  Was  he  a  friend,  as  the  phrase  goes?  a 
villain  in  whom  you  had  confided?" 

44  A  perfect  stranger! — whose  assumed 
name  was  Howard:  his  real  name  I  never 
could  learn." 

44  Well,  but  how  did  they  bring  it  about? 
How  did  she  meet  with  him?" 

44 1  know  not.  For  some  months  pre- 
viously to  her  leaving  me,  I  observed  an 
extraordinary  change,  not  only  in  her  man- 
ner, but  in  her  language  and  style  of  dross. 
I  not  unfrequently  saw  about  her  person, 
jewels,  which  to  me  appeared  to  be  of  im- 
mense value;  but  having  the  most  implicit 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


253 


confidence  in  her  honor,  I  took  no  farther 
notice  than  that  of  expressing  my  admira- 
tion of  their  beauty;  and  on  being  asked 
whether  I  did  not  consider  them  excellent 
imitations  of  the  most  precious  gems,  1  was 
satisfied  in  attributing  their  display  to  that 
species  of  vanity  which,  in  a  woman,  is  to 
some  extent  venial.  At  length,  however, 
they  became  so  brilliant  and  so  numerous, 
and  were  worn  with  so  much  ostentation, 
that  I  felt  myself  bound  to  look  into  the 
matter  more  closely.  With  that  reckless- 
ness which  impunity  generates,  even  in 
those  who  are  the  most  tremblingly  appre- 
hensive of  detection  at  the  commencement 
of  a  career  of  vice  or  crime,  she  would 
leave  these  sparkling  gems  carelessly  about, 
and  feeling  then  quite  justified  in  doing  that, 
which  under  any  other  circumstances  I 
should  have  held  to  be  a  pitiful  act  of  mean- 
ness, I  on  one  occasion  took  them  to  a  jewel- 
ler, and  having  learned  their  real  value,  my 
suspicions  were  aroused.  Still  I  did  not,  I 
could  not  believe  her  to  be  false.  I  felt, 
indeed,  sure  that  she  had  been  tempted,  nay, 
that  she  was  then  on  the  brink  of  destruc- 
tion; but  so  implicit  was  the  confidence  I 
had  been  accustomed  to  repose  in  her,  had 
she  then  simply  stated  that  her  eyes  had 
been  opened,  and  thenceforth  concealed 
those  jewels  from  my  sight,  I  should  have 
felt  quite  convinced  that  she  had  returned 
them  to  the  villain,  and  should  have  held 
her  to  my  heart  more  fondly  than  ever.  She 
was  not,  however,  sufficiently  subtle  for 
this.  Instead  of  striving  to  allay  my  sus- 
picions by  the  invention  of  falsehoods,  the 
very  moment  I  alluded  to  the  subject — al- 
though I  did  it  with  all  possible  calmness 
and  delicacy — she  assailed  me  with  a  vio- 
lent burst  of  passion,  of  which  I  never  be- 
fore supposed  her  to  be  capable.  She  would 
submit  to  no  dictation  in  a  matter  of  this 
kind!  She  would  not  suffer  any  such  unman- 
ly interference!  She  would  wear  what  she 
pleased:  she  would  receive  what  presents 
she  pleased,  and  that,  too,  from,  whomso- 
ever she  pleased! — and,  having  expressed 
herself  loudly  and  indignantly  to  this  effect, 
she  bounced  with  a  look  of  contempt  from 
the  room,  leaving  me  in  a  state  of  amaze- 
ment. My  friend:  that  very  night  she  left 
me! — left  me  without  another  word! — taking 
with  her  our  two  dear  children — the  sweetest 
innocents  that  were  ever  sent  as  a  blessing 
to  man.  Had  she  allowed  them  to  remain, 
I  might  have  borne  the  rest  in  silence.  Con- 
scious of  her  guilt,  I  might  not  have  pur- 
sued her;  but,  as  it  was,  1  made  every  pos- 
sible exertion  to  discover  her  retreat,  with 
a  view  to  the  restoration  of  my  children. 
For  weeks,  for  months  I  was  unsuccessful. 
I  searched  in  every  place  in  which  I  con- 


ceived it  to  be  even  remotely  probable  she 
had  concealed  herself;  but  no;  every  effort 
was  unavailing,  every  hope  of  recovering 
my  little  ones  withered.  I  became  a  wretch- 
ed being;  I  felt  that  I  had  for  ever  lost  all 
that  I  cared  for  on  earth:  and  was  then  reck- 
less even  of  life.  At  length,  however,  I 
received  information  of  her  having  been 
seen  in  the  neighborhood  of  Knightsbridge, 
and  to  Knightsbridge  I  went  accordingly, 
day  after  day,  walking  through  and  through 
the  place  from  morning  till  night  without 
success,  until  nearly  a  month  had  elapsed, 
when  I  saw  her  one  evening  at  a  window, 
with  my  children  by  her  side.  The  recog- 
nition was  not  mutual,  and  I  did  not  then 
wonder  at  it  much,  for  I  had  become  quite 
careless  of  rny  dress  and  person,  and  looked, 
if  possible,  more  wretched  than  now.  I 
went,  however,  instantly  to  the  door,  and 
knocked  loudly.  I  knew  not  for  whom  to 
inquire,  but  the  fact  of  her  being  in  the 
house  was  sufficient,  and  having  said,  I 
know  not  what,  to  the  servant,  who  seemed 
satisfied,  1  made  my  way  at  once  into  the 
room,  at  the  window  of  which  she  had  been 
standing.  As  I  entered,  she  was  drawing 
down  the  blinds,  and  turned  instantly  to 
welcome,  not  me,  but  the  villain  whom  she 
expected.  On  perceiving  me,  however,  she 
stopped,  as  if  struck  with  paralysis.  She 
knew  me  in  a  moment;  but  uttered  no  word. 
I  demanded  my  children,  and  she  dropped 
upon  her  knees,  with  the  view  of  pressing 
them  more  closely  to  her  bosom.  It  was  a 
sight  I  could  scarcely  endure.  I  could  not 
attempt  to  tear  them  forcibly  from  her,  far 
they  clung  to  her  as  firmly  as  she  clung  to 
them.  Still,  still  I  was  resolved  to  have 
my  children.  1  demanded  them  again:  she 
made  no  reply;  she  was  pale,  deadly  pale, 
and  trembled  violently,  but  would  not  give 
utterance  to  a  word.  I  spoke  to  them,  to 
my  children,  to  my  own  dear  little  ones;  I 
called  them  by  name: — I  was  not  their  papa: 
their  papa  would  not  be  home  till  by  and 
by!  Maddened  at  this,  I  determined  at 
once  to  separate  them  from  her;  but,  before 
I  could  accomplish  this  object,  the  very 
miscreant  rushed  into  the  room,  when  I 
turned  to  fix  upon  him.  I  sprang  at  his 
throat,  but  I  had  lost  my  wonted  strength. 
He  shook  me  off,  and,  having  reached  a 
case  of  pistols  that  happened  to  be  then 
upon  the  table,  he  seized  one,  and  presented 
it  firmly  at  my  head.  In  an  instant  my 
wretched  wife  flew  to  him,  in  order  to  in- 
duce him  not  to  fire;  but,  having  by  this 
time  got  the  other  pistol  in  my  grasp,  I 
called  upon  her  loudly  to  stand  aside.  I 
could  have  shot  him  dead,  with  less  remorse 
than  1  would  a  dog;  but  I  could  not  shoot 
even  him  through  her!  Again,  therefore, 


254 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


and  again,  T  called  upon  her  to  stand  aside.  I  anxious:     I  care  but  little,  indeed,   about 
She  would  not.      She  would  cling  to  him  (  what  has  become  of  her;  but  my  soul  yearns 


still! — when,  taking  a  deliberate  aim  over 
her  shouldor,  he  fired,  and  I  fell.  The  ball 
entered  my  breast,  but,  though  utterly  pow- 


to  hear  of  my  children.' 

"  Well,  who  knows!"  exclaimed  Uncle 
John — "  you  may  hear  of  them  still!     You 


erless,  I  was  not  insensible:  I  remember  all  \  may  see  them — they  may  yet  be  a  comfort 
that  occurred  from  first  to  last,  as  distinctly  !  to  you,  my  friend,  and  a  blessing.  Who 
as  if  it  had  happened  but  yesterday.  It  knows! — But  your  property:  what  became 
will,  however,  be  sufficient  to  state,  that  I  j  of  that1?" 

was  lified  upon  abed,  where  I  remained  for  "Not  a  vestige  remains.  It  consisted 
nearly  three  hours  bleeding — that  I  was  j  entirely  in  houses,  of  which  every  one,  I 
visited  then  by  two  persons,  for  whom  the  •  have  ascertained,  was  immediately  sold. — 
miscreant  had  started  soon  after  I  had  fallen  j  I  have  claimed  them  all,  and  the  answer  in 
— and  that,  having  dressed  my  wound,  each  case  has  been  the  production  of  the 
which  they  had  pronounced  not  dangerous,  title.  He  who  was  my  solicitor  is  dead; 
they  removed  me  at  once  to  a  lunatic  asy- '  but  I  have  learned,  from  a  man  who  was 
lum,  as  one  who  had  made  a  desperate  at-  j  formerly  my  servant,  that  the  sales  were 
tempt  upon  his  own  life!  While  on  the  effected,  in  every  instance,  by  that  wretch 
way  I  knew  not  at  all  where  I  was  going;  whom  I  hope  to  meet  again,  before  I  sink 
and  if  I  had  known,  it  would  have  been  '  into  the  grave.  I  should  know  him  were  I 
useless,  for  I  had  then  no  power  to  offer  |  to  see  him  even  now.  Never  shall  I  forget 
any  resistance;  but  the  moment  I  entered  his  scowling,  villanous  aspect." 


the  asylum  I  saw  through  the  infamous 
scheme,  and  considered  myself  a  lost  man. 
With  all  the  strength  that  remained  to  me, 
I  demanded  to  know  by  whose  authority 
they  had  acted.  The  demand  was  regarded 
with  utter  contempt.  I  begged  earnestly 
then,  as  a  favor,  to  be  informed.  As  a 
favor  they  showed  me  the  certificate.  My 
friend — it  had  been  signed  by  my  wife!  — 
God  forgive  her!  There  was  I,  stolen  for 
ever,  as  I  imagined,  from  society,  a  poor, 
wretched,  broken-hearted  creature,  writh- 
ing, moreover,  with  physical  agony,  with- 
out a  friend  with  whom  to  communicate — 
without  a  single  soul  who  cared  for  me 
knowing  where  I  was;  and  there  T  remained 
for  nearly  fifteen  years,  subjected  to  every 
conceivable  species  of  brutality,  deprived 
of  every  thing — even  of  my  name;  for,  as 
they  insisted  from  the  first  upon  calling 
me  Whitelv  instead  of  Whitbread,  I  adopt- 
ed it  in  order  to  avoid  annoyance,  and  have 
ever  since  answered  to  the  name  of  Whitely, 
as  if  it  were  really  rny  own." 

"To  say,"  said  Uncle  John,  "  that  I  am 
amazed,  were,  indeed,  but  a  weak  expres- 


Have  you  no  knowledge  at  all  of  who 
he  was,  or  what  he  was?" 

"  Not  the  slightest.  I  should  say  that 
he  was  a  dealer  in  diamonds,  or  a  jeweller, 
or  something  of  that  sort.  That  he  was 
wealthy  there  can  be  no  doubt;  but,  although 
he  was  dressed  in  the  highest  style  of  the 
day,  he  was  the  vilest,  the  most  vulgar, 
low-bred  scoundrel  I  ever  met  with." 

"The  jewels!— the  jewels  did  it  all!" 
cried  Uncle  John.  "  But  I  am,  neverthe- 
less, astonished  that  so  intelligent,  so  ac- 
complished a  creature  should  have  connected 
herself  with  a  fellow  so  illiterate." 

"My  friend,"  said  Whitely,  "  be  asto- 
nished at  nothing  a  woman  may  do,  when 
she  yields  up  her  virtue.  If  once  she  be 
guided  by  the  spirit  of  wickedness,  she  will 
elope  with  a  sweep  or  a  satyr.  Every 
quality,  which  she  before  highly  prized, 
becomes  nothing  in  her  esteem  then.  The 
very  loveliest  will  cling  to  wretches  the 
most  shrivelled  and  withered:  the  most 
highly  accomplished  will  connect  them- 
selves with  boors.  Then  all  considerations 
of  intellect  and  honor  are  lost:  every  feel- 


eion  of  what  1  feel.     But  what  became  of   ing  is  merged  in  the  mere  gratification  of 
her,  my  friend!  what  became  of  her1?  " 


their  infamous  passions,  for  when  a  woman 
becomes  wicked,  she  is  wicked  indeed." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Uncle  John — "  very 

in  my  grave — it  was  utterly  impossible  for  j  true."     And   this  was  all  he  did  say;  for 
me  to  learn;  nor  have  I,  since  my  escape,  I  the  circumstances  related  by  Whitely  had 


T,  my  t 

44  While  there — shut  out,  as  I  was,  from 
the  world,  as  completely  as  if  I  had  been 


been  able  to  ascertain  whether  she  is,  at 


so  amazed  him,  that  he  ran  them  over  and 


this  present  moment,  dead  or  alive.  I  have  over  again  in  his  mind,  while  Valentine, 
inquired  of  the  few  that  remain  on  earth  by  upon  whom  they  had  made  a  deep  impres- 
whom  I  was  known,  but  can  obtain  no  in-  sion,  had  no  disposition  to  break  that  silence 
formation  either  of  her  or  of  the  children,  which  throughout  the  remainder  of  the  even- 
It  is  my  children,  my  friend,  for  whom  I  am  ing  prevailed. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


255 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 


SHOWS    HOW    VALENTINE    TRIED    AN   EXPERIMENT    IN   THE    HOUSE    OF    LORDS    AND    FAILED. 


IF  he  who  was  the  first  to  abuse  his  fellow 
man,  instead  of  knocking  out  his  brains 
without  a  word,  laid  thereby  the  basis  of 
civilization,  it  as  naturally  as  possible  fol- 
lows, that  the  more  highly  civilised  we 
become,  the  more  bitterly  abusive  we  must 
be;  and  if  this  bright  deduction  be  perfectly 
sound,  we  may  infer,  without  straining  the 
imagination  much,  that  we  are  now  fast 
approaching  the  very  perfection  of  civiliza- 
tion, which,  of  course,  is  a  very  great  bless- 
ing. 

Now,  in  a  land  of  liberty  like  this,  in 
which  every  public  man,  being  held  to  be 
public  property,  is  abused  precisely  as  the 
generous  public  please,  it  is  by  no  means 
an  unusual  thing  for  public  men  to  be  con- 
sidered queer  creatures  in  the  aggregate,  by 
those  who  have  derived  their  information 
on  the  subject  from  gentlemen  who  write 
satires,  draw  caricatures,  and  fulminate 
political  philippics,  and  hence  it  will  not  be 
deemed  droll  that  Valentine — when  about  to 
pay  a  visit  to  the  House  of  Lords — should 
have  expected  to  behold  some  of  the  oddest 
individuals,  on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the 
other,  some  of  the  basest  and  most  palpably 
black-hearted  villains  that  ever  breathed. 

He  knew  that  the  artistes  in  question  were 
worshippers  of  virtue:  he  knew  that  at  that 
particular  period  they  were  a  peculiarly 
patriotic  species  of  people  in  the  lump;  but 
although  he  made  a  liberal  allowance  for  all 
this — taking  off,  perhaps,  something  like 
seventy  per  cent. — he  yet  thought  that  if, 
in  their  representations,  there  was  a  suffi- 
cient resemblance  to  identify  the  men,  the 
peers  of  the  realm  still  must  be  a  most  re- 
markable looking  lot. 

Well ! — having  been  engaged  all  the 
morning  with  the  solir.itor,  into  whose  hands 
poor  Goodman's  affairs  had  been  placed,  he 
happily  made  sufficient  interest  to  procure 
a  peer's  order,  and  went  alone  down  to  the 
House. 

There  was  an  air  of  what  Raven  would 
have  designated  "  beggarly  aristocracy" 
about  the  various  persons  in  attendance; 
but,  without  having  recourse  to  a  phrase  so 
harsh,  it  may  be  stated  with  perfect  truth, 
that  they  wero  on  excellent  terms  with  their 
own  individuals,  and  seemed  to  have  an 
amazingly  high  sense  of  their  position,  re- 
garding ha-ughtily  as  dirt  all  but  peers,  to 
whom  their  nature  compelled  them  to  cringe 
most  servilely. 

Of  course,  Valentine  smiled  as  he  passed, 


at  the  excessive  self-importance  of  these 
gentlemen;  but  the  smile  had  scarcely  quit- 
ted his  lips,  when  he  found  himself  actually 
within  the  Houss  of  Lords! — which  was 
very  surprising.  Instead,  however,  of  being, 
as  he  expected  to  have  been,  introduced  into 
a  gallery,  he  discovered  himself  on  the  floor 
of  the  House,  and  was  shown  into  some- 
thing which  seemed  to  be  a  superior  sort  of 
witness  box  in  a  corner,  while  behind  the 
bar  stood  a  number  of  persons,  who  looked 
as  if  they  were  about  to  be  tried  for  high 
treason. 

In  the  body  of  the  House  there  were  three 
individuals,  two  sitting  at  the  table  in  wigs, 
and  one  with  a  dress  sword  standing  beside 
them.  There  were  no  peers  then  present. 
It  was  not  five  o'clock.  But  they  entered 
in  a  body,  when  that  hour  arrived,  with  as 
much  punctuality  as  if  they  had  been  wait- 
ing to  hear  the  clock  strike.  As  they  en- 
tered, Valentine  looked  at  them  earnestly, 
but  he  really  was  unable  to  see  many  of 
those  oddities,  whose  appearance  he  had 
been  led  to  expect,  nor  could  he  discover 
any  creatures  whose  countenances  were  in- 
dicative of  any  peculiar  blackness  of  heart. 
On  the  contrary,  they  appeared  to  be  plain, 
mild,  unassuming  people;  and — with  the 
exception  of  the  Lord  Chancellor  and  the 
Bishops — were  dressed  with  remarkable 
simplicity.  Their  manners,  too,  were  gen- 
tle and  courteous.  There  was  not  even  the 
slightest  attempt  at  display.  They  con- 
versed in  the  most  familiar  strain;  and, 
indeed,  looked  as  much  like  other  men  aa 
possible. 

About  the  period  at  which  Valentine  ar- 
rived at  this  striking  conclusion,  the  busi- 
ness of  the  nation  commenced.  In  the  first 
place,  a  tall  and  startling  person  approached 
the  bar,  and,  addressing  the  Lord  Chancellor, 
delivered  himself  precisely  to  the  effect  that 
somebody  had  got  something.  He  then 
produced  a  little  gentleman — who  singu- 
larly enough  happened  to  have  some  im- 
portant documents  under  his  arm — and  made 
him  bow  three  times  with  due  distinctness 
and  humility,  before  he  took  his  oath  that 
all  he  meant  to  say  was  true. 

"  What  have  you  got  there?"  inquired 
the  Lord  Chancellor. 

The  gentleman  commenced  a  little  speech, 
that  was  understood  by  his  lordship  before 
it  was  delivered,  which  was  fortunate,  see- 
ing that  had  it  not  been  for  that,  it  would 
not  have  been  understood  at  all. 


256 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"  Have  yon  examined  them?"  demanded 
the  Lord  High  Chancellor. 

"Yes,  my  lord."    This  was  said  boldly. 

"  Do  you  find  them  correct?" 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  replied  the  little  gentle- 
man, who  spoke  np  again  like  a  man;  and, 
having  delivered  the  documents  in  question, 
retired,  highly  pleased  at  the  fact  of  the  job 
being  done. 

The  peers  now  commenced  the  presenta 
tion  of  petitions,  which  is  beyond  all  dis- 
pute the  most  interesting  portion  of  the 
business  of  the  House,  although  it  seems 
highly  rational  to  suppose,  that  there  would 
be  fewer  to  present  if  they,  by  whom  peti- 
tions generally  are  got  up  and  signed,  knew 
the  nstounding  effect  they  produced  when 
presented. 

"  My  lords,"  a  noble  peer  will  observe, 
with  surpassing  tranquillity,  "  Petition — 
Norwich — against — destruction — glorious 
constitution." 

"'Tetion,"  the  clerk  at  the  table  will 
then  echo — "  'Tetion — Norge — 'struction — 
glorse  constution." 

Such  petition — in  every  section  of  which 
there  may  be  an  argument  sound  as  a  nut 
— is  then  crushed  together  carelessly,  and 
thrown  under  the  table,  though  heaven  and 
earth  may  have  been  moved  to  obtain  sig- 
natures thereto. 

While  the  peers  were  thus  engaged  in 
the  performance  of  this  solemn  duty,  there 
was  a  movement  at  the  door  near  which 
Valentine  stood,  most  strikingly  indicative 
of  something.  Several  persons  ran  in,  ap- 
parently in  a  state  of  great  excitement;  and, 
having  glanced  round  and  round,  ran  out 
again,  for  the  purpose  of  bringing  in  others. 
The  majority  of  them  happened  to  have 
papers  in  their  possession,  but  they  all 
looked  as  if  they  had  discovered  some  hor- 
rible plot  against  the  State,  and  were  ex- 
cessively anxious  to  communicate  to  the 
House  all  they  knew  about  the  matter.  In 
this  state  of  feverish  anxiety  they  continued 
for  some  time;  but,  having  at  length  got 
themselves  together,  they  poured  some  great 
secrets  into  the  ear  of  the  person  with  the 
sword,  who  nodded,  as  if  he  was  not  at  all 
surprised  at  it,  and  then  approached  the  bar 
as  before. 

"  My  lords!" — said  he,  "  a  message  from 
the  House  of  Commons!" 

The  Lord  Chancellor  rose  and  at  once 
waddled  towards  them,  and  placed  the  re- 
spectable-looking carpet-bag  he  had  in  his 
hand  upon  the  bar;  and  when  one  of  the 
gentlemen  of  the  House  of  Commons  had 
delivered  to  him  a  document,  and  advised 
him,  as  it  seemed,  not  to  drop  it,  he  w;ul- 
dled  back  to  his  seat  as  they  retired  three 
paces  in  really  admirable  order. 


As  soon  as  this  job  had  been  accom- 
plished, the  person  with  the  sword  went 
again  to  the  bar,  and  said,  "  My  lords! — a 
message  from  the  House  of  Commons!" 

The  Lord  Chancellor  snatched  up  his 
carpet-bajr  again,  and  bowled  down  to  the 
bar  as  before,  and  having  received  another 
document  from  another  individual,  bowled 
back  wiih  that  sweet  satisfaction,  which 
springs  from  the  consciousness  of  having 
faithfully  performed  a  great  duty. 

"  My  lords!— a  message  from  the  House 
of  Commons!"  cried  the  person  with  the 
sword,  the  very  moment  his  lordship  had 
returned  to  the  table,  and  again  the  Lord 
Chancellor  took  up  his  bag — without  which 
he  appeared  to  be  unable  to  stir— and  again 
rolled  down  to  the  honorable  members.0 

Valentine  thought  it  a  little  too  bad  to 
make  his  lordship  trot  backwards  and  for- 
wards so  often,  when  they  might  just  as 
well  have  put  the  whole  of  their  documents 
into  his  carpet-bag  at  once.  He  did  not,  in 
fact,  like  to  see  a  Lord  Chancellor  played 
with,  and  run  off  his  legs  in  this  way,  and 
hence — perceiving  that  his  lordship  had  too 
much  politeness  to  say  a  word  about  the 
matter  himself,  although  he  evidently  felt  it 
very  deeply — he  threw  his  voice  behind  the 
deputation,  as  they  were  bowing,  and  said, 
"  Why  could  you  not  have  sent  them  all  in 
together?" 

The  members  seemed  startled  as  they 
turned  to  look  round,  and  the  person  with 
the  sword  cried  "  Order!" — and  looked  very 
fiercely  at  the  strangers  behind  the  bar,  of 
course  conceiving  that  one  of  them  had 
spoken.  The  members,  however,  eventu- 
ally again  reached  the  bag,  and,  having 
placed'the  third  document  upon  it,  Valen" 
tine,  making  his  voice  apparently  proceed 
from  the  lips  of  the  Lord  Chancellor, 
whispered  intensely,  "I  say! — have  you  got 
any  more?" 

"One  more,  my  lord — only  one  more," 
replied  an  honorable  member,  as  the  Lord 
High  Chancellor  looked  at  the  person  who 
stood,  embellished  with  a  bob  wig,  behind 
him  with  the  mace.  His  lordship,  how- 
ever, took  no  farther  notice,  but  bundled 
back  again  to  his  seat. 

"  My  lords!— a  message  from  the  House 
of  Commons!"  again  cried  the  deputy  ser- 
jeant,  and  again  the  Lord  Chancellor 
snatched  up  his  bag  and  came  down  to  the 
bar  with  due  presence  of  mind. 

"Now,  ta  this  the  last?"  inquired  Valen- 
tine, pitching  his  voice  towards  the  mace- 
bearer. 

"  Yes,  my  lord,  this  is  the  last." 

"  \\rli,  come,  that's  a  comfort." 

The  Lord  High  Chancellor  ngain  looked 
gravely  at  his  attendant,  and  hU  attendant 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


257 


looked  gravely  at  him.  His  lordship, 
however,  with  striking  forbearance,  said 
nothing,  but  having  bowed  very  profoundly, 
returned  to  his  sack. 

The  members  of  the  Commons  now  left 
the  House,  laughing,  and  the  person  with 
the  sword  distinctly  intimated  to  the  stran- 
gers, that  if  they  did  not  keep  quiet,  they 
should  not  remain.  Several  of  the  most 
prominent  protested  their  innocence,  and  all 
the  rest  were  very  ready  to  do  the  same 
thing;  but  that  was  perfectly  absurd,  he 
knew  better,  and  therefore  advised  them 
most  strongly  to  mind  what  they  were 
about. 

At  this  moment  a  noble  lord  rose,  for  the 
purpose  of  directing  the  attention  of  the 
House  to  some  measure  designed  expressly 
for  the  promotion  of  the  love  of  religion. 
He  commenced  in  a  quiet,  conversational 
tone,  as  if  anxious  to  reserve  all  his  power 
for  his  points;  but,  although  he  spoke 
fluently  for  nearly  an  hour,  he  ended  as 
coolly  as  he  began,  while  the  only  kind  of 
action  in  which  he  indulged  was  that  of 
occasionally  tapping  the  palm  of  his  left 
hand  with  two  of  the  fingers  of  his  right. 

The  very  moment  his  speech  had  been 
brought  to  an  end,  another  noble  Ion)  started 
up  to  denounce  it,  and  in  doing  so  his  vio- 
lence was  so  excessive,  that  at  times  he 
was  utterly  unable  to  express  the  indigna- 
tion with  which  his  bosom  swelled.  He 
looked  frightfully  at  the  noble  lords  oppo- 
site—showed his  teeth,  foamed  at  the  mouth, 
and  eventually  worked  himself  up  into  a 
passion  so  terrible,  that  the  noble  lords  op- 
posite actually  smiled!  This  made  him 
still  worse.  He  became  quite  hot:  and  the 
more  indistinct  his  articulation  grew,  the 
more  rapidly  he  rattled  away. 

"  I  wonder,"  thought  Valentine,  as  he 
listened  to  this  vehement  denunciation— "I 
wonder  if  it  be  possible  to  produce  a  scene 
here  at  all  like  the  one  I  witnessed  in  the 
House  of  Commons!"  On  reflection  he 
felt  that  it  was  not;  but,  being  anxious 
to  try  the  effect  of  an  attempt,  he  cried 
"  Question! — Down  ! — Down!" — throwing 
his  voice  behind  the  fulminating  peer,  who 
turned  in  an  instant  and  stopped.  The 
thing  was  really  so  unusual  that  the  noble 
lord  seemed  quite  struck!  Had  it  proceeded 
from  noble  lords  opposite,  why  then,  indeed, 
he  might  not  have  felt  so  much  amazed, 
although,  impious  as  they  all  were  in  his 
estimation,  he  had  never  heard  anything  so 
indecent  even  from  them;  but  the  idea  of 
being  thus  interrupted  by  noble  lords  on  his 
side  of  the  House — by  his  own  noble  friends 
—his  own  party— was  shocking!— he  held 
it  to  be,  indeed,  a  heavy  blow  and  a  great 
discouragement,  and  seemed  anxious  to 
23 


move  that  the  journals  of  the  House  be 
searched  for  a  precedent,  when  the  noble 
lords  around  him  said,  "  Go  on — go  on." 

"  Sit  down!"  cried  Valentine,  assuming 
a  totally  different  voice. 

"  Order!— order!  order!"  cried  the  peers 
on  both  sides;  for,  although  they  had  all 
had  enough  of  the  eloquence  of  the  noble 
lord  then  on  his  legs,  not  one  of  them  would 
even  by  his  silence  seem  to  sanction  an  in- 
terruption at  once  so  unusual  and  incon- 
venient. 

The  noble  lord  then  resumed.  He  seemed 
to  feel  a  little  better,  although  he  obviously 
could  not  forget  it.  "  My  lords,"  said  he, 
"  in  the  annals — " 

"Monstrous!"  cried  Valentine — "Why 
do  you  hear  him?" 

44  Order,  order,  order!"  cried  the  peers 
simultaneously — "Order,  order,  order!" — 
and  again  they  looked  round,  with  the  view 
of  ascertaining  which  noble  lord  it  was. 

This,  in  the  House  of  Commons,  as  Va- 
lentine had  proved,  would  have  been  quite 
sufficient  to  produce  a  little  yelling;  but 
— albeit  party  feeling,  at  that  particular 
period,  ran  quite  as  high  there  as  it  did 
in  the  House  of  Commons — he  could  not 
get  a  single  peer  to  join  him.  He  was, 
on  the  contrary,  opposed  by  them  all.  Not 
one  would  lend  his  countenance  to  any  such 
proceeding.  They  were  absolutely  shocked 
at  the  interruption,  and  Valentine  at  length 
became  convinced  that  no  storm  could  be 
raised. 

This  was  the  only  Aiilure  he  had  ever  ex- 
perienced. In  every  other  place  his  success 
had  been  signal,  but  there  even  Faction 
itself  refused  to  aid  him;  even  Faction! — 
from  which  he  had  ever  before  derived  the 
most  prompt  and  effectual  assistance. 

But,  although  it  was  impossible  to  raise 
an  actual  storm,  was  it  equally  impossible 
to  shake  their  dense  gravity? 

Valentine  put  this  great  question  to  him- 
self, and  conceiving  it  to  be  a  point  which 
might  as  well  be  ascertained,  he  resolved 
at  once  to  bring  them  to  the  test. 

There  were  several  members  of  the  House 
of  Commons  at  the  bar.  They  had  been 
running  in  and  out  continually,  in  order  to 
hear  what  was  going  forward,  but  at  that 
particular  time  there  were  about  a  dozen 
present,  when  Valentine,  assuming  the 
voice  of  the  Deputy  Sergeant,  cried,  "  My 
lords! — a  message  from  the  House  of  Com- 
mons!" 

The  Lord  Chancellor  left  the  Woolsack, 
as  a  matter  of  course;  and,  with  character- 
istic dignity,  approached  the  bar,  with  the 
man  in  the  bob-wig  behind  him.  He 
thought  it  strange,  very  strange,  that  he 
should  have  been,  troubled  again,  but  he 


258 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


thought  it  stranger  still,  when,  on  reaching 
the  bar,  he  found  that  the  members  of  the 
Commons  had  no  message  to  deliver. 

"  It  is  a  mistake,  my  lord,"  said  the  De- 
puty Sergeant,  who  had  been  startled  by 
what  appeared  to  be  the  sound  of  his  own 
voice.  "It  must  have  been  one  of  the 
strangers." 


"  Let  the  strangers  withdraw,"  said  the 
Lord  High  Chancellor,  which  settled  the 
business  at  once,  for  the  strangers  were  ac- 
cordingly ordered  to  withdraw;  and  as  Va- 
lentine happened  to  be  one  of  the  strangers, 
of  course  he  withdrew  with  the  rest. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 


RETURNS  TO  WALTER  AND  HIS  AMIABLE    FAMILY,    WHOSE  POSITION  BECOMES  QUITE 

ALARMING. 


"  WHAT  is  that,  Governor? — what  have 
you  got  there?"  demanded  Horace,  as  he 
perceived  the  bright  countenance  of  his 
honored  father  fall,  while  perusing  a  re- 
markably legal-looking  letter,  which  had 
just  been  delivered  by  a  legal-looking  clerk. 
"  A  six-and-eightpenny  touch?" 

Walter  made  no  reply.  His  heart  was 
full,  and  he  sighed,  as  he  handed  the  letter 
to  Horace. 

"  Of  course," — said  Horace,  with  elevat- 
ed brows,  having  made  himself  master  of 
the  contents.  "  I  don't  know  what  you 
may  think  of  it,  Governor,  but  to  me  it  ap- 
pears to  be  very  much  like  the  beginning  of 
the  end!" 

"  I  knew,"  said  Walter,  "  by  my  dream 
last  night—" 

"  Oh,  blister  your  dreams!— your  dreams 
have  done  it  all.  We  should  not  have  been 
placed  in  this  blessed  position,  but  for  your 
precious  hypochondriacal  dreams.  I  knew 
how  it  would  be,  the  very  moment  you  took 
to  dreaming.  I  saw  the  whole  business, 
and  told  you  all  about  it,  directly  I  per- 
ceived that  you  were  phantomised  like  a 
fool.  So  you  can't  blame  me.  You  would 
have  your  own  way.  You  would  be  guided 
by  your  own  morbid  nob,  and  what's  the 
consequence?  Why,  after  having  lived  in  a 
state  of  spectralisation,  frizzled  up  to  cinder, 
and  reduced  to  helpless  wretchedness,  here 
you  are,  with  palsied  nerves  and  a  shat- 
tered constitution,  without  twopence  in  the 
world  to  call  your  own!  Had  you  listened 
to  reason;  had  you  taken  my  advice;  had 
you  kept  the  thing  dark,  or  even,  after  you 
had  thrown  a  light  upon  it,  had  you  sent 
the  old  man  to  another  den  in  another  name, 
which  you  ought  to  have  done—" 

"It  matters  not,"  said  Walter,  "what 
ought  to  have  been  done:  the  question  is, 
what's  to  be  done  now?" 

"  Well,  what's  to  be  done  now?  7  may 
just  as  well  sneeze  as  say  a  word  upon 


the  subject.     What  is  it  you  mean  to  do? 
What  do  you  propose?" 

"  I  don't  really  see  how  I  can  help  my- 
self." 

"  Don't  you?" 

"  The  property  must  be  given  up!" 

"  Governor! — Oh!  but  it's  just  like  you. 
Do  you  want  to  descend  into  the  region  of 
rags?  Do  you  want  to  see  mother  and 
yourself  in  the  workhouse,  and  Poll  and  me 
bawling  duetts  in  the  street?  Because  if 
you  do,  you'll  do  that." 

"  Why,  what  else  can  I  do?" 

"  What  else  can  you  do!  Start  off  to 
America,  Van  Dieman's  Land,  Nova  Scotia, 
or  any  other  place  upon  earth,  and  take  all 
you  have  with  you." 

"  Of  what  use  would  it  be  to  me  in  either 
of  those  places?" 

"  Can  you  not  turn  it  into  money?" 

"  Not  a  quarter  of  it,  unless  I  commit 
forgery." 

"  Well! — what  is  forgery  compared  with 
starvation?  But  without  that — turn  into 
cash  all  you  can,  and  let's  start.  They 
can't  stop  us— they  can't  do  a  single  thing 
with  us  in  less  than  two  months." 

"  But  the  letter  says,  that  all  must  be  de- 
livered up  immediately!" 

"  I  know  it:  what  of  that?     You  will  not 

give  it   up,  and  what  then?     They  bring 

their  action:  you  will  defend  it,  and  let  it  go 

i  to  trial.     Whyj  before  it  can  be  tried,  we 

i  can  be  ten  thousand  miles  off,  as  jolly  as 

possible." 

"  I  will  not  leave  my  country,"  said 
Walter. 

"  You  will  not  leave  your  country!  Well, 

that  is  a  start!     Why,  what  need  you  ran* 

for  your  country?     Do  you    imagine   that 

,  your  country  cares  about  you?     1  mean  to 

I  say,  that  it's  a  very  uncomfortable  country 

I  to  live  in,  without  either  money  or  friends. 
You'll  not  leave  your  country!" 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


259 


"  Besides,  Horace,  I  feel  that  1  cannot  be 
so  great  a  villain." 

"  That's  another  go!  Thus,  little  villains 
are  the  greatest,  because  they  are  villains 
to  themselves.  No  man  should  commence 
a  career  of  villany,  without  being  prepared 
to  go  through  with  it;  should  he  halt,  he 
and  his  family  must  suffer.  I  know  you 
have  no  wish  to  be  a  villain,  nor  have  I;  but 
then  you  see,  if  circumstances  prescribe 
acts  of  villany  in  spite  of  ourselves,  what 
are  we  to'  do?  Just  look  at  the  thing  as  it 
stands.  We  must  either  be  villains,  and 
live  in  a  style  of  comfort,  or  honest  men 
and  starve.  There  is  no  middle  course." 

"  Yes,  Horace,  there  is  a  middle  course, 
and  that  course  must  be  pursued.  Existing 
circumstances,  you  must  remember,  have 
been  created  by  ourselves,  and  can,  there- 
fore, afford  us  no  justification.  The  pro- 
perty must  be  given  up!" 

"  You  have  made  up  your  mind — I  hope 
to  be  forgiven  for  calling  it  a  mind — but 
such  as  it  is,  you  have 'made  it  up  to  that]" 

"  Horace! — Do  you  know  whom  you  are 
speaking  to1?" 

"  Yes!"  replied  Horace,  with  an  expres- 
sion of  bitterness — "  I  am  speaking  to  one 
who  confined  his  only  brother  in  a  lunatic 
asylum  to  gain  possession  of  his  property, 
and  who  is  now  about  to  reduce  himself 
and  family  to  beggary,  because  he  has  not 
courage  to  retain  it." 

Walter  shed  tears,  and  if,  to  a  man  who 
will  do  that  of  which  he  cannot  bear  to  be 
told,  a  word  even  from  a  stranger  be  suffi- 
ciently galling,  what  must  have  been  the 
feelings  of  this  father,  on  being  thus  re- 
minded by  his  son  that  he  was  a  villain! 

"  It  were  folly,"  resumed  Horace,  "  to 
mince  the  matter  now.  You  have  gone  too 
far  to  retreat,  without  involving  us  all  in 
ruin.  I  would  not  have  said  what  I  have 
said,  Governor,  but  that  I  am  anxious  to 
bring  you  to  a  sense  of  your  position.  You 
restore  this  property.  Well! — what  will  be 
the  consequence?  Rags.  What  shall  we 
have  to  live  upon?  Nothing.  You  have 
given  up  your  berth,  from  which  we  derived 
the  only  means  we  had  of  keeping  body  and 
soul  at  all  peaceably  together,  while  there 
isn't  a  single  creature  in  the  world  from 
whom  we  have  any  right  to  claim  assistance. 
As  to  friends! — they  are  all  very  well,  and 
very  pleasant,  when  you  are  rich,  but  a 
man  has  no  friends  when  he  is  poor.  They 
are  too  wide  awake:  although  blind  before 
to  his  vices  and  crimes,  their  eyes  become 
marvellously  open.  Independently,  there- 
fore, of  being  beggars,  we  shall  have — for 
this  affair  is  quite  sure  to  be  known — we 
shall  have  the  pleasing  consciousness  of 
being  regarded  as  scoundrels  and  thieves 


by  the  world — so  completely  and  so  sud- 
denly does  poverty  change  a  good  fellow 
into  an  unrivalled,  unsightly  rogue.  Look 
at  the  thing  in  this  light,  Governor,  and 
then  you'll  perceive  what  madness  it  would 
be  to  give  up  all  with  the  view  of  satisfying 
that  time-serving  hypocrite,  conscience." 

"  But  do  you  think,"  said  Walter—"  do 
you  really  think  my  brother  would  ever  al- 
low us  to  starve?" 

"Why,  what  else,"  returned  Horace, 
"  have  we  the  smallest  conceivable  right  to 
expect?  Can  you  expect  affection  from  him 
now?  or  do  you  suppose  that  he  can  be  de- 
luded into  the  belief  that  he  ought  to  be 
grateful  to  us  for  having  delivered  him  from 
the  asylum?  But  even  supposing  that  he 
would  not  allow  us  to  starve — that  is,  sup- 
posing he  wouldn't  mind  giving  us  a  pound, 
if  he  saw  us  all  shivering  on  starvation's 
brink — what  if  he  were  suddenly  to  die — 
and  I  don't  think  he's  got  a  great  deal  of 
life  in  him,  which  makes  me  so  mad,  for  in 
less  than  a  month  we  should  have  had  to 
put  on  mourning,  when  all  would  have  been 
secured — but  what,  I  say,  if  he  were  to  die, 
where  should  we  be  then?  Do  you  think 
it  at  all  likely  that  he  has  allowed  his  old 
will  to  remain  as  it  was?  Is  it  likely  at  all 
that  he'll  leave  us  a  shilling?" 

"  We  cannot  know  what  he  may  do." 

"  But  is  it  likely?  It  isn't  as  if  he  were 
now  well  affected  towards  us.  See  how  I 
— even  /—am  treated  when  I  call,  as  I  have 
done  twice  a-day  ever  since,  arid  that  with 
all  the  regularity  of  the  clock.  He'll  not 
see  me.  He's  '  much  the  same,  thank  you,' 
but  never  to  be  seen.  If  I  could  only  get 
at  him,  to  tell  him  how  affectionately 
anxious  I  have  been  on  his  account,  and 
how  dreadfully  delighted  I  should  be  to  see 
him  perfectly  restored,  I  should  make  some- 
thing of  him;  but  as  it  is,  I  may  just  as  well 
get  up  that  chimney,  and  smother  myself 
in  soot  twice  a-day,  as  go  there.  I  meet 
with  no  sort  of  politeness,  no  ceremony,  not 
a  bit.  They  answer  me  at  once,  without 
quitting  the  door.  I  did  make  the  old 
woman  go  up  this  morning,  but  even  then 
Mr.  Goodman  could  not  be  seen:  he  felt 
obliged  by  my  calling  so  frequently,  but 
would  feel  more  obliged  if  I  wouldn't  call 
at  all.  So  you  see,  we  are  bound,  in  strict 
justice  to  ourselves,  to  take  care  of  ourselves. 
He'll  not  leave  us  anything.  It  isn't  to  be 
expected." 

'*  I  think  he  will,"  said  Walter— "I  still 
think  he  will.  Knowing  him  so  well  as  I 
do,  I  cannot  believe  that  he  will  allow  us  to 
become  utterly  destitute." 

"  How  ever  a  man  can  thus  struggle  to 
deceive  himself,"  said  Horace,  "is  to  me  a 
perfect  mystery.  There  isn't  a  shade  of 


260 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


probability  about  it.  And  if  even  there 
were,  what  madness  it  would  be  to  run  the 
risk!  Look  at  it  in  this  point  of  view.  Of 
course,  you  will  admit  that  he  may  not  leave 
us  anything,  and  if  he  should  not,  what  then 
can  we  do?" 

Horace  paused,  for  he  felt  that  he  had 
made  a  deep  impression;  but  Walter,  whom 
conscience  had  tortured  so  remorselessly, 
would  not  be  convinced.  He  had  proved 
the  benevolence  of  his  brother's  disposition: 
he  knew  well  the  goodness  of  his  heart;  and 
although  he  was  unable,  for  an  instant,  to 
disguise  from  himself  the  fact  of  his  having 
injured  him  deeply  and  most  unnaturally, 
he  still  felt  persuaded  that  the  injury  would 
be  forgiven,  and  hence  eventually  said,  "  I 
will  trust  him." 

44  You  will?"  cried  Horace,  starting  up 
in  a  rage — "  I  am  to  understand  this  to  be 
your  fixed  determination?  You  are  deter- 
mined, quite  determined  to  pursue  this 
course?" 

"  I  am,"  said  Walter,  firmly. 

"Very  well;  very  well!  I  now  know 
how  to  act.  It  is  high  time  now  for  me  to 
look  to  myself.  I'll  not  be  ruined  by  you! 
I'll  not  be  dragged  down  to  the  lowest  pitch 
of  penury.  I'll  have  some  of  those  pa- 
pers." 

"  You  shall  not!"  cried  Walter. 

"  But  1  will!" 

"I  tell  you  not  one  shall  be  touched!" 

"And  I  tell  you  I'll  have  them!" 

44  Why,  you  insolent  scoundrel! — what 
do  you  mean,  sir? — what  do  you  mean?" 

44  That  all  the  papers  that  can  be  con- 
verted into  money  I'll  have?" 

44  You  shall  not  have  one  of  them,  sir!" 

44  Who  will  prevent  me?" 

44 1  will!  Attempt  even  to  touch  them, 
and  I'll  knock  you  down,  rascal!"  cried 
Walter,  who,  as  Horace  smiled  contemptu- 
ously, rose  in  an  instant. 

44 Now,  keep  off,"  cried  Horace;  "you 
had  better  not  come  near  me!  I  don't  want 
to  hurt  you!  Keep  off!" 

Regardless  of  this  warning,  Walter  rushed 
at  him  wildly,  when  Horace  caught  his 
arms,  and,  having  pinioned  them,  threw 
him  at  once  upon  the  sofa. 

44  What,  in  the  name  of  goodness,  is  the 
matter?"  cried  Walter's  wife,  who  rushed 
into  the  room  at  this  moment — u  what  is  it? 
— what's  the  meaning  of  it? — what's  it  all 
about?" 

44  Why,  this  old  cripple " 

44  How  dare  you?"  interrupted  Mrs.  Wal- 
ter— 44how  dare  you  call  your  father  an  old 
cripple,  sir? — are  you  not  ashamed  of  your- 
self? Let  him  get  tip  sir,  this  moment!" 

44  Oh,  he  may  get  up! — but  I'm  not,  you 
know,  going  to  be  pommelled!" 


44  But  what  is  the  cause  of  it?  What 
does  it  all  mean?" 

44  Why,"  said  Horace,  "  the  meaning  of 
it  all  is  simply  this:  he  has  taken  it  into  his 
head  to  reduce  us  to  beggary,  and,  because 
I  won't  have  it,  he  must  try  to  knock  me 
down." 

44  But  how?— By  what  means?" 

4' Why,  by  stripping  us  naked  of  every 
thing  we  have,  that  he  may  send  all  back 
to  his  brother." 

44  Well,  but  surely  you  can  talk  this  un- 
fortunate matter  over  without  fighting! — 
Come,  my  dear,  draw  to  the  table,  and  let 
us  see  what  can  be  done." 

44 1  will  not  be  thus  treated,"  cried  Wal- 
ter, "  by  my  own  flesh  and  blood.  1  will 
not  be  insulted  by  that  villain!" 

44  He  who  taught  me  to  be  a  villain — " 

44  Horace,  Horace!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wal- 
ter, 44  recollect  yourself,  sir!" 

44  Well,  why  can't  he  be  easy?  I  don't 
want  to  quarrel.  I'd  rather  go  and  have  a 
roll  in  the  mud,  ten  to  one;  but  it's  a  hard 
thing—" 

44  Well,  well,  your  father  didn't  mean  it, 
I  know. — Come,  let  us  talk  the  matter  over 
calmly.  What  is  it,  my  dear,  you  mean  to 
do?  Have  you  made  up  your  mind  to  re- 
store all  to  your  brother?" 

44 1  have." 

44  Well  then,  now,  my  dear,  let  us  con- 
sider how  shocking  that  will  be.  In  the 
first  place,  how  are  we  to  live? — " 

44  Of  course! — that's  the  way  to  put  it." 

44  Be  silent,  Horace:  let  us  be  quite  calm 
and  cool,  for  the  thing  now  begins  to  as- 
sume a  serious  aspect.  If,  I  ask,  this  pro- 
perty of  your  brother  be  restored  to  him, 
how — that  being  now  our  only  means  of 
support — how  are  we  to  live?"  " 

44  We  must  do  the  best  we  can,"  replied 
Walter. 

44  Do  the  best  we  can!  Yes,  dear,  but 
what  can  we  do?  You  have  no  profession: 
Horace  has  no  profession;  and,  therefore,-! 
really  cannot  see  how  on  earth  we  shall  be 
able  to  manage!" 

44  Then  you  also  think  that  he  would  do 
nothing  for  us?" 

44  Why,  my  dear,  place  yourself  in  the 
same  position:  what  would  you  do  under 
similar  circumstances?" 

44  But  he's  a  different  man  to  me  alto- 
o-eiher.  What  I  would  do,  therefore,  can 
air»nl  no  criterion." 

44  But,  granting  that  he  is  a  different  man, 
what  grounds  have  we  for  believing  that  ho 
will  not  discard  us?  We  have  no  grounds 
for  any  such  belief.  On  the  contrary,  since 
his  liberation  he  has  given  us  every  reason 
to  believe  that  he  will.  He  may  be  and 
doubtless  is  of  a  generous  and  forgiving  dis- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


261 


position;  but  you  see,  my  dear,  the  question 
is,  will  he,  under  the  circumstances,  feel 
himself  justified  in  doing  anything  for  u si 
If  he  should  not,  Heaven  only  knows  what 
will  become  of  us,  or  how  shall  we  manage 
to  exist." 

"  Depend  upon  it  Tie  will  never  allow  us 
to  starve!" 

"  No,  dear,  perhaps  not;  but  how  dread- 
ful will  be  our  sufferings  before  we  reach 
the  point  of  starvation!" 

"  Besides,"  said  Horace,  "  if  I  may  speak 
— he'll  be  dead  in  about  a  fortnight;  and, 
therefore,  as  we  have  it,  we  may  as  well 
keep  it  as  not.  What  I  look  at  most  is,  that 
that  fellow — that  Valentine— should  be  en- 
riched by  our  folly;  for,  of  course,  he'll  have 
it  all,  there's  no  doubt  about  that,  and, 
therefore,  nothing  can  be  clearer  than  that 
by  giving  it  up  to  the  old  man  we  in  reality 
give  it  up  to  him." 

"Exactly,"  said  Mrs.  Walter,  "and  as  I 
have  said  again  and  again,  it  will,  indeed, 
be  a  shocking  thing  if,  after  having  tried 
all  these  years  to  secure  it,  it  should  be  left 
to  a  person  who  has  done  nothing  for  it, 
and  who  has,  therefore,  no  right  to  it  what- 
ever." 

"  But  how  do  we  know  he  will  die  so 
soon"? — how  can  we  tell?" 

"  Very  true,  dear;  we  cannot  exactly  tell; 
but  then  it  appears  that  the  chances  are  in 
our  favor." 

"And  do  you  think  that  he'd  die  and 
leave  us  nothing1?" 

"  Why,  he  might  not,  my  dear;  but  if  he 
should?  What  in  the  name  of  goodness 
should  we  be  able  to  do  then!  There 
should  we  be  starving,— I  know  we  should 
starve,  for  we  cannot  work  like  those  who 
have  been  used  to  it  all  their  lives, — there 
I  say  we  should  be  starving,  while  others 
who  have  no  earthly  right  to  it  are  living 
luxuriously  upon  that  which  we  clearly 
ought  to  have.  Why,  my  dear,  it  would  be 
terrible!  For  goodness  sake  look  again  at 
the  matter  before  you  decide." 

"  Then  you  too  would  have  me  continue 
to  be  a  villain!" 

"  Nay,  my  dear,  that  is  a  most  unkind 
word;  and  equally  unkind  is  it  of  you  to 
suppose  that  I  wish  you  to  be  anything  of 
the  sort.  Heaven  knows  I  am  sorry — as 
indeed  we  must  all  be — truly  sorry  that  you 
were  induced  to  go  so  far;  but  as  it  is,  I 
look  solely  at  the  circumstances  which  at 
present  exist,  and  I  really,  my  dear,  cannot 
see  how  under  those  circumstances,  you  can 
act  as  you  propose  without  reducing  us  to 
absolute  wretchedness." 

"I  wish  that  I  was  dead!"  exclaimed 
Walter;  "  I  heartily  wish  that  I  was  dead!" 

"  Nay,  that  is  mere  folly." 


"Just  like  him,"  said  Horace;  "he  never 
could  grapple  with  a  difficulty  in  order  to 
surmount  it.  The  very  moment  it  appears 
he  must  wish  himself  dead." 

"  Well,  well;  wishing  that  will  not  at  all 
mend  the  matter;  nor  shall  we  do  much 
good  by  dwelling  upon  the  point.  The 
question  is,  will  it  be  better  under  the  pre- 
sent unhappy  circumstances  to  retain  what 
we  have  at  all  hazards,  or  by  giving  it  up 
at  once  to  run  the  risk  of  involving  our- 
selves in  utter  ruin'?  For  my  part — although 
I  should  be  but  too  happy  to  advise  the  im- 
mediate restoration  of  all  if  it  were  possible 
to  do  it  with  safety  to  ourselves — I  do  not 
perceive  how  it  can  be  done  now  without 
the  result,  as  far  as  we  are  concerned,  being 
dreadful.  We  are  placed  you  see,  rny  dear, 
in  so  peculiar  a  position.  I  would  go  my- 
self at  once  to  your  brother;  but  then  what 
could  I  say1?  I  could  not  ask  him  to  com- 
promise the  matter.  I  could  not  say  to  him, 
'  Indeed,  we  are  truly  sorry  for  what  has 
occurred,  and  will  restore  all  that  belongs 
to  you  if  you  will  kindly  undertake  to  allow 
us  so  much  a-year!' — nor  can  I  ask  what  he 
intends  to  do  for  us  when  we  have  made  an 
unconditional  surrender.  I  might  indeed 
say,  '  I  do  hope  that  you  will  consider  our 
unfortunate  position:  I  trust  that  our  desti- 
tute circumstances  will  induce  you  to  save 
us  from  absolute  want;'  but,  although  I 
might  say  this  and  dwell  with  great  feeling 
upon  each  point,  the  very  moment  he  alluded 
to  the  cause  of  my  appeal  1  should  be  dumb, 
so  that  you  see,  my  dear,  we  cannot  act  in 
this  case  as  we  might  in  any  other.  We 
must  of  necessity  take  one  of  two  courses, 
that  is  to  say,  we  must  either  retain  what 
we  have,  and  deYend  the  possession  in  the 
best  way  we  can,  or  give  up  all,  and  be 
thereby  reduced  to  destitution." 

"  1  tell  you,"  cried  Walter,  "  that  it  isn't 
at  all  likely  that  we  shall  be  thus  re- 
duced." 

"  But,  my  dear!  what  security  have  we 
against  it!  We  have  none.  We  can  have 
none.  It  is  a  terrible  risk,  and  one  which 
ought  not  on  any  account  to  be  incurred. 
Now,  if  I  might  advise,  I  should  say,  dear, 
convert  all  you  can  into  money  at  once,  re- 
store all  that  is  not  available,  and  retire  to 
some  distant  part  of  the  country.  We 
could  assume  another  name,  and  1  am  sure 
that  we  should  live  very  happily:  at  all 
events,  we  should  not  have  starvation  before 
our  eyes,  which  is  really  very  shocking, 
dear,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it!  How- 
ever, I  will  not  tease  you  any  more  now; 
we  will  leave  you  to  yourself,  and  I  do  h«pe 
and  trust — indeed  I  feel  quite  convinced — 
that,  when  you  have  thought  the  matter 
over  again,  you  will  see  how  really  abso- 

23* 


262 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


lute  the  necessity  is  for  reversing  your  ex- 
pressed determination." 

Even  when  he  feels  most  sincerely  anx- 
ious to  do  so,  how  exceedingly  difficult  is 
it  for  a  man  who  has  quitted  the  path  of 
honesty  to  return!  Like  a  liar,  whom  the 
first  falsehood  prompts  with  a  show  of  ne- 
cessity to  He  on,  he  creates,  by  the  first 


crime,  circumstances  which  urge  him  to 
proceed  in  his  criminal  career.  Walter, 
base  as  he  had  been,  was  most  anxious  to 
make  all  the  reparation  in  his  power.  He 
would  have  given  up  all  and  trusted  solely 
to  his  brother's  generosity,  but  the  circunv 
stances  which  his  crime  had  created  induced 
him  to  pause. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 


GOODMAN   HOLDS   A   CONSULTATION   WITH    HIS    FRIENDS,  AT  WHICH    UNCLE    JOHN    FINDS    HIS 

JUDGMENT    FETTERED. 


WHILE  Walter  was  brooding  over  the 
prominent  points  of  the  interesting  conver- 
sation detailed  in  the  preceding  chapter, 
with  the  view  of  conceiving,  if  possible, 
some  medium  course,  the  pursuit  of  which, 
while  it  in  some  degree  satisfied  his  con-  \ 
science,  might  meet  at  least  half-way  the 
views  of  his  amiable  family,  his  deeply  in- 
jured brother  was  engaged  with  Valentine, 
Uncle  John,  and  Whitely,  in  a  discussion 
which  had  reference  to  the  propriety  of  j 
framing  a  fresh  will.  Goodman  felt  the  ! 
hand  of  death  upon  him.  It  did  not  press 
painfully,  nor  with  sufficient  weight  to 
justify  the  apprehension  of  an  immediate 
dissolution;  but  his  frame  had  been  so  shat- 
tered, his  constitution  so  undermined  by 
the  brutal  treatment  he  had  experienced, 
that  he  had  become  quite  convinced,  that 
although  human  skill  might  enable  him  to  | 
linger  on  for  weeks  or  even  months,  that 
hand  would  never  more  be  removed  till  it 
had  crushed  him.  This  rendered  his  spirit  ' 
quite  calm.  Every  harsh,  every  irritable 
feeling  was  subdued.  He  held  it  to  be 
peculiarly  the  time  for  the  forgiveness  of 
injuries,  and  hence  his  benevolence  reigned 
in  the  ascendant.  Thus  actuated,  he  could 
not  deal  justice  to  Walter.  He  felt  that  it 
did  not,  in  fact,  come  then  within  his 
province  to  do  so:  nor  did  he  desire  to  leave 
him  to  his  own  conscience,  as  it  is  termed, 
seeing  that  that  would  be  in  effect  to  desire 
that  he  might  by  his  conscience  be  tortured. 
He  was  anxious  to  express  his  forgiveness 
— to  make  it  manifest  that' he  believed  him 
to  have  been  actuated,  not  by  any  innate 
vileness,  but  by  some  evil  influence,  over 
which  he  might  not  at  the  moment  have 
had  entire  control.  He  did  all  he  possibly 
could  to  invent  excuses  for  him,  with  the 
view  of  establishing  a  show  of  justification; 
but  as  this  was  an  object  he  was  utterly 
unable  to  accomplish,  he  began  to  look,  not 
at  what  Walter  had  been,  but  at  what  he 


might  become.  He  conceived  that  his  re- 
pentance might  be  sincere,  that  he  might 
henceforth  be  virtuous,  and  that  therefore 
he  who  had  the  power  to  save  him  from 
those  temptations  to  dishonor,  with  which 
a  state  of  utter  destitution  teems,  would  not 
perform  his  duty  as  a  Christian,  if  he  per- 
mitted the  exercise  of  that  power  to  be 
withheld. 

It  was  while  in  this  charitable  frame  of 
mind  that  poor  Goodman  solicited  the 
advice  of  his  friends,  more  with  the  view, 
as  is  customary  with  those  who  seek  advice, 
of  having  the  satisfaction  of  inducing  them 
to  think  as  he  thought,  than  of  acting  upon 
their  suggestions.  He  could  not  but  feel 
that  they  would  at  first  be  inclined  to  be 
harsh — that  they  would  repudiate  the  idea 
of  his  pursuing  the  course  he  had  proposed, 
and  hence  when  he  inquired  if  they  did  not 
think  that  he  was  bound  to  let  his  will  re- 
main substantially  as  it  was,  he  was  not  at 
all  surprised  at  their  instant  reply  being, 
"Certainly  not!" 

"What!"  exclaimed  Whitely,  "would 
you  reward  the  wretch,  who  sought  to  rob 
you  by  means  so  unnatural,  with  wealth! 
Would  you  give  him  the  power  of  living  in 
luxury,  who  deprived  you  not  only  of  liber- 
ty but  of  health,  the  greatest  blessing  of 
life?  Rpflect  upon  what  you  have  endured 
— upon  the  dreadful  position  in  which  you 
were  placed — upon  the  monstrous  brutality 
to  which  you  have  been  subjected— and 
upon  the  result  of  that  brutality,  even  up  to 
the  present  time.  Who  induced  all  this? 
Why  he  whose  unnatural  malignity  and 
sordid  avarice  you  now  wish  to  gratify,  by 
leaving  him  all  that  you  possess!" 

"Whatever  he  may  have  been,"  observed 
Goodman,  "however  wrong  he  may  li.wo 
acted,  I  cannot  forget  that  he  is  my  brother." 

44  Nor  ought  you  to  forget  it,  for  that  in- 
creases his  guilt  a  thousand-fold.  You 
ought  to  regard  him  as  a  brother,  who 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


263 


violated  every  feeling  by  which  he  ought 
to  have  been  actuated  with  the  view  of  in- 
juring you,  and  who  thereby  sacrificed  all 
claim  upon  your  affections.  In  a  case 
of  this  description  the  admirable  precept 
which  urges  us  to  return  good  for  evil  may 
in  practice  be  carried  too  far.  You,  for 
instance,  would  set  a  most  pernicious  ex- 
ample, inasmuch  as  you  would  show  that, 
however  infamous  may  be  the  conduct  of  a 
man,  however  foul  and  unnatural  may  be 
his  designs,  he  may  practise  his  infamies 
with  impunity  upon  a  brother  if  that  brother 
possess  a  benevolent  heart.  Were  he  a 
brother  of  mine  I  would  discard  him  utterly: 
if  I  did  not  I  should  consider  that  I  had 
failed  in  performing  my  duty  to  society  as 
a  man." 

"  But  what  if  I  were  to  discard  him?" 
said  Goodman.  "  What  would  become  of 
his  family?  Ought  the  innocent  to  suffer 
for  the  guilty?" 

"  You  cannot  tell  that  they  are  innocent. 
His  family  may  be  as  guilty  as  himself, 
and  in  this  case  the  probability  is  that  they 
are.  But  even  supposing  that  they  are  not, 
what  would  become  of  justice  if  men  were 
not  to  be  punished  for  crimes,  lest  the 
punishment  should  be  felt  by  those  with 
whom  they  are  connected1?  If,  having  no 
proof  of  their  guilt,  you  could  punish  him 
without  involving  them,  you  would  be 
bound,  of  course,  to  do  so;  but  as  this  is 
under  the  circumstances  impossible,  justice 
demands  that  you  should  act  as  if  they 
were  not  concerned." 

44  But  would  not  that  object  be  to  some 
extent  attained,"  suggested  Valentine,  "if, 
instead  of  the  property  being  left  to  Walter, 
it  were  secured  to  his  wife,  and  the  wife  of 
Horace!" 

44  It  might,"  returned  Whitely,  '4  it  might 
thus  be  attained;  but  it  could  be  so  only  in 
the  event  of  the  women  being  unfaithful. 
If  they  continue  to  be  virtuous,  it  will  be 
of  slight"  importance,  it  will  matter  not 
whether  it  be  left  to  him  or  them;  it  is  only 
in  the  event  of  their  being  wicked  that  he 
can  suffer  from  such  an  arrangement;  and 
considering  how  frequently  women,  whose 
principles  of  virtue  are  not  fixed,  feel  the 
fact  of  their  being,  in  a  pecuniary  point  of 
view,  independent  of  their  husbands,  to  be 
an  additional  spur  to  an  indulgence  in 
vicious  practices,  I  never  should,  in  any 
case,  feel  myself  justified  in  advising  such 
an  arrangement  to  be  made.  No;  rather  let 
the  property  go  to  him  and  leave  his  punish- 
ment to  Heaven,  than  secure  it  so  as  to  ope- 
rate thus  as  an  additional  incentive  to  vice." 

44  But  do  you  not  think,"  said  Goodman, 
44  that  he  has  been  punished  sufficiently  al- 
ready!" 


44  Certainly  not,"  replied  Whitely.  44  He 
ought  to  be  hanged.  I  am  not  vindictive;  I 
hope  I  am  not  cruel;  but  a  man  like  that, 
sir,  deserves  to  be  burnt  alive." 

44  He  has  endured  a  far  greater  amount 
of  torture,"  rejoined  Goodman,  44  than  was 
ever  yet  endured  at  the  stake.  He  has  been 
burnt  alive!  He  has  been  burnt  until  re- 
duced to  a  state  of  insensibility,  and  then, 
when  death  could  have  given  him  no  addi- 
tional pang,  he  has  been  compelled  to  suffer 
those  exquisite  agonies  which  must  neces- 
sarily have  accompanied  his  gradual  resto- 
ration. And  this  I  attribute  entirely  to  the 
fact  of  his  having  so  deeply  injured  me;  for 
his  mind  was  in  consequence  so  diseased 
at  the  time  that  he  fancied  he  saw  me  in 
the  room.  I  therefore  cannot — even  looking 
at  him  only — feel  myself  justified  in  inflict- 
ing upon  him  the  additional  punishment  of 
utter  destitution,  and  when  I  look  at  those 
who  must  be  involved  in  his  ruin,  and  who 
may  have  been  innocent  even  of  the  know- 
ledge of  his  offence  until  the  last,  I  still 
think  that  I  cannot,  consistently  with  my 
duty  as  a  Christian,  do  aught  else  than  that 
which  I  propose.  But  what  is  your  opinion, 
my  friend?"  he  continued,  addressing  Uncle 
John.  44  You  have  been  silent!  Do  you 
think  that  1  shall  be  justified  in  reducing 
my  brother  and  his  family  to  abject  wretch- 
edness and  want?  Is  it  not  your  impression 
that  he  has  been  sufficiently  punished?" 

44  Why,"  said  Uncle  John,  "you  seel 
am  placed  in  a  peculiar  position.  I  pro- 
mised your  brother  that  I  would  strive  to 
allay  whatever  ill-feeling  recent  circum- 
stances might  have  engendered:  I  promised 
this  on  condition  that  he  would  liberate  you 
at  once  from  the  asylum.  It  was  a  sort  of 
contract  between  us:  but  now  that  he  has 
performed  his  part,  I  find  it  exceedingly 
difficult  to  perform  mine.  I  had  much  rather, 
therefore,  that  this  affair  should  be  settled 
without  me,  for  while  I  cannot  conscien- 
tiously say  any  thing  in  favor  of  the  man,  I 
am  bound  by  my  promise  to  say  nothing 
against  him,  and  even  then  1  am  not  quite 
sure  that  I  shall  have  done  in  reality  all 
that  my  promise  conveyed." 

44  Why, "said  Goodman,  "  you  promised 
nothing  more  than  that  you  would  strive  to 
allay  any  ill-feeling  that  might  have  been 
engendered:  and,  most  certainly,  whatever 
ill-feeling  might  have  existed  has  already 
been  allayed.  All  the  difficulty  is,  there- 
fore, at  an  end:  as  I  have  no  ill-feeling 
whatever  towards  him  now,  you  can  have 
no  ill-feeling  to  repress:  so  that  all  you  have 
to  do  is  to  avoid  saying  anything  calculated 
to  excite  an  ill-feeling,  and  you  will  have 
performed  your  promise  faithfully." 

44  My  promise  conveyed  more  than  that," 


264 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


said  Uncle  John.  "  I  don't  at  this  moment 
recollect  what  I  wished  him  to  understand; 
but  I  am  sure  that  it  conveyed  more  lhan 
that.  I  am  not  quite  certain  that  I  did  no1 
mean  not  only  that  I  would  do  what  I  could 
to  repress  ill-feelings,  but  that  I  would  do 
all  I  could  to  effect  an  absolute  reconcilia- 
tion. I  should  like  to  be  clear  upon  that 
point:  I  should  like  to  know  what  he  ima- 
gined I  meant  at  the  time." 

**  But,  my  friend,"  said  Goodman,  "that 
has  nothing  to  do  with  your  opinion  on  the 
point  now  at  issue." 

"  Why,  it  may  not  have  anything  to  do 
with  it,  certainly;  but,  at  present,  I  am  in- 
clined to  believe  that  it  has,  because,  you 
see,  if  I  express  an  opinion  to  the  effect  that 
he  has  been  already  sufficiently  punished, 
I  may  perhaps  be  expressing  an  opinion 
which  1  do  not  conscientiously  entertain, 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  by  stating  it  to  be 
my  opinion  that  he  has  not,  I  may  be  acting 
in  opposition  to  the  spirit  of  a  contract 
which,  no  matter  with  whom  it  may  have 
been  made,  ought  of  course  to  be  strictly 
adhered  to." 

"  Well!  I  certainly  should  like  to  have 
your  opinion  upon  the  subject  before  I  de- 
cide; because  I  cannot  but  feel  that  it  may, 
and  doubtless  will  be,  the  last  important  act 
of  my  life.  However,  as  you  do  not  at  present, 
feel  justified  in  stating  what  your  real  opin- 
ion is,  my  decision  had  better  be  deferred." 

*'  Yes:  that  will  be  much  the  better  way," 
said  Uncle  John,  who  had  really  no  desire 
to  give  an  opinion  upon  the  point;  for  al- 
though he  felt  convinced  that  in  reality 
Walter  did  not  deserve  the  slightest  con- 
sideration, he  could  not  satisfy  himself  that 
if  he  stated  that  as  being  his  conviction,  he 
should  be  doing  under  the  circumstances 
that  which  was  riorht. 


The  matter  was  therefore  left  open,  and 
Goodman  was  highly  pleased  to  find  that 
his  friend  had  given  that  promise  to  Walter, 
for  he  feared  that  some  powerful  argument 
might  be  adduced  to  prove  that,  after  what 
had  happened,  he  ought  not  to  leave  the 
will  as  it  was,  in  favor  of  him  by  whom  he 
had  been  injured  so  unnaturally  and  so 
deeply.  As  far  as  forgiveness  went,  he  for- 
gave him  from  his  heart.  The  only  point 
upon  which  he  was  anxious. to  be  satisfied, 
was  the  justice  of  the  course  he  proposed  to 
pursue.  And  yet  again  he  conceived  that 
— although  if  the  thing  were  made  public  it 
might  perhaps  be  deemed  a  bad  example — 
in  a  private  case  like  this  he  could  not  do 
much  wrong  in  doing  that  which  his  be- 
nevolent feelings  suggested.  Besides,  he 
felt  that,  even  if  he  were  justified  in  taking 
the  administration  of  justice  in  this  particu- 
lar case  into  his  own  hands,  it  was  not  a 
time  at  which  he  ought  to  administer  it 
harshly,  and  harshly  he  could  not  help  feel- 
ing it  would  be  ad  ministered,  if  he  deprived 
not  only  Walter,  but  his  family,  of  all  they 
had  to  depend  upon  in  the  world.  He  knew 
that  they  had  no  other  means  of  existence; 
he  knew,  that  if  he  left  them  penniless, 
they  must  either  starve  or  plunge  into  the 
vortex  of  infamy;  and  knowing  this,  he 
could  not  reconcile  the  act  of  driving  them 
into  temptation,  with  his  duty  either  as  a 
Christian  or  as  a  man.  He  therefore  even- 
tually resolved  not  to  renew  the  painful 
subject.  He  had  authorised  the  recovery 
of  the  property,  and  that  authority  there 
was  no  sufficient  reason  to  withdraw;  but 
he  hoped  that  no  act  on  the  part  of  Wal- 
ter— that  no  argument  of  Uncle  John  or 
WThitely — that  nothing,  in  short,  might 
occur  to  induce  him  to  alter  the  will. 


CHAPTER  L. 


EXPLAINS    THE    POSSIBILITY    OF    MAKING   A    MAN   DIG    AN    EXTRAORDINARY    HOLE. 


As  Valentine  had  not  seen  Louise  for  five 
days — as  he  had  called  five  times  and  left 
hie  card  without  finding  her  "at  home," — 
and  as  he  had  received  from  her  no  com- 
munication whatever — he  began  to  think 
that  Uncle  John  was  right! — that  he  re  illy 
had  suffered  his  spirit  of  independence  to 
carry  him  a  little  too  far. 

And  yet,  what  had  he  done?  It  is  true 
he  absented  himself  for  two  entire  days; 
but  then  he  was  calm,  quite  cairn,  while 
she  was  bursting  with  passion.  He  did 


not  retaliate;  he  simply  said,  "  Well,  I  will 
go,  if  you  wish  it!"  He  had  s-.iid  nothing 
more,  and  yet,  never  since  then  hud  he  hem 
able  to  see  her!  He  did  think  that  this 
was  not  strictly  correct.  He  was  not  at  all 
satisfied  with  it:  ho  frit  that  he  had  been 
somewhat  ill  used!  For  \vh;M  muld  she 
expect]  Could  she  expert  him  to  submit 
to  every  species  of  indignity?  Could  she 
expert  that  IK;  would  ever  sillier  liims.df  to 

beherslave?  He  loved  her,  fondly  loved 
her,  and  she  knew  it;  but  never  would  he 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


265 


consent  to  become  the  puppet  of  her  caprice. 
No,  he  would  call  once  more — but  once! — 
and  if  she  was  denied  to  him,  the  course 
which  manliness  suggested  was  clear,  and 
he  made  up  his  mind  to  pursue  it.  He 
would  not  surrender  his  spirit  as  a  man! 
nor  would  Louise  yield  her  spirit  as  a  wo- 
man! They  were  playing  the  same  game: 
they  had  both  the  same  object  in  view,  and 
they  were  now  equally  sure  of  achieving 
that  object,  for  although  Louise  had  there- 
tofore felt  herself  somewhat  overmatched, 
she  had  a  weapon  now  in  store  for  him,  in 
the  shape  of  a  Welshman,  whom  she  meant 
to  use  so  as  to  enable  her  to  obtain  a  signal 
triumph! 

In  the  warm  hearts  of  lovers  whose  affec- 
tions are  fixed,  and  who  are  really  so 
attached  to  each  other  that  they  seem  to  be 
scarcely  able  to  exist  but  in  each  other's 
society,  there  must  be  some  beautiful  feel- 
ing in  operation  while  they  strive  to  make 
it  appear  that  they  are  perfectly  free.  The 
general  motive  may  perhaps  be  highly 
laudable;  but  with  the  ladies  it  is  some- 
times inscrutable,  seeing  that  they  will 
labor  to  make  men  believe  that  it  would  be 
a  matter  of  very  slight  importance  indeed, 
if  they  were  to  do  that  which,  if  done, 
would  snap  their  dear  heart-strings.  This 
course  is,  perhaps  in  many  instances,  pur- 
sued with  the  view  of  testing  the  strength 
of  man's  affection;  but  this  was  not  the 
object  of  Louise:  she  wished  to  obtain  the 
mastery  to  begin  with;  and  she  played  a 
very  dangerous  game;  for  while  Valentine's 
-  love  was  of  too  manly  a  caste  to  be  inac- 
cessible to  reason,  he  had  not  had  sufficient 
experience  in  these  delicate  matters  to  know 
how  to  make  ladies  when  they  are  conquer- 
ed believe  that  they  are  really  victorious. — 
Ut  was  unfortunate,  perhaps,  that  he  did  not 
know  this;  but  that  he  did  not  is  neverthe- 
less a  fact.  He  was  much  too  serious  about 
the  matter.  When  he  called  for  the  last 
time,  in  the  event  of  Louise  being  denied  to 
him,  he  seriously  meant  it  to  be  for  the  last 
time:  he  would  not  have  called  again  with- 
out a  special  invitation!  It  may  therefore 
be  held  to  be  on  all  hands  fortunate  that 
when  he  called  Louise  was  at  home. 

This  he  had  scarcely  expected;  but  Louise 
expected  him,  and  had  laid  her  plans  ac- 
cordingly: she  had  directed  him  to  be  shown 
into  the  breakfast-room,  which  overlooked 
the  garden,  and  the  moment  he  entered  this 
room,  he  saw  her  leaning  upon  the  arm  of 
a  tall  young  fellow,  with  whom  she  ap- 
peared to  be  on  the  most  affectionate  terms! 

Valentine  looked — of  course  he  looked! 
— and  his  aspect  was  severe.  She  gazed 
at  the  fellow,  and  smiled,  and  chatted  gaily, 
and  seemed  particularly  playful!  Valentine 


pulled  a  piece  clean  out  of  his  glove.  Who 
was  it?  What  right  had  he  there1?  He 
couldn't  tell:  he  could  only  guess!  He 
paced  the  room,  and  knit  his  brows,  and 
pursed  his  lips,  and  breathed  hard  through 
liis  nostrils,  and  thrust  his  hands  firmly  to 
the  very  bottom  of  his  pockets.  There  they 
were! — oh,  yes,  there  they  were! — there 
could  scarcely  be  two  sound  opinions  about 
it!  He  had  a  great  mind  to  go  to  them:  he 
had  a  great  mind  to  ascertain  at  once  what 
it  meant.  And  yet — well!  why  did  she 
not  come?  He  rang  the  bell — with  violence 
he  rang  it! — he  was  not  in  a  sweet  temper 
at  the  time.  "  Does  Miss  Raven  know  that 
I  am  here1?"  he  inquired  of  the  servant,  as 
he  entered. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir;— quite  forgot  to  tell 
her,  sir: — dear  me,  beg  pardon." 

"Why,  you  thick-headed  fool!"  exclaim- 
ed Valentine — and  it  certainly  was  a  very 
harsh  exclamation — but  before  he  could  get 
any  farther  the  servant — who  only  acted  up 
to  his  instructions — had  vanished  from  the 
room. 

"Now,"  thought  Valentine,  "I  shall 
see  how  the  heartless  coquette  will  conduct 
herself,  when  she  is  told  that  I  am  here." 

He  stood  firmly  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
and  kept  his  eye  steadfastly  upon  her. — • 
The  servant  entered  the  garden:  he  addressed 
her,  and  retired.  She  turned,  she  did  not 
withdraw  her  arm:  she  did  not  even  tremble! 
She  smiled,  and  looked  up  at  the  mortal, 
and  said  something  to  him,  and  then  instead 
of  leaving  him  there,  led  him  playfully  into 
the  house. 

Valentine  now  took  his  seat  upon  the 
sofa,  and  tried  to  look  as  calm  and  collected 
as  possible.  They  entered  the  room,  and 
she  absolutely  introduced  the  long  wretch 
to  him  as  Mr.  Llewellen. 

Valentine  looked  at  him! — he  was  too  big 
to  eat— but  he  was  not  too  big  to  be  anni- 
hilated! 

"  Are  you  not  well?"  said  Louise. 

"I  am  not,"  replied  Valentine. 

"  What  is  the  matter!" 

"  Nothing  of  importance;  I  shall  be  able 
no  doubt  to  survive  it.  Oh  I  shall  survive 
it!" 

"  Inteet,  then  look  you,  these  pleak  wints 
plow  nopotty  coot,"  observed  Mr.  Llewel- 
len. 

Valentine's  tongue  itched  to  mimic  the 
mortal;  but,  although  he  felt  that  it  was 
perfectly  impossible  to  treat  him  with  any- 
thing like  common  civility,  he  thought  that 
it  might  perhaps  be  better  not  to  insult  him 
in  any  direct  manner,  then.  He  therefore 
bowed  very  distantly,  and  looked  rather 
contemptuously  at  Mr.  Llewellen,  and  then 
turned  abruptly  towards  the  window,  at 


266 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


which  Louise  was  engaged  in  making  an 
effort  to  suppress  a  hearty  laugh.  He 
knew  neither  what  to  say  nor  how  to  act. 
He  could  not  speak  before  that  fellow  Llew- 
ellen,  and  as  to  speaking  to  him! — he  would 
not  deign  to  do  it.  A  pause  therefore  ensu- 
ed— a  long  pause — during  which  both  gen- 
tlemen looked  particularly  stupid,  while 
Louise  did  not  dare  to  turn  her  head.  At 
length,  however,  Llewellen — who  had  been 
no  more  fascinated  by  Valentine  than  Valen- 
tine had  been  fascinated  by  him — happened 
to  think,  strangely  enough,  that  he  really 
was  not  wanted,  and  no  sooner  had  he  con- 
ceived this  extraordinary  idea,  than  inspired 
with  the  spirit  of  independence  he  stalked 
from  the  room. 

This,  of  course,  was  precisely  what 
Valentine  wanted.  The  absence  of  that 
tall  wretch — for  as  a  wretch  he  most  un- 
charitably looked  upon  him  then — was  a 
thing  which  he  had  strongly  desired;  and 
yet  he  did  not  take  immediate  advantage  of 
his  absence.  He  wanted  Louise  to  speak 
first,  and  she  would  not  speak  first.  She 
still  kept  at  the  window,  and  appeared  to 
be  lost  in  admiration  of  Llewellen,  who 
was  then  buisily  occupied  in  pulling  up  the 
weeds.  The  very  moment,  however,  Valen- 
tine perceived  that  Llewellen  was  again  in 
the  garden,  he  felt  himself  bound  to  break 
silence.  "  I  have  to  apologise,"  said  he, 
with  a  bitterness  both  of  emphasis  and  of 
aspect,  "  for  having  disturbed  you.  Had  I 
known  that  you  had  been  thus  affectionately 
engaged,  I  should  certainly  not  have  in- 
truded." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean!" 

"  You  know  what  I  mean.  Who  is  that 
fellow — that  creature— that  Llewellen?" 

"  Llewellen!  oh,  he  is  a  very  old  friend." 

"  Indeed!" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  have  known  him  from  infancy. 
\Ve  were  play-fellows  together." 

"  And  are  /?/ay-fellows  still,  I  perceive!" 

"  Why,  we  cannot  forget  the  very  many 
happy  hours  we  spent  together  in  childhood. 
Besides,  he  is  such  an  affectionate  creature, 
and  so  fond  of  me!" 

"  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  of  it;  and 
you  appear  to  be  equally  fond  of  him." 

"  Why,  you  surely  are  not  jealous!" 

"Jealous!"  echoed  Valentine,  smiling 
very  bitterly.  "  What,  of  him?  He  is  a 
nice  compactly  built,  intellectual  looking 
animal  fora  man  to  be  jealous  of,  certainly!" 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  him? 
Really,  I  cannot  see  much  to  complain  of. 
He  is  taller  than  you  and  much  stouter, 
and  I  am  sure  that  he  possesses  a  good  kind 
heart." 

"  In  your  eyes,  Miss  Raven,  he  is  perfec- 
tion, no  doubt.  But  look  you,  plesa  you, 


the  pleak  wint  is  plowing  upon  his  potty. 
It  may,  look  you,  too  him  no  coot.  Inteet, 
his  pint  may'  pe  chilt:  it  may  set  fast  his 
pones!" 

"  You  are  satirical,"  said  Louise,  "you 
always  were;  but  your  satire  has  malice  in 
it  now,  I  am  afraid.  Come  why  are  you. 
so  cross  with  him!  What  has  he  done  to 
offend  you?" 

"Oh,  nothing— nothing,"  replied  Valen- 
tine, carelessly. 

"  Why  will  you  not  be  friendly  with  him 
then!  you  are  angry  perhaps,  because' you 
saw  us  walking  in  the  garden,  but  surely 
there  was  no  harm  in  that." 

"  Oh!  of  course  not.  There  can  be  no 
harm  in  anything  Miss  Raven  does.  There 
can  be  no  harm  in  clinging  to  him  as  if  you 
loved  him  dearly.  There  can  be  no  harm 
in  allowing  him  to  play  with  your  hand, 
your  hair,  your  chin,  or  your  waist!" 

"  I  cannot  help  his  being  fond  of  me!" 

"  Propriety,  Miss  Raven,  might  suggest 
that  you  are  not  exactly  bound  to  encourage 
his  fondness.  But  that,  of  course,  is  no- 
thing to  me.  I  have  no  voice  at  all  in  the 
matter,  although,  I  must  say,  that  had  you 
dealt  somewhat  more  justly,  it  might  per- 
haps, on  all  hands  have  been  quite  as  well. 
However,  I  feel  that  I  am  in  the  way  here, 
now,  and  shall  therefore  at  once  take  my 
leave." 

"  You  are  a  very  cross,  unkind  creature!" 
said  Louise.  "  I  did  intend  to  press  you 
to  dine  with  us  to-day;  but  I  am  not  quite 
sure  that  I  shall  do  so  now." 

"  I  beg  that  you  will  not  trouble  yourself. 
I  would  not  stay  if  even  you  were  to  press 
me.  You  have  some  one  else  to  press; 
therefore  my  presence  cannot  be  required." 

"  Of  course  it  must  be  as  you  please.  I 
have  not  the  slightest  influence  over  you,  I 
am  aware;  but  I  certainly  did  hope  that  we 
might  have  spent  a  vary  happy  day  together 
in  mutual  forgetful  ness  of  all  that  has  pass- 
ed. But  I  perceive  that  you  are  of  a  most 
unforgiving  disposition,  and  perceiving  this, 
I  cannot  but  observe  in  my  own  vindication, 
that  you  were  the  cause  of  all  that  transpir- 
ed at  our  last  interview — that  your  neglect 
urged  me  to  say  what  I  did." 

"  Of  what  passed  at  our  last  interview, 
Miss  Raven,  I  have  not  since  1  entered  the 
house  even  thought." 

"Then,  why  are  you  so  angry?  because 
I  walked  and  chatted  with  Llewellen  in  tho 
garden?  Do  you  know  who  he  is!" 

"  No:  nor  do  I  care." 

"  If  you  do  not  care  to  know,  why  I  do 
not  earn  to  tell  you.  But  I  think  that  \»\\ 
would  like  to  know  nevertheless,  and  I  will 
tell  you— that  is,  provided  you  ask  mr 
prettily." 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


267 


"Miss  Raven,  you  treat  me  like  a  child, 
and  as  a  child  I  will  be  played  with  no 
longer.  I  perceive  that  you  are  faithless, 
and  unworthy  the  love  of  an  honorable  man; 
I  therefore  take  leave  of  you  for  ever." 

"  If  you  are  an  honorable  man,"  said 
Louise,  who  now  became  somewhat  alarm- 
ed, "  if  you  possess  any  one  of  the  feelings 
of  a  gentleman,  you  will  sit  down  at  once 
in  that  chair  and  explain  to  me  clearly  what 
you  mean  by  those  words.  To  whom  have 
I  been  faithless1?  Why  am  I  unworthy  the 
love  of  an  honorable  man?" 

"  You  have  been  faithless  to  me!"  re- 
turned Valentine,  "and  I  have  this  day 
proved  you  to  be  a  coquette." 

"  I  deny  it!"  cried  Louise,  "  I  have  been 
faithless  to  no  one:  nor  have  I  ever  been  a 
coquette!  But  are  you  really  serious1?  Do 
you  really  mean  to  say  that  I  am  a  coquette 
— which,  if  I  were,  I  should  despise  myself 
— because  I  see  no  impropriety  in  chatting 
with  my  cousin!" 

"Is  Llewellen  your  cousin1?" 
"  To  be  sure  he  is!" 
"Why  did  you  not  say  so  before1?" 
"  You  said  you  did  not  care  to  know  who 
he  was!" 

"  But  why  did  you  not  introduce  him  as 
your  cousin1?" 

"  I  certainly  might  have  done  that,"  said 
Louise,  instead  of  answering  the  question, 
"  but,  come,  for  goodness  sake  don't  look 
so  cross,  you  surely  are  satisfied  now1?" 

The  fact  of  Llewellen  being  her  cousin 
somewhat  softened  him,  but  he  did  not  feel 
satisfied  exactly.  He  had  heard  of  ladies' 
cousins  before,  and  he  knew  that  it  fre- 
quently happened  that  constant  communica- 
tion with  each  other  engendered  feelings 
which  outstripped  those  of  consanguinity. 
He  therefore  felt  that  he  ought  to  look 
sharply  after  the  Welshman,  especially  as 
Louise  had  confessed  that  he  was  so  fond 
he  also  felt,  that  although  they  were  cousins 
those  playful  familiarities  which  he  hac 
noticed  ought  not  to  be  sanctioned. 

"  Well,"  said  Louise,  after  a  pause,  "you 
will  dine  with  us  now,  I  presume"?" 

"I  still  beg  to  be  excused.  My  presenc 
may  have  a  tendency  to  restrain  perhaps 
the  playfulness  of  your  cousin." 
"  Oh!  no;  not  at  all!" 
"  And  if  it  does  not,"  thought  Valentine 
"  I'll  work  him!" 

At  this  moment  Raven  played  one  of  hi 
fifteen-barred  stuccatoed  knocks  at  the  door 
and  immediately  afterwards  marched  inti 
the  room.  "Ah!  Valentine,  my  boy!"  hi 
cried,  extending  his  hand,  "why,  wher 
have  you  been  for  the  last  half  century1? 
tell  you  what  it  is  you  two,"  he  continued 
"you  conduct  yourselves  just  for  all  th 


orld  as  if  you  belonged  to  the  aristocracy. 
Why  can't  you  carry  on  pleasantly  together"? 
iVhat's  the  use  of  quarrelling,  and  mump- 
ng,  and  making  yourselves  miserable1?     I 
enow   you've   been   at   it   again.     I  don't 
want  to  be  told;  I  saw  it  the  very  moment 
entered  the  room.     Now  take  my  advice: 
uarrel  no  more;  let  this  be  the  last,  and 
make  it  up  as  soon  as  possible.     You  are 
lot  like  the  beggarly  aristocracy  whose  ob- 
ect  in  matters  of  this  kind  is  not  to  secure 
he  affections,  but  to  overreach  each  other. 
But  what's  become  of  Fred — where  is  he!" 
"In  the  garden,"  replied  Louise. 
"  Have  you  not  introduced  him!" 
"  Oh  yes;  he  has  been  talking  about  the 
wints  peing  pleak." 

"  He  is  a  droll  fellow  that;  it  would  do 
your  heart  good  to  see  him  eat." 

'But  Valentine  will  not  dine  with  us 
,o-day,"  said  Louise. 

'  Not  dine  with  us!     Why  not!     Pooh! 
nonsense:  he  must;  he  has  no  other  engage- 
nent.     He  is  here  now,  and  here  he  must 
emain.     There,  run  away,  and  see  if  you 
can  keep  from  quarrelling.     I  have  a  long 
etter  to  write.     If  you  want  to  be  amused, 
oin  Fred." 

Louise  at  once  took  the  arm  of  Valentine, 
and  they  went  into  the  garden,  where  the 
Welshman  was  still  engaged  pulling  up 
weeds. 

''It's  poiling  hot  look  you  to  tay,"  said 
Llewellen,  as  he  wiped  the  perspiration 
from  his  red  round  face. 

"  Do  you  find  many  weeds!"  inquired 
Valentine,  who  now  thought  it  might  be  as 
well  to  be  civil. 

"  Weets !  my  potty !  look  you,  there's 
nothing  put  weets.  They  tont  at  all  under- 
stant  how  to  pluck  them  here:  they  preak 
them  off  at  the  pottoms,  when  they  crow 
acain,  pless  you,  insteet  you  see  of  tragging 
them  up  py  the  roots." 

Valentine  at  once  perceived  the  force  of 
this  remark,  and  was  able  to  look  at  Llew- 
ellen with  comparative  pleasure.  He  was 
not  quite  so  ugly  as  he  appeared  to  be  be- 
fore; he  was  tall,  but  quite  straight;  stout, 
but  symmetrical.  The  change  he  had  un- 
dergone was  amazing,  and  it  may  seem  ex- 
traordinary to  some,  that  although  he  was  a 
finely  made,  and  rather  a  handsome  fellow, 
Valentine  should  have  thought  him  at  first 
the  ugliest  wretch  he  ever  beheld;  but  they 
who  know  the  feelings  which  are  generated 
in  the  breast  of  a  rival  will  understand  how 
Llewellen  could  appear  a  very  ill-condi- 
tioned mortal  in  the  eyes  of  Valentine, 
when  he  supposed  him  to  be  a  lover  of 
Louise,  for  as  love  often  blinds  us  to  phy- 
sical defects,  so  rivalry  in  matters  of  love 
often  blinds  us  to  physical  beauties.  But 


268 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


although  Llewellen  looked  somewhat  better 
than  before,  Valentine  viewed  him  still  as 
an  awkward  individual,  and  resolved  to  re- 
ward him  in  some  way  or  other  for  every 
affectionate  word  he  dared  to  utter  to  Louise. 

Louise,  on  the  other  hand,  resolved  to 
reward  him.  She  had  reason  to  be  satisfied 
with  all  that  had  occurred.  She  had  suc- 
ceeded in  making  him  jealous,  which  was 
to  her,  as  it  is  indeed  to  the  ladies  in  ge- 
neral, extremely  pleasurable;  and  although 
it  had  been  essential  to  her  own  security 
to  let  him  know  that  Llewellen  was  her 
cousin,  she  still  determined  to  tease  him 
by  being  as  affectionate  to  the  Welshman 
as  one  loving  cousin  could  be  to  another. 

"  Look  you,  Louey  tear,"  shouted  Llew- 
ellen, who  was  really  a  very  industrious 
fellow,  "  shall  hur  perry  these  weets  at  the 
pottom  of  the  carten,  or  purn  'em?" 

"That  I  must  leave  to  you,"  replied 
Louise. 

Llewellen  at  once  pulled  off  his  coat,  and 
chalked  out  his  plans  for  a  hole. 

"  Louey  tear!"  thought  Valentine,  "Why 
could  he  not  have  contented  himself  with 
4  Louey?-'  what  did  he  want  to  add  'tear' 
for?"  He  did  not  approve  of  this  mode  of 
address;  he  thought  it  highly  incorrect,  not- 
withstanding they  were  cousins;  and  al- 
though he  said  nothing  about  it  then,  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  punish  him  even  for 
that. 

Coolly  and  tranquilly  therefore  did  he 
walk,  while  Llewellen  was  digging  the 
hole;  and  when  he  fancied  that  he  had  got 
to  a  sufficient  depth  for  his  purpose,  he  ob- 
served that  he  had  had  a  tough  job. 

"  Yesm,"  said  Llewellen,  who  looked 
very  hot,  "the  crount  is  hart,  look  you." 

"  Now  is  the  time  to  work  him,"  thought 
Valentine,  who  accordingly  threw  his  voice 
into  the  hole,  and  groaned  in  the  most 
piteous  manner  possible. 

Llewellen  started.  He  leaped  from  the 
hole  in  an  instant,  and  turned  with  an  expres- 
sion of  horror,  while  Louise  clung  to  Va- 
lentine, who  also  looked  slightly  alarmed, 
with  the  laudable  view  of  keeping  up  the 
delusion. 

"Tit  you  not  hear?"  cried  Llewellen  in 
a  sharp  thrilling  whisper,  "tit  you  not  hear 
a  croatt?  Potty  of  me!  phot  coot  it  pe  look 
you?  Somepotty  perried?  Hark!  pleas  you, 
hark!"  he  continued,  as  Valentine  sent 
another  groan  under  ground. 

"Good  gracious!"  cried  Louise,  "what 
on  earth  can  it  be!  Had  you  not  better  dig 
deeper?" 

Llewellen  seemed  paralysed.     He  kept 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  hole,  and  iin 
he  saw  the  earth  move;  and  yet  it  struck 
him  at  the  moment  as  being  impossible  for 


any  human  being  to  be  there.  "Nopotty 
could  preathe!"  said  he,  after  having  eyed 
the  ground  in  every  conceivable  way  with 
<rre;\t  intensity  of  feeling,  "ant  nopotty  coot 
live  without  preath!" 

Valentine,  who  saw  the  inexpediency  of 
allowing  the  thing  to  be  reasoned  upon,  in- 
quired with  much  earnestness  of  manner,  if 
he  had  ever  heard  of  persons  being  buried 
in  a  trance. 

"  Perried  in  a  trance!"  cried  Llewellen, 
quite  struck  with  the  novelty  of  the  ques- 
tion, "inteet  hur  have;  put  then — no  put 
then  never  at  the  pottoms  of  cartens!" 

"Let  me  out!  let  me  out!  oh,  do  let  me 
out!"  cried  Valentine,  feigning  a  half  smo- 
thered voice,  which  appeared  to  proceed 
from  about  two  feet  below  the  bottom  of  the 
hole. 

"  Hur  will,  look  you!"  shouted  Llewellen, 
who  had  then  no  doubt  about  the  matter  at 
all,  "  hur  will  tig  till  hur  fint  you!" 

"If  you  do,"  thought  Valentine,  "you 
will  tig  to  an  extraordinary  depth." 

Llewellen  now  set  to  work  in  earnest. 
He  used  his  spade  with  surpassing  dex- 
terity. Had  he  served  an  apprenticeship 
to  the  first  metropolitan  grave-digger  he 
could  not  have  been  more  au  fait  to  the 
work. 

"  Can  I  assist  you?"  said  Valentine,  as  a 
mere  matter  of  politeness. 

"  No,  look  you,  the  hole  is  not  pig 
enough  for  poth." 

Nor  was  it;  it  was  then  but  about  two 
feet  in  diameter,  and  as  Llewellen  had  got 
about  three  feet  deep,  he  could  not  operate 
with  any  degree  of  comfort  to  himself.  Of 
course  Valentine  perceived  this  with  plea- 
sure, and  being  resolved  to  keep  him  at  it, 
continued  to  exert  himself  so  zealously  in 
the  cause,  that  Llewellen  soon  enlarged  his 
sphere  of  action. 

"A  little  pit  longer!"  he  cried,  "ant 
you'll  then  pe  releast,  look  you!" 

"  Oh!"  exclaimed  Valentine, "  don't  tread 
so  heavily  upon  me." 

"Hur  wont,  my  tear  poy!  hur  wont  tret 
upon  you  any  more  than  hur  can  help." 

"I  cannot  bear  it!"  cried  Valentine. 
"Oh!" 

"  Put  pless  you,  hur  must  tret  a  little  to 
tiff.  Phot  part  am  hur  upon  you?" 

"My  back." 

"Your  pack!"  cried  Llewellen,  when 
looking  up  at  Valentine,  he  added,  "  he's 
perried  upon  his  pelly!" 

So  exceedingly  natural  was  this  conclu- 
sion, and  so  long  was  the  countenance  with 
which  it  was  drawn  and  declared,  that  Va- 
lentine could  scarcely  refrain  from  laughing. 
He  did,  however,  by  dint  of  great  exertion, 
succeed  in  preserving  that  gravity  of  aspect 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


269 


which  the  deep  and  solemn  character  of  the 
occasion  demanded,  and  Llewellen  again 
set  to  work  with  all  the  zeal  and  rapidity  of 
which  he  was  capable.  His  first  object 
now  was  to  cut  out  a  small  standing  place 
for  himself,  that  he  might  not  give  pain  to 
the  unfortunate  person  whom  he  naturally 
presumed  to  be  beneath;  and  as  he  of  course 
soon  accomplished  that  praiseworthy  object, 
he  worked  away  like  a  sapper,  and  exhibited 
the  most  benevolent  anxiety  to  avoid  dig- 
ging the  spade  into  any  part  of  the  body  of 
that  unfortunate  person;  being  convinced 
that  if  he  did  so,  the  wound  he  should  in- 
flict would  be  neither  slight  nor  pleasant, 
and  might  be  exceedingly  difficult  to  heal, 
inasmuch  as  the  dirt  would  be  sure  to  get 
in  it. 

"  Now  work  away!"  cried  Valentine,  in 
his  feigned  voice,  of  course;  and  Llewellen, 
who  was  already  working  away  like  a  con- 
vict, redoubled  his  exertions,  as  big  drops 
of  sweat  left  his  brow  to  bedew  the  hole. 

"Come,  quick!"  cried  Valentine;  "I 
only  wish  you  were  here  instead  of  me." 

This  Llewellen  conceived  to  be  an  un- 
grateful observation;  but  as  he  felt  that  the 
life  of  an  unfortunate  fellow-creature  was  at 
stake,  he  took  no  further  notice  of  the  mat- 
ter, but  continued  to  work  with  all  the 
spirit  and  strength  he  had  in  him. 

"Hollo,  hollo,  hollo!"  cried  Raven, 
coming  up  at  this  moment,  having  noticed 
the  extraordinary  exertions  of  Llewellen 
from  the  window.  "  What  do  you  mean 
by  cutting  up  the  garden  in  this  way? — For 
whom  are  you  digging  that  gravel" 

"  Oh,  papa!"  cried  Louise,  as  Llewellen 
kept  on,  for  he  thought  that  no  time  was  to 
be  lost,  and  very  properly;  "  some  poor 
unhappy  creature  has  been  buried  alive!" 

"Buried  alive!— What,  here?  Pooh,  non- 
sense, absurd!" 

"But  we  have  heard  him!" 

"I  tell  you  it's  absurd!" 

"  How  too  you  fint  yourself  now,  my  tear 
poy?"  inquired  Llewellen  of  the  person  as- 
sumed to  be  below. 

"  Work  away!"  cried  Valentine.  "  A 
little  to  the  left!" 

"  Bless  my  life  and  soul!"  exclaimed 
Raven,  who  heard  this.  "  Why,  how 
could  it  be? — Run  for  those  fellows,  my 
girl.  Tell  them  all  to  come  instantly!  — 
Val,  you  will  find  a  lot  of  spades  and  a  pick- 
axe in  the  tool-house;  bring  them  all  here 
— quick,  there's  a  good  fellow.  Keep  at  it, 
Fred!— dig  away!"  And  Fred  did  dig 
away!— no  Pole  on  being  sent  to  the  Sibe" 
rian  mines  ever  dug  away  harder. 

44  Now  then!"  cried  Raven,  as  the  ser- 
vants  appeared.      "  Now,   off  with  your 
coats,  and  help  Mr.  Llewellen." 
24 


The  servants  looked  at  the  hole  in  a  state 
of  amazement;  but  stripped,  as  they  were 
desired,  in  a  moment,  although  they  could 
not  conceive  what  the  object  was,  exactly. 

"  Now  make  this  place  larger:  be  quick!" 
cried  Raven;  and  as  two  of  them  caught 
hold  of  spades,  the  other  seized  the  pick- 
axe, and  dropped  into  the  hole. 

"  Get  out!"  cried  Valentine,  "  you  hurt 
me!"  And  he  with  the  pickaxe  did  get  cut, 
and  that  with  remarkable  promptitude,  for 
really  he  felt  much  alarmed. 

"  Work  round  the  edge!"  cried  Raven; 
"  and  make  the  hole  larger! — How  came 
you  first  to  hear  him?" 

"  Hur  was  tigging  a  hole,  look  you,  to 
perry  the  weets,"  replied  Llewellen,  who 
nearly  broke  his  back  in  standing  up  to 
give  an  answer  to  the  question,  "  when  I 
hurt  a  lout  croan,  pless  you,  unter  the 
crount." 

"  How  very  fortunate  you  happened  to 
select  this  spot,"  observed  Raven;  and  it 
was  held  to  be  a  singularly  fortunate  selec- 
tion, under  the  circumstances,  by  all. 

"  What  do  you  leave  off  for!"  cried  Va- 
lentine, as  the  sweating  Llewellen  was  en- 
gaged in  readjusting  the  muscular  economy 
of  his  back.  "  Do  you  hear?" 

Llewellen  did  not  exactly  like  being  ad- 
dressed in  so  imperative  a  style  by  a  man 
to  preserve  whose  life  he  had  been  working 
like  a  slave.  He  still,  however,  felt  him- 
self bound,  as  a  Christian,  to  do  all  in  his 
power  to  release  him,  notwithstanding  his 
manifest  ingratitude,  and  therefore  again 
went  to  work,  but  with  the  full  determina- 
tion to  expostulate  with  him  the  very  mo- 
ment he  got  him  out. 

The  servants,  under  the  strict  surveil- 
lance of  Raven,  were  now  digging  away 
like  young  sextons.  They  never  before  had 
such  a  job.  In  less  than  ten  minutes  from 
the  time  they  commenced,  the  prespiration 
oozed  from  every  pore.  The  intense  curi- 
osity involved  in  the  hope  of  digging  a  man 
up  alive  for  some  short  time  sustained 
them;  but,  as  the  harder  they  worked,  and 
the  deeper  they  dug,  the  more  distant  the 
actual  realisation  of  that  hope  seemed  to  be, 
they  very  soon  began  to  flag,  as  if  unable  to 
stand  it.  Raven,  however,  made  them  stick 
to  it  closely;  and  they  felt  it  to  be,  under  the 
circumstances,  as  much  as  their  respective 
situations  were  worth,  to  give  in.  They 
felt  already  nearly  exhausted;  work  was  al- 
together new  to  them;  they  puffed,  and 
panted,  and  groaned;  but  Raven  still  kept 
them  at  it. 

"  Let's  have  some  peer!"  cried  Llewellen, 
"  Hur'm  poiling!" 

The  servants  simultaneously  looked  at 
their  master  in  the  hope  of  being  ordered  to 


270 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


run  for  the  beer,  seeing  that  that  to  either  of 
them  would  have  been  a  great  relief,  be- 
cause neither  would  have  felt  himself  bound 
to  hurry  back;  but  no,  Raven  sent  Louise  to 
their  manifest  mortification,  and  made  them 
keep  on,  although  they  declared  to  each 
other  in  strict  confidence  aside  that  they  felt 
fit  to  drop.  Their  philanthropy  had  van- 
ished. That  beautiful  feeling  of  humanity, 
which  prompted  them  at  first  to  work  with 
the  view  of  saving  the  life  of  a  fellow-crea- 
ture, had  died  away.  They  now  felt  for 
themselves,  and  that  feeling  was  at  the  mo- 
ment so  powerful,  that  in  it  all  others  were 
merged.  It  was  not,  however,  thus  with 
Llewellen.  He  was  determined  to  rescue 
him  whom  he  believed  to  be  underground, 
if  possible.  All  considerations  having  refer- 
ence to  himself  were  set  aside  in  the  pure 
spirit  of  benevolence,  and  therefore  when 
the  beer  came,  he  opened  his  shoulders, 
and,  without  even  taking  his  lips  from  the 
vehicle,  swallowed  at  least  three  pints.  The 
servants  looked  at  him  while  he  was  drink- 
ing, with  astonishment,  mingled  with  dis- 
may, forasmuch  as  they  beheld  the  wide 
bottom  of  the  can  go  gradually  up  into  the 
air,  they  became  most  intensely  apprehen- 
sive of  his  drawing  every  drain;  for  they 
knew  that  that  can  for  them  alone,  would 
never  by  the  order  of  their  master  be  replen- 
ished. When  Llewellen,  therefore,  left  them 
a  pint,  it  was  just  a  pint  more  than  they  ex- 
pected, and  they  felt  themselves  bound  in 
drinking  that  pint,  to  be  just  as  long  as  if  it 
had  been  half  a  gallon. 

"  Come,  come!"  cried  Valentine,  "  work 
away  there! — you  don't  consider!" 

"  Yesm,  my  poy,"  said  Llewellen,  whose 
face  glowed  like  fire.  "  Are  you  much 
teeper  town,  look  you  now1?" 

"How  can  I  tell!"  replied  Valentine. 
"  Can  you  not  guess  from  the  sound  of  my 
voice!" 

"  Inteet,  how  the  tevil  you  can  speak  at 
all,  I  can't  think,  look  you!" 

"Now  then  don't  chatter,  but  work!" 
cried  Valentine,  and  Llewellen  more  firmly 
than  ever  resolved  to  deliver  to  the  invisible 
individual  a  lecture  upon  his  glaring  impro- 
priety of  speech  the  very  instant  he  had 
succeeded  in  digging  him  out. 

The  hole  was  now  about  nine  feet  long 
by  six  wide,  while  its  depth  was  between 
five  and  six,  and  as  they  had  just  reached  a 
stratum  of  brickbats  and  tiles,  the  difficulty 
experienced  in  digging  considerably  in- 
creased. Llewellen  was  nothing  daunted 
by  this  singular  circumstance,  but  the  ser- 
vants who  had  for  some  time  previously 
exhibited  symptoms  of  exhaustion,  now 
took  upon  themselves  the  responsibility  of 


declaring  that  they  should  not  be  able  to 
stand  it  much  longer. 

"  Let's  have  some  more  peer!"  cried  Lle- 
wellen. 

"  What,  again!"  exclaimed  Valentine. 

"Yesm,  can't  tig  without  peer." 

Again,  then,  Louise  was  despatched  with 
the  can,  and,  on  her  return,  Llewellen 
did  succeed  in  emptying  it  at  a  draught, 
but  sent  her  to  fill  it  once  more  for  the  ser- 
vants. 

"  Now  are  you  going  to  work  away, 
again,  or  are  you  not!"  inquired  Valentine, 
whose  voice  now  appeared  to  proceed  from 
abont  a  foot  below  the  bottom  of  the  hole. 
"  You  think  more  of  swilling,  than  of  me!" 

"Tont  be  angry,  my  poy.  Flesh  and 
ploot  must  be  sustain!  while  tigging,  in 
truth." 

"  If  we  may  judge  from  the  sound,"  ob- 
served Raven,  "he  don't  lie  much  deeper. 
You  had  belter  dig  a  trench  round,  and 
then  you'll  be  able  to  pull  him  up  at  once, 
without  injury." 

"You  can't  jutch  from  the  sount  how 
teep  he  is,  pless  you.  Hur  jutcht  from  the 
sount  that  he  wasn'f  a  foot  teep  an  hour 
ago;  put  hur'll  try." 

He  then  took  the  pickaxe,  and  used  it  so 
dexterously  that  he  kept  the  men  fully  em- 
ployed with  their  spades,  until  the  trench 
had  been  established.  "Are  you  pelow 
this,  look  you!"  he  then  inquired. 

"  I  think  not,"  replied  Valentine. 

"All  you  have  to  do  then,"  said  Raven, 
"  is  to  raise  that  earth  there  in  the  middle." 

"  Yesm.  Now  my  poys  work  away!" 
cried  Llewellen;  "he'll  soon  be  out  now." 

The  hopes  of  the  servants  revived:  their 
spirits  were  reanimated  to  a  sensible  extent, 
and  they  did  work  away  very  laudably. 
They  now  again  firmly  believed  that  they 
should  see  that  unhappy  individual,  of 
whose  existence  under  ground  they  were 
satisfied  to  a  man.  They,  therefore,  used 
their  spades  with  really  great  ardor,  con- 
sidering: but,  as  time  had  cemented  the 
bricks  and  loam  firmly  together,  the  ground 
was  so  stiff  that,  after  the  first  five  minutes, 
they  were  quite  inclined  to  give  the  thing 
up,  as  being  utterly  hopeless.  The  inde- 
fatigable zeal  of  Llewellen,  however,  again 
urged  them  on.  He  once  more  seized  the 
pickaxe  to  loosen  the  earth,  in  utter  foiLr<>t- 
fulness  of  the  fact  that  he  firmly  believed 
the  man  to  be  lying  in  the  very  spot  to 
which  he  applied  it  with  ;ill  his  powrr. 
Valentine  perceived  this,  of  course,  and 
when  Llewellen  had  picked  a  deep  hole, 
into  which  he  was  driving  the  implement 
again  and  again,  with  all  the  strcinjih  at  his 
command,  lie  cried,  "  Oh!  it  has  entered  my 
leg!  now  let  ine  lie  in  peace." 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


271 


Llewellen  paused,  and  listened.  All  was 
silent  beneath.  His  impression  then  was 
that  he  had  unhappily  injured  the  individual 
very  seriously. 

"Phot's  to  pe  tone?"  he  inquired,  ad- 
dressing Raven. 

"  Why,  dig  him  out,  of  course,"  replied 
that  gentleman,  "  its  only  his  leg!  that's  not 
of  much  importance.  We  are  sure  he's 
there  now;  therefore,  let's  have  him  out  at 
once,  dead  or  alive." 

Llewellen  abandoned  the  dangerous  pick- 
axe, and  again  had  recourse  to  the  innocent 
spade,  which,  after  having  called  for  a 
"  trop  more  peer,"  he  continued  to  employ, 
with  unequivocal  success,  while  the  ser- 
vants, who  now,  as  they  conceived,  had 
something  of  a  tangible  character  to  work 
upon,  seeing  that  the  victim  had  really  call- 
ed out  about  his  leg,  backed  the  glorious 
efforts  of  Llewellen  most  manfully,  which, 
duly  considering  all  things,  certainly  did 
them  great  credit. 

Upwards  of  an  hour  they  worked  at  this 
solid  piece  of  earth;  for,  as  Llewellen  would 
not  use  the  pickaxe  again,  their  progress 
was  singularly  slow.  As  they  proceeded 
they,  of  course,  thought  it  strange  that  they 
should  meet  with  nothing  indicative  of  the 
presence  of  a  man.  Had  they  come  across 
a  finger,  or  even  a  toe,  they  strongly  felt 
that  under  the  circumstances  it  would  have 
been  something;  but,  as  they  dug  out  no- 
thing but  bricks  and  tiles,  it  was  natural 
for  them  to  infer  therefrom,  that  there  was 
something  about  the  affair  rather  mysterious. 
They,  nevertheless,  worked  away  in  the 
hope  of  picking  up  anon  a  loose  leg,  an  odd 
arm,  or  the  head  of  an  individual,  until  they 
had  got  below  the  point  to  which  Llewellen 
had  pierced,  when  the  mystery  became  very 
dense. 

44  Nopotty  here!"  exclaimed  Llewellen; 
44  where  is  the  leek  that  hur  injurt?  Hur've 
cot  pelow  that!" 

44  And  it  seems  to  be  impossible  for  him 
to  have  moved  in  such  hard  stony  earth," 
added  Raven. 

44  Oh!  if  he  has  the  apility  to  move  apout 
the  crount,  why  we  may  keep  on  tigging  till 
toomstay.  Where  are  you,  my  poy,  look 
you,  where  are  you  now]" 

No  answer  was  returned  to  this  plain, 
simple  question. 

44  Are  you  let!" 

There  was  still  no  answer. 

44  Well,  this  is,  beyond  all  doubt,"  ob- 
served Raven,  4'the  most  extraordinary 
thing  I  ever  met  with." 

44  Extraortinary  !  hur  is  thunterstruck, 
look  you!"  cried  Llewellen,  and  he  really 
appeared  to  be  so  at  that  moment.  «*  He's 
tet;  there's  no  tout  apout  that:  hur've  kilt 


him  with  the  pickaxe;  ant,  therefore,  as  hur 
can  now  too  no  more  coot  to-day,  hur'll 
have  another  tig  to-morrow  morning  for  the 
potty." 

44  But  I  don't  see  how  you  could  have 
touched  him,"  said  Raven. 

4'  Nor  can  hur,  look  you;  put  there's  no 
tout  that  he's  there;  ant,  as  hur  can't  hear 
him  speak,  there's  no  tout  that  he's  tet;  ant 
as  he  is  tet,  hur  can't  pring  him  to  life  again, 
so  that  hur  hat  petter  pegin  fresh  acain  to- 
morrow." 

To  this  series  of  opinions  all  promptly 
subscribed,  and  Llewellen  got  out  of  the 
hole.  The  servants  followed,  not  indeed 
with  much  alacrity,  but  with  peculiar  satis- 
faction, far  as  the  mere  cessation  from  labor 
was  concerned,  but  no  further.  They  were 
unable  to  stand  erect:  every  attempt  they 
made  to  reassume  that  manly  position  was 
accompanied  by  a  pain  of  the  most  acute 
character  in  the  back.  They  were,  there- 
fore, content  to  walk  for  a  time  nearly  dou- 
ble, as  the  only  available  means  of  avoiding 
immediate  agony.  This,  however,  was 
not  the  case  with  Llewellen— he  gave  one 
mighty  stretch,  and  all  was  over;  but  his 
appearance  at  the  time  was  anything  but 
aristocratical,  seeing  that  his  hands,  arms, 
and  face  were  begrimed  with  dirt,  while 
his  clothes  were  in  a  most  untidy  condition. 
He  had  done  more  work  in  those  three  hours, 
than  his  assistants  could  have  accomplished 
in  a  month;  not  only  because  he  possessed 
more  strength,  but  because  his  had  been 
purely  voluntary  labor,  while  theirs  would 
of  necessity  be  compulsory,  inasmuch  as, 
except  upon  compulsion,  they  would  never 
work  at  all. 

44  Well,"  said  Raven,  after  having  stood 
over  the  hole  with  Llewellen  for  some  time 
in  deep  contemplation,  '4 1  can't  make  it 
out;  I  shall  not  be  satisfied  until  we  have 
him  up.  It  certainly  is  the  strangest  thing 
I  ever  either  heard  of  or  met  with." 

44  Oh  hur'll  have  him  up  to-morrow,  never 
fear.  Hur'll  tig  till  hur  fint  him,  if  he's 
town  twenty  feet." 

44  Well,  come  Fred,  run  away  and  make 
yourself  decent  for  dinner." 

44  Hur  wish  it  was  retty  look  you,  now," 
said  Llewellen,  4' hur  shall  eat  a  goot  tin- 
ner to-lay." 

Of  this  Raven  appeared  to  have  no  doubt 
whatever,  and  when~he  had  given  certain 
instructions  to  his  nearly  exhausted  ser- 
vants, who  were  doubled  up  still,  Louise 
and  Valentine  were  left  in  the  garden  alone. 

The  fact  of  a  voice  having  been  heard  to 
proceed  apparently  from  the  earth,  rendered 
Louise  for  the  time  being  oblivious  of 
almost  everything  else:  she  could  speak, 
she  could  think,  in  fact,  of  nothing  but  that; 


272 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


for  although  the  thing  in  itself  must  appear 
extremely  stupid  to  those  who  know  the 
means  hy  which  the  effects  of  ventriloquism 
are  produced,  they,  who  have  not  even  the 
most  remote  conception  of  those  means,  are 
not  inclined  to  think  so  lightly  of  the  effects 
at  the  time.  To  them  those  effects  are  in- 
variably astounding,  and  it  may  with  per- 
fect safety  he  asserted,  that  there  is  scarcely 
a  man  who,  on  hearing  a  voice  proceed  ap- 
parently from  the  earth,  and  being  at  the 
same  time  unconscious  of  the  power  of 
ventriloquy,  would  not  dig  a  hole,  in  order 
to  ascertain  the  cause,  as  deep  as  that  dug 
by  Llewellen.  He  was  as  firmly  convinced 
as  he  was  of  his  own  existence,  that  some 
unhappy  person  was  alive  under  ground, 
and  so  was  Raven,  and  so  was  Louise, 
whose  conjectures  were  certainly  of  a  most 
extraordinary  character.  Valentine  would 
willingly  have  undeceived  her,  but  as  his 
object  was  to  make  Llewellen  anon  appear 
as  ridiculous  as  possible  in  the  event  of  his 
continuing  to  address  her  in  those  terms  of 
endearment  of  which  he  did  not  and  could 
not  approve,  he  very  naturally  kept  the 
thing  a  secret  even  from  her,  and  contented 
himself  with  subduing  her  fears. 

In  a  short  time  Llewellen  reappeared  in 
the  garden,  very  warm  still,  but  tidy.  His 
object  was  to  have  another  glance  at  the 
hole  before  dinner,  and  he  therefore  walked 
up  to  it  thoughtfully  and  firmly,  and  stood 
upon  its  brink,  and  shook  his  head,  and 
looked  down,  first  in  the  most  straightfor- 
ward manner,  and  then  obliquely.  While 
at  his  toilet  he  had  conceived  the  idea  that 
he  had  not  in  reality  dug  below  the  point 
the  pickaxe  had  reached;  but  as  after  a  very 
minute  examination  he  discovered  that  he 
had,  the  thing  appeared  to  him  to  be  far 
more  mysterious  than  ever.  He  could  not 
understand  it  at  all,  and  he  said  so,  and 
continued  to  announce  the  same  fact,  with 
variations,  until  he  sat  down  to  dinner, 
•when,  from  the  time  he  began  till  he  had 
fmishod,  he  did  not  appear  to  have  a  mo- 
ment's opportunity  for  the  delivery  of  any 
opinion  upon  any  subject  whatever.  "  Hur 
will  trupple  you  acain," — "Shall  hur  have 
the  pleasure?"— "  Hur  shall  pe  prout" — 
"  Yesm"— "  No"—  and  "A  littel  more 
peer,"  were  the  only  words  he  uttered. 

Valentine  had  been  led  by  Raven  to  ex- 
pect that  Llewellen  was  able  to  eat,  but  hr 
had,  he  could  have  had,  no  idea  of  the  ex- 
tent of  his  gormandising  powers.  Four 
times  he  was  helped  to  soup,  three  times  to 
fish,  and  three  times  to  hrrf—  alihoujili 
Ravfii,  knowing  his  customer,  took  special 
care  to  send  him  upwards  of  a  pound  «  in-li 
time — after  which  he  demolished  a  chicki n 
and  a  half  with  a  fully  proportionate  quan- 


tity of  ham,  and  then  set  to  work  upon  the 
pastry — precisely  as  if  nothing  at  all  had 
happened — winding  up  the  whole  by  empty- 
ing the  bread-basket  with  a  view  to  the  full 
injoyment  of  two  good  half-pound  slices  of 
cheese. 

It  is  true  that  his  appetite  on  this  occa- 
sion had  been  very  much  provoked.  As  a 
matter  of  justice  this  must  be  admitted. 
He  had  worked  very  hard,  and  digging  is 
a  species  of  labor  which  renders  a  man  lia- 
ble to  eat  a  great  deal.  But,  allowing  for 
all  this,  the  way  in  which  Llewellen  ate 
proved  that  it  was  not  for  him  a  very  extra- 
ordinary quantity,  although  sufficient  to 
have  satisfied  a  family  of  twelve,  if  even 
they  had  not  had  a  respectable  meal  for  a 
month. 

"How  many  meals  a-day  do  you  have 
when  you  are  at  home,  Fred?"  inquired  Mr. 
Raven,  as  soon  as  Llewellen  was  disen- 
gaged. 

"  Only  five,  look  you: — preakfast,  lunch, 
tinner,  tea,  and  supper." 

44  And  do  you  have  animal  food  at  every 
meal?" 

"  Yesm.  A  man  in  Caermarthen  inteet 
must  have  foot:  he  can't  live  without  eat- 
ing." Which,  however  extraordinary  it 
may  appear,  is  a  positive  fact. 

Dinner  now  being  at  an  end,  the  mystery 
again  formed  the  topic  of  conversation. 

"That  some  poor  creature,"  said  Raven, 
"lies  buried  at  the  bottom  of  our  garden, 
there  cannot  be  a  rational  doubt,  and  if  I 
were  at  all  superstitious,  I  should  say  that 
the  fact  of  his  being  there  accounts  for  the 
singular  noises  we  hare  frequently  heard. 
If  you  remember,  Valentine,  the  last  time 
your  uncle  was  here,  we  heard  a  strange 
voice  in  this  very  room! — I  have  never  been 
able  to  make  that  out  yet. — You  recollect?" 

"  Oh!  yes:—*  One  of  the  Aristocracy!' "  » 

"  Exactly — Now  that  was  a  wonderful 
circumstance,  when  you  come  to  think  of 
it! — We  could  find  no  one  in  the  room,  you 
know! — The  voice  would  answer  questions, 
but  nothing  could  be  seen! — Nearly  the 
whole  of  the  following  day  was  I  endeavor- 
ing to  find  out  what  it  could  possibly  have 
been,  and  as  I  could  obtain  no  clue  what- 
ever to  the  mystery,  I'd  lay  my  life,  if  I 
were  at  all  superstitious,  that  this  affair  in 
the  garden  is  connected  with  it  in  some 
way.  I  have  heard  of  haunted  houses,  it  is 
lint  then  I  never  put  faith  in  such 
absurdities — 1  have  invariably  looked  upon 
them  either  as  the  morbid  imagining*  of 
hypochondriacs,  or  as  the  idle  !';mri 
iijnor.mt  minds  wrought  upon  by  suprrsii- 
tious  fear.  Thank  Heaven  I  am  not  super- 
stitious: I  never  was— I  am  only  saying, 
that  if  1  were,  the  chances  are  that  I  should 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


273 


attribute  the  strange  noises  that  I  have 
heard  to  the  fact  of  some  one  having  been 
buried,  in  the  garden." 

44  Some  of  these  things,"  observed  Va- 
lentine, "  are  very  unaccountable." 

"  They  are  indeed.  I  have  heard  many 
persons,  strong-minded  persons  too,  declare 
that  they  have  seen  apparitions,  and  no 
argument,  no  reasoning,  could  ever  induce 
them  to  believe  that  they  had  not.  I  con- 
fess that  if  there  be  such  things  as  spectres, 
I  should  exceedingly  like  to  see  one;  but  I 
have  no  belief  in  anything  of  the  sort.  I 
can,  of  course,  understand  how  men  can 
imagine  that  they  behold  them.  We  all 
see  visions  in  our  dreams,  and  when  men 
see  them  while,  as  they  fancy,  they  are 
awake,  they  do  but  dream  that  they  see 
them,  for  the  process  of  beholding  appari- 
tions is  but  a  morbid  species  of  dreaming 
after  all." 

"  But  both  these  things  to  which  you 
have  alluded  may  be  mysterious,  and  yet 
have  no  connection  with  each  other,"  ob- 
served Valentine. 

44  Exactly.  With  regard  to  the  affair  in 
the  garden,  I  don't  know  at  all  what  to 
think  about  that.  The  fact  of  an  absolutely 
dead  man  being  buried  in  such  a  place, 
would  lead  one  to  suppose  that  there  had 
been  some  foul  play,  while,  if  it  be  any 
one  who  has  been  buried  in  a  trance,  it  is 
exceedingly  strange  that  they  should  have 


buried  him  there.  Of  course,  that  people 
have  been  thus  buried  we  cannot  doubt. 
Many  cases  have  occurred,  which  prove 
beyond  all  dispute,  the  possibility  of  per- 
sons under  those  circumstances,  being  able 
to  exist  in  the  earth." 

At  this  moment,  Llewellen  commenced 
snoring  most  hideously. 

44  Fred!"  cried  Raven.  44  My  good  fel- 
low, come,  come,  we  can't  stand  that!" 

Poor  Llewellen,  whom  the  labor  of  love 
in  the  garden  had  exhausted,  remained  quite 
unconscious  of  being  thus  addressed.  Raven 
shook  him  very  manfully,  and  bawled  in  his 
ear,  but  although  the  snoring  almost  instan- 
taneously ceased,  it  was  a  long  time  before 
he  could  be  persuaded  to  open  his  eyes. 

44 1  say  Fred!"  continued  Raven,  when 
he  had  accomplished  this  praiseworthy  ob- 
ject. 44  We  can't  stand  snoring!" 

"Tear  me!— tit  hur  snore?  Hur  peck 
parton,  look  you,  put  really — hur — really." 
Having  got  to  this  highly  satisfactory  point, 
he  dropped  off  again  as  soundly  as  before, 
when,  as  the  music  of  his  *'  most  miraculous 
organ"  had  ceased,  no  attempt  was  made 
again  to  disturb  him.  He  slept,  and  slept 
on,  and  as  Raven  soon  followed  his  exam- 
ple, Louise  and  Valentine  passed  an  ex- 
tremely pleasant  evening,  although  neither 
could  be  said  to  have  absolutely  relinquished 
the  object  they  both  had  in  view. 


CHAPTER  LI. 


IN  WHICH  VALENTINE  ARGUES  A  POINT  IN  OPPOSITION  TO  THE  VIEWS  OF  MANY  THOUSANDS. 


WHEN  Valentine  called  the  following  morn- 
ing, he  found  poor  Llewellen  in  the  hole. 
He  had  been  digging  away  ever  since  six 
o'clock,  but,  of  course,  without  any  suc- 
cess. When  he  commenced  at  that  inter- 
esting hour,  he  had  firmly  resolved  to  keep 
at  it  until  he  found  the  4'  potty,"  but  as  the 
ground,  when  Valentine  arrived,  was  be- 
coming sufficiently  damp  to  convince  him 
that  he  could  not  be  very  far  off  water,  his 
ardor  was  somewhat  subdued,  and  he  put  it 
seriously  to  himself,  whether  it  was  worth' 
while,  under  all  the  circumstances  of  the 
case,  to  adhere  to  his  original  resolution. 

44  Still  at  it,"  cried  Valentine,  on  looking 
down  the  hole.  44  Have  you  had  any 
sport?" 

44 Hur  have  not  fount  the  potty,"  replied 
Llewellen,  in  despair,  '4  ant  the  pottum  is 
ketting  rather  tamp,  inteet,  look  you!" 

44  Well!"  said  Valentine,  who  really  be- 


gan to  think  that  he  had  had  enough  dig- 
ging, "  if  I  were  you  I'd  give  the  thing  up." 

44  Hur  tont  like  to  too  that,  ant  yet,^if  hur 
tig  much  teeper  hur  finthur  shall  have  inteet 
to  tig  in  a  well." 

44  Exactly;  you  have  gone  deep  enough 
now  to  satisfy  the  conscience  of  any  man. 
Come!  give  me  your  hand.  The  thing  has 
now  become  hopeless." 

Llewellen  did  not  at  all  like  to  relinquish 
his  task;  but  as  reason  suggested  to  him  at 
the  moment,  that  he  might  as  well  do  so  as 
not,  he  4'  listened  to  the  voice  of  the  char- 
mer," and  leaped  at  once  out  of  the  hole. 

44  Well,"  said  he,  44  now  there's  a  jop  to 
fill  it  up  acain,  look  you." 

44  Oh,  leave  that  to  the  servants.  Let 
them  do  it  at  their  leisure.  Don't  trouble 
yourself  about  that." 

In  this  particular  also,  Llewellen  allowed 
himself  to  be  guided,  and  he  went  to  restore 
24* 


274 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


the  respectability  of  his  appearance,  while 
Valentine  was  pleasantly  engaged  with 
Louise.  She  had  become  quite  herself 
again,  and  chatted  so  gaily,  and  seemed  to  be 
60  happy  in  his  society,  that  every  feeling  he 
had  entertained  of  an  unfavorable  character 
towards  Llewellen  subsided,  and  he  began 
rather  to  like  him  than  not.  And  this  happy 
change  of  feeling  was  mutual.  Llewellen 
had  become  quite  partial  to  him:  indeed, 
when  he  rejoined  him  on  that  occasion,  so 
good  an  understanding  existed  between 
them,  that  they  agreed  to  spend  the  evening 
together  "  somewhere." 

Louise,  however,  did  not  approve  of  this 
arrangement.  She  naturally  wished  that 
"somewhere"  to  be  there,  and  would  as- 
suredly have  put  her  veto  at  once  upon  its 
being  anywhere  else,  if  she  had  not  relin- 
quished the  imperative  mood  quite  so  re- 
cently. As  it  was,  she  very  prudently 
deemed  it  expedient  to  withhold  her  coun- 
tenance from  the  proposed  arrangement 
simply,  although  she  could  have  delivered 
her  opinion  upon  the  subject  with  no  incon- 
siderable eloquence  and  warmth!  No  direct 
opposition  therefore  having  been  offered, 
the  arrangement  remained  undisturbed,  and 
Valentine,  who  had  promised  to  dine  with 
his  uncle,  left  with  every  feeling  of  jealousy 
crushed. 

He  looked  upon  Llewellen  no  longer  as 
a  rival,  so  differently  do  men  under  different 
circumstances  appear.  He  knew  but  little 
of  him— scarcely  anything  indeed— yet  he 
feltthathe  possessed  qualities theknowledge 
of  which  would  be  pleasing.  There  are 
some  men  whose  characters  may  be  seen  at 
a  glance;  while  the  characters  of  others  re- 
quire time  to  be  understood,  and  there  can 
be  as  little  doubt  about  which  of  the  two 
classes  succeed  best  with  the  superficial  as 
about  which  are  as  associates  to  be  prefer- 
red; for  the  difference  between  them  con- 
sists simply  in  this,  that  whereas  the  former 
strive  to  create  a  favorable  impression  by 
means  which  are  easily  seen  through,  the 
latter  are  content  to  leave  all  to  be  dis- 
covered. 

To  this  latter  class  Llewellen  belonged, 
and  Valentine,  now  the  film  of  jealousy  had 
been  removed,  did  not  fail  to  perceive  it. 
It  was  therefore  with  pleasure  that  he  called 
for  him  in  the  evening,  and,  whon  they  had 
listened  to  Louise,  who  had  prepared  for 
the  occasion  a  few  touching  inuendos,  which 
had  reference  to  social  influences  in  general, 
they  set  forth  in  search  of  some  new  enter- 
tainment. 

The  first  thing  which  arrested  the  atten- 
tion of  Llewellen,  was  a  flaming  pl:u-;m|. 
upon  which  two  men  were  represented  in  a 
pugilistic  attitude. 


44  Oh!"  he  exclaimed,  "  bur  shoot  like  to 
co  there  and  see  them  apove  all  thinks  in 
life!" 

Valentine  read  the  placard,  and  as  he 
found  that  a  grand  pugilistic  display  was 
to  take  place  that  evening,  they  started  off 
at  once,  and  soon  reached  the  scene  of  ac- 
tion. On  entering  the  arena,  they  found  the 
sport  had  not  yet  commenced,  and  the  audi- 
ence, of  whom  the  majority  were  respecta- 
bly attired,  while  some  of  them  were  dressed 
in  the  first  style  of  fashion,  manifesting 
symptoms  of  impatience,  it  being  then  past 
the  hour  announced  in  the  placard.  They 
were  not  however  kept  much  longer  in  sus- 
pense, for  almost  immediately  afterwards  a 
person  appeared  upon  the  stage,  about  four 
or  five-and-twenty  feet  square,  and  intro- 
duced two  finely  formed  athletic  fellows  to 
the  audience,  one  as  "The  Birmingham 
Bull,"  and  the  other  as  "  The  Brixton 
Chicken."  They  were,  notwithstanding 
this,  fairly  matched  in  appearance.  They 
were  about  the  same  height,  and  the  same 
weight;  and  while  the  muscles  of  both 
were  developed  with  equal  beauty,  their 
skin  was  equally  healthy  and  clear. 

As  they  shook  hands  as  well  as  they 
could  with  their  gloves  on,  they  smiled  at 
each  other  good-homoredly,  and  then  with 
the  utmost  coolness  set  to  work.  For  some 
considerable  time,  not  a  single  blow  was 
offered.  They  looked  at  each  other's  eyes 
firmly,  and  prepared  their  defence  at  every 
feint;  and  when  they  did  strike  out,  for  the 
amusement  of  the  spectators,  Valentine 
was  amazed  at  the  rapidity  and  tact  with 
which  each  blow  was  parried.  It  seemed 
for  some  time  to  be  impossible  for  either  to 
break  fairly  through  his  antagonist's  guard; 
and  when  at  lengfh,  as  if  tired  of  defending 
themselves  simply,  they  relinquished  the 
defence  for  the  attack,  the  blows  that  were 
given  were  mutually  received  with  every 
demonstration  of  good  will. 

A  shower  of  sixpences  followed  this  dis- 
play, which  the  combatants  picked  up  with 
infinite  alacrity,  and  looked  as  if—  as  far  as 
their  own  private  feelings  were  concerned 
—  it  would  have  been  extremely  pleasant  to 
see  it  rain  thus  for  a  month.  To  them, 
however,  the  gods  were  not  quite  so  propi- 
tious: they  very  soon  succeeded  in  clearing 
the  stage;  and  when  they  had  left  it,  two 
others  were  introduced  by  the  master  of  the 
ceremonies,  whose  general  style  was  so 
<'\lr;mrdinary,  that  Valentine  could  not  re- 
sist the  temptation  to  have  a  word  with  him 


Tho  Bogpy  and  the  Pot!—  the  Prt!  — 
the  Bogey!"  cried  the  master  of  the  c<  n  - 
monies,  pointing  distinctly  to  each  in  his 
turn. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


275 


"Which  is  the  Pet]"  inquired  Valen- 
tine, throwing  his  voice  among  ihe  shilling 
individuals. 

"This  is  the  Pet,  and  this  is  the  Bogey; 
this  is  the  Bogey  and  this  is  the  Pet." 

"  But  which  is  the  Bogey?" 

«4  Why  this  is  the  Bogey!"  And  as  he 
said  so,  he  looked  rather  severely  towards 
the  spot  from  which  the  voice  appeared  to 
proceed. 

"  But  the  Pet!" cried  Valentine,  "which 
is  the  Pet!" 

The  master  of  the  ceremonies  felt  rather 
ruffled,  and  left  the  stage  determined  to 
have  no  more  of  it. 

The  Pet  and  the  Bogey  then  commenced; 
but  Valentine's  attention  was  arrested  at 
the  moment  by  Llewellen,  who  had  dis- 
covered a  friend  by  his  side,  who  resided  in 
Caermarthen,and  who  appeared  to  be  quite 
shocked  at  the  idea  of  being  caught  in  such 
a  place  on  such  an  occasion.  Llewellen  in- 
troduced this  gentleman  as  Mr.  Jarvis  Jones, 
-  and  subsequently  stated,  aside,  that  he  was 
an  exceedingly  charitable,  kind-hearted  per- 
son, who,  by  his  acts  of  benevolence,  had 
acquired  throughout  Wales,  the  reputation 
of  a  philanthropist.  Under  these  peculiar 
circumstances,  Valentine  was  pleased  with 
the  introduction;  but  although,  after  what 
had  been  stated  by  Llewellen,  he  believed 
him  to  be  a  good  sort  of  creature,  he  could 
not  help  thinking  that  there  was  something 
in  his  general  aspect  at  the  time  inappro- 
priately severe. 

"  Are  you  a  patron  of  the  art  of  self-de- 
fence?" inquired  Valentine. 

"Heaven  forbid!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Jarvis 
Jones. 

"Indeed!" 

"I  came  here  as  a  matter  of  curiosity; 
but  I  assure  you  that  I  am  disgusted  with 
the  whole  exhibition." 

"  Upon  my  word  you  somewhat  surprise 
me,"  said  Valentine,  "for  really  I  am  un- 
able to  perceive  anything  in  it  at  all  calcu- 
lated to  excite  the  slightest  feeling  of  dis- 
gust!" 

"  I  do  not  perhaps  look  so  much  at  the 
exhibition  per  se,  as  at  its  tendency;  al- 
though it  is  of  itself  sufficiently  degrading 
to  our  nature,  that  men  should  come  forward 
thus  to  knock  each  other  about  for  gain." 

"  I  fear  that  the  love  of  gain,"  rejoined 
Valentine,  "prompts  men  to  acts  of  a  cha- 
racter far  more  degrading  to  our  nature." 

44  No  doubt  of  it!  that  I  have  no  desire 
to  dispute;  but  it  does  not  follow  that  one 
species  of  degradation  should  be  counte- 
nanced because  there  may  happen  to  be 
another  more  vile." 

" That  of  course  must  he  admitted;  but 
if  we  look  at  the  members  of  such  profes- 


sions, as  are  not  deemed  degrading,  but 
which,  on  the  contrary,  are  held  to  be  highly 
honorable,  we  shall  find,  1  apprehend,  hu- 
man nature  in  your  sense  degraded  to  at 
least  an  equal  depth." 

"  You  mean  of  course  occasionally!— by 
individuals?" 

"  No;  in  the  aggregate:  looking  at  the 
principle  which  actuates  them  all.  Take, 
for  instance,  the  profession  of  a  soldier." 

"  Surely  you  do  not  mean  to  compare  a 
soldier  to  a  pugilist?" 

"  Why  should  I  not?  Can  the  love  of 
gain  be  said  to  have  no  influence  over  him? 
Take  him  as  he  is- — as  a  man;  and  tell  me 
why,  if  righting  for  gain  be  indeed  degrad- 
ing, he  is  not  in  that  respect  as  degraded  as 
the  pugilist." 

"  But  the  soldier  fights  the  battles  of  his 
country." 

"  No  doubt  of  it;  and  were  he  occasion- 
ally to  refuse  to  fight  what  are  termed  '  the 
battles  of  his  country,'  he  would  be  just  as 
good  a  patriot;  but,  apart  from  this,  he  fights 
with  a  view  to  his  own  aggrandisement: 
with  this  view  he  enlisted;  for  gain  he  en- 
tered the  army  as  one  willing  to  kill  whom- 
soever he  might  be  directed  to  kill,  without 
remorse,  because  the  country  calls  it  glory, 
and  without  the  slightest  reference  to  the 
justice  of  the  cause  in  which  he  fights;  for 
that  of  course  he  is  not  supposed  to  under- 
stand. It  may  be  said,  indeed,  that  the 
leading  star  of  the  soldier  is  fame.  Fame 
is  equally  the  leading  star  of  the  pugilist. 
Its  influence  is  equally  felt;  it  is  as  dear  to 
the  one  as  to  the  other.  But  this  is  not  the 
point:  the  question  is  simply  this: — Is  the 
pugilist  degraded  because  he  fights  for  gain? 
If  he  be,  then  are  all  men  who  fight  for  gain 
plunged  into  the  depths  of  degradation — 
no  matter  with  what  weapon  they  may 
fight,  whether  with  swords,  fists,  pistols, 
or  tongues?" 

"  Then  you  would  place  politicians  on  a 
level  with  pugilists?" 

"All  of  them,  of  course,  who  do  battle 
for  gain." 

"  And  advocates  generally — barristers  for 
example?" 

44 1  would  place  them  considerably  lower 
in  the  scale  of  venality,  for  they — without 
having  ignorance  to  plead  in  extenuation — 
will  prostitute  their  talents  in  any  cause, 
however  unjust  to  individuals,  or  pernicious 
to  society.  For  a  fee,  they  will  plunge  the 
most  amiable  and  exemplary  into  wretched- 
ness and  want,  by  violating  every  just, 
every  honorable  principle,  to  make  the 
worse  appear  the  better  reason;  for  a  fee, 
they  will  snatch  from  justice,  and  fling  upon 
society  again,  those  whom  they  know  to  be 
guilty  of  crimes  the  most  hideous." 


276 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"You  will  remember,"  observed  Mr. 
Jones,  "I  admitted  that  the  love  of  gain, 
urged  men  to  acts  more  degrading  to  our 
nature  than  those  even  of  pugilists,  while 
you  in  turn,  acknowledged  that  it  did  not 
follow  that  one  species  of  degradation 
should  be  countenanced,  because  another 
existed  of  a  character  more  vile.  But,  as 
I  said,  I  look  more  at  the  tendency  of  such 
exhibitions  as  these,  than  at  either  the  ex- 
hibitions themselves,  or  the  characters  of 
those  engaged  in  them." 

"And  what  do  you  conceive  their  ten- 
dency to  be1?" 

14  To  generate  pugnacity  among  the  lower 
orders — to  render  them  revengeful — to  ac- 
custom them  to  scuffles  and  drunken  brawls 
— and  to  lead  them  into  scenes  of  de- 
bauchery and  vice." 

"This  is  an  awful  account,  certainly," 
Baid  Valentine.  "  But  how  comes  it  that, 
since  pugilism  as  an  art  has  been  discoun- 
tenaced,  the  lower  orders  have  been  as  pug- 
nacious, as  revengeful,  as  accustomed  to 
scuffles  and  braws,  and  as  vicious  at  least 
as  before?" 

"Because  the  influence  of  pugilism,  in 
its  palmy  days,  has  not  yet  been  effectually 
suppressed." 

"  If  it  has  been  suppressed  at  all,  these 
vices — if  attributable  to  that  influence — 
must  have  decreased  in  proportion^  Years 
have  passed  away  since  the  art  was  dis- 
couraged, and  that  its  influence  has  been 
weakened  no  man  can  doubt;  for,  since  its 
discouragement — I  may  say  its  almost  total 
suppression — the  cowardly  spirit  which 
actuates  secret  assassins,  has  supplanted 
the  manly  courage  it  inspired.  Knives, 
daggers,  and  pikes,  are  now  the  popular 
instruments  of  revenge.  The  use  of  the 
fist  is  exploded.  Men  are  murdered  out- 
right in  lieu  of  being  disfigured.  Where 
they  used  to  have  cut  lips,  black  eyes,  and 
swollen  noses,  they  have  stabs  in  the  throat, 
the  abdomen,  and  the  back.  Wives  are 
made  widows,  and  children  orphans,  in  an 
instant;  where  men  received  blows  which 
simply  made  their  eyes  twinkle,  they  now 
fall  dead  upon  the  spot." 

"  Deaths  sometimes  occurred,  you  are 
aware,  in  pugilistic  encounters." 

"They  did:  but  how  rarely!  But,  inde- 
pendently of  all  considerations  having  refer- 
ence to  actual  death,  the  practice  of  using 
deadly  weapons  in  silly  private  quarrels,  is 
repugnant  to  every  British  feeling.  If  the 
lower  orders  must  quarrel— and  quarrel  they 
will — let  them  not  be  made  to  forget  the  use 
of  their  fists:  Irt  them  rather  be  prompted 
to  pommel  each  other  till  they  are  tired, 
than  induced  to  resort  to  the  cowardly,  mur- 
derous practice  of  slabbing." 


"  But  how  can  we  ascertain  that  the  in- 
crease of  stabbing,  which  all  must  deplore, 
is  attributable  to  the  suppression  of  the 
pugilistic  art?" 

"  By  looking  at  the  character  of  the  lower 
orders  of  society  in  conjunction  with  the 
promptings  of  human  nature  in  general: 
they  will  quarrel;  and  when  they  do,  they 
must  have  weapons.  Teach  them  to  forget 
the  use  of  those  which  they  have  hereto- 
fore employed,  and  they  will  deem  them- 
selves justified  in  flying  to  others.  They 
have  been  taught  this:  they  have  been 
taught  to  forget  the  use  of  their  fists,  and 
hence  fly  to  knives,  pikes,  and  daggers." 

"  But  pugilists  in  general  are  such  abo- 
minable characters,  so  profligate,  so  dis- 
honorable!" 

"  All  this  may  be  granted,  without  dimi- 
nishing the  inexpediency  of  running  them 
down  like  wild  beasts." 

"  But  do  you  not  perceive,  that,  if  they 
were  directly  countenanced,  we  should  be 
in  effect  countenancing  profligacy  and  dis- 
honor?" 

"I  do  not  perceive  that;  but  if  even  it 
followed  as  a  necessary  consequence,  we 
should  attach  due  weight  to  the  fact  that 
they  need  not  be  in  any  direct  manner  sanc- 
tioned! In  all  matters  of  this  kind  there  is  a 
wide  difference  between  direct  sanction  and 
active  suppression.  Let  pugilists  no  longer 
be  hunted  from  county  to  county  by  those 
elderly  ladies  who  have  the  honor  to  be  in 
the  commission  of  the  peace,  and  that  manly 
courage  by  which  the  lower  orders  used  to 
be  distinguished  will  again  be  inspired; 
they  will  again,  in  the  spirit  of  emulation, 
use  their  hands  without  deadly  weapons  in 
them." 

"  Come, come!"  cried  Llewellen, "  you've 
pin  losing  all  the  sport,  look  you! — Phot 
have  you  been  talking  apout  all  this  time? 
— Have  you  cot  any  silver?" 

This  put  an  end  to  the  conversation:  and 
when  Valentine  had  given  Llewellen  his 
purse,  he  and  Jones  again  turned  towards 
the  stage. 

Although  by  no  means  convinced  of  the 
soundness  of  Valentine's  arguments,  the 
philanthropist  thought  that  there  must  be 
something  in  them,  for  he  found  that  the 
disgust  which  he  had  before  felt  had  va- 
nished. He  was  able  then  to  witness  the 
exhibition  with  comparative  pleasure,  ami 
to  smile  at  the  ardor  of  Llewellen,  who  was 
really  so  delighted  that  he  continued,  as  he 
had  begun,  to  throw  silver  to  the  combatants 
after  every  round. 

The   more    the    evening  advanced,   the 
more  judgment  and  scirncr  v  «  re  ilisp 
the   best  men  had  been  evidently  kept  in 
reserve,  and  their  tactics  were  so  various 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


277 


and  so  clever,  that  the  spirit  of  the  exhi- 
bition was  kept  up  till  the  last. 

"  Hur  can  too  it!"  exclaimed  Llewellen, 
as  he  left  with  his  friends.  "  Hur  can  too 
it! — Hur'll  py  a  set  of  duffs,  in  the  morn- 
ing, ant  kiff  you  a  challench,  look  you." 

44  Oh,  I'll  accept  it!"  said  Valentine,  and 


the  thing  was  agreed  upon  at  once,  when 
the  philanthropist  insisted  upon  their  having 
supper  with  him,  at  his  hotel,  where  they 
remained,  until  Valentine,  with  a  view  to 
his  own  reputation,  deemed  it  highly  ex- 
pedient to  take  Llewellen  home. 


CHAPTER  LII. 


VALENTINE  AT  GREENWICH  FAIR. 


So  much  had  Llewellen  and  Valentine 
been  together  since  their  reconciliation,  that 
Louise,  who  had  expected  all  sorts  of 
amusement  to  spring  from  the  presence  of 
her  cousin,  began  to  wish  him  at  Wales 
again  heartily,  before  he  had  been  in  town 
a  week.  It  was  not  simply  one  or  two 
evenings  that  she  had  been  left  alone:  no, 
that  she  might  have  endured:  they  had  been 
out  together  every  evening! — which  was 
really  very  terrible  to  her  feelings.  How- 
ever men  could  wish  to  be  out  so  often,  she 
could  not  conceive.  Whatever  they  could 
see  was  a  mystery  to  her.  She  lectured 
Llewellen,  and  insisted  upon  knowing 
where  he  had  been,  and  whom  he  had  seen, 
and  appealed  to  her  father  whether  she  had 
not  a  clear  and  indisputable  right  to  know, 
and  pointedly  expostulated  with  Valentine; 
but  in  vain:  they  agreed  with  all  she  said; 
but  continued  to  go  out! — admitted  their 
error,  but  would  not  reform. 

This  was  not,  however,  Valentine's  fault. 
He  wnultf  have  spent  his  evenings  with  her, 
had  it  not  been  that  Llewellen  was  con- 
tinually at  him.  It  mattered  net  whether 
any  appointment  had  been  actually  made 
or  not,  when  Llewellen  awoke  in  the  morn- 
ing Valentine  was  the  very  first  person 
whom  he  thought  of,  and  immediately  after 
breakfast,  if  no  engagement  had  been  made 
between  them,  h'e  would  call  upon  him  in 
order  to  seduce  him  out  somewhere.  .He 
could  do  nothing  at  all  without  Valentine. 
He  could  not  move  out  without  him.  Va- 
lentine, of  course,  must  go  wherever  he 
went,  and  when  Raven  insisted  upon  his 
dining  at  home,  Valentine,  of  course,  must 
dine  with  him. 

While  this  very  manifestly  tended  to 
raise  Valentine  in  the  estimation  of  Louise, 
it  palpably  diminished  her  regard  for 
Llewellen.  Upon  his  broad  shoulders  all 
was  laid.  Valentine  was,  in  her  view, 
Llewellen's  victim.  Zealously  did  she  la- 
bor to  open  his  eyes  to  this  interesting  fact; 
and  constantly  did  she  express  her  amaze- 


ment that  he  should  suffer  himself  to  be  so 
led  away;  she  declared  it  to  be  her  unbiassed 
opinion,  that  the  practice  of  going  out  every 
evening  was  fraught  with  pernicious  effects, 
and  contended,  that  if  the  thing  went  on 
much  longer  thus,  she  should  be  justified  in 
believing  that  he  loved  Llewellen's  society 
infinitely  belter  than  hers. 

With  Valentine  all  this  had  great  appa- 
rent weight;  but  he  did  not  conceive  it  to 
be  strictly  just,  that  all  the  blarne  should 
be  attached  to  Llewellen.  He,  therefore, 
with  the  view  of  taking  some  portion  of  it 
to  himself,  did  inquire  of  Llewellen,  imme- 
diately after  Louise  had  been  delivering  to 
him  one  of  her  most  eloquent  lectures — 
whether  he  would  or  would  not  like  to  go 
to  Greenwich  Fair! 

*'  Apove  all  things  in  the  worlt!"  ex- 
claimed Llewellen,  who  w?as  invariably 
ready  for  anything  of  the  sort.  "  Phen  is 
it  to  pel" 

"  Greenwich  fair!" cried  Louise,  perfectly 
astounded — not  only  at  the  idea  of  Green- 
wich fair,  but  at  the  fact  of  that  idea  having 
proceeded  from  him  whom  she  had  hitherto 
believed  to  be  the  victim — "Greenwich 
fair!  why  surely  you  would  never  think  of 
going  to  such  a  dreadful  place  as  that!" 

"  Put  phen  is  it  to  be!  That's  the  point," 
said  Llewellen — "  phen  is  it  to  pel" 

44  On  Monday,"  replied  Valentine,  "  and 
the  sport  I  understand  is  superb." 

44  That's  peautiful,  look  you;  hur'll  pe 
retty,  hur'll  be  retty!" 

4*  Why,  Valentine,"  said  Louise,  4'you 
amaze  me!  Do  you  know,  sir,  what  sort 
of  place  Greenwich  fair  is?  Are  you  aware 
of  its  being  the  resort  of  the  very  lowest  of 
the  low — a  place  in  which  any  one  would 
blush  to  be  seen  who  had  the  slightest  pre- 
tensions to  respectability." 

"  If  anypotty  sees  me  plush — " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Fred!  you  cannot 
know  anything  about  it." 

14 1  have  no  desire  at  all  to  see  the  fair," 
said  Valentine,  4'  1  am  anxious  only  to  go 


278 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


into  the  park,  to  see  the  pretty  girls  roll 
down  the  hill." 

"Peautiful!  Oh!  I  phootn't  miss  it  for 
the  work!" 

44 1  am  ashamed  of  you,  Valentine,— per- 
fectly ashamed  of  you.  Ah!  you  do  not 
mean  it;  I  see  by  your  smiling  that  you  do 
not  mean  it — do  you?" 

"  If  he  ton't  mean  it,  look  you,  he  ought 
to  be  smuttert." 

*'  1  have  nothing  at  all  to  say  to  you,  sir! 
—but,  Valentine,  you  have  no  real  intention 
of  going— now  have  you?" 

44  Why,  really  I  cannot  see  why  I  should 
not.  Llewellen,  you  know,  will  be  there  to 
protect  me!" 

"Oh,  hur'll  protect  every  hair  of  your 
het!" 

44 1  have  no  doubt  of  that,  sir.  You  will 
BO  far  protect  him  as  to  keep  him  out  one 
half  the  night." 

44  No;  1  mean  to  be  home  early,  very 
early.  I  do  not  intend  to  remain  after 
dark." 

44  Well,  if  you  will  promise  me  that,  I 
shall  offer  no  further  opposition,  although  I 
cannot  bear  the  thought  of  your  going  at  all, 
I  have  heard  so  many  dreadful  accounts  of 
the  place." 

The  thing  was,  therefore,  decided;  and 
when  the  morning,  to  which  so  many  thou- 
sands, not  in  England  alone,  but  in  every 
part  of  Europe,  look  forward  with  delight, 
had  arrived,  Valentine  called  for  Llewellen, 
who,  of  course,  was  quite  ready,  and  had 
been  for  hours. 

Having  made  up  their  minds  to  go  by 
water,  they  proceeded  to  Flungerford  Stairs, 
where  they  found  a  steamer  just  on  the 
point  of  starting,  and  at  once  got  on  board. 
The  vessel  was  crowded  in  every  part  to 
excess.  The  deck  was  covered  with  a  mass 
of  human  beings,  which  must  have  appear- 
ed at  a  distance  to  be  as  nearly  as  possible 
solid.  They  had  no  room  at  all  to  shift 
about:  they  were  fixed  in  their  respective 
positions  as  firmly  as  if  they  had  been  nailed 
to  the  deck.  Their  eyes,  lips,  and  tongues 
were  the  only  things  on  board  which,  to 
human  perception,  did  move,  and  their  mo 
tion  was  certainly  perpetual.  It  is  true 
there  were  two  individuals  near  tfce  funnel, 
one  of  whom  was  making  a  peculiarly  con- 
structed violin  squeak,  by  some  cabalistic 
means,  without  moving  his  elbow,  while 
the  other  was  blowing  away  like  Boreas 
through  a  powerful  trombone,  three  parts  of 
which  he  was  of  necessity  compelled  to 
conceal  between  a  stout  licensed  victualler's 
legs— which  seemed  to  have  been  actually 
built  for  the  purpose,  the  knees,  although 
the  ancles  were  close,  were  so  very  widr 
apart— in  order  to  get  the  notes  which  he 


conceived  the  tune  demanded;  but,  with  the 
exception  of  these  two  individuals  and  the 
captain,  whose  arms  went  up  and  down  as 
perpetually  as  if  he  had  been  engaged  to 
[)lay  the  character  of  a  windmill — all  on 
aoard  were  firmly  fixed. 

On  passing  London  Bridge,  a  scene  pre- 
sented itself  of  a  character  the  most  impos- 
ng.  This  was  and  still  is  the  grand  start- 
ng-place  for  steamers;  and  thousands  were 
on  the  various  wharfs  panting  for  a  chance 
to  get  on  board  of  them,  and  thousands  more 
were  already  on  board,  laughing  and  look- 
ing so  happy!  while  the  water,  as  thick  as 
respectable  pease-soup,  looked  at  the  time 
as  if  Vesuvius  had  been  beneath  it,  so  furi- 
ously did  it  boil. 

Billingsgate  was  abandoned;  but  the  beau- 
tiful esplanade  of  the  Custom-house  was 
thronged.  At  the  Tower  Stairs,  which 
used  to  be  embellished,  on  these  happy  oc- 
casions, with  the  stars  of  the  east,  the  elite 
of  Whitechapel  and  Spitalfields,  nothing 
could  be  seen  save  a  few  grim,  withered, 
old  watermen  sitting  upon  the  bottoms  of 
their  wherries,  which  they  had  rawed  in- 
deed they  knew  not  how  oft;  but  which 
were  now  fast  turning  into  touchwood,  and 
mournfully  bringing  to  each  other's  recol- 
lection the  bright  characteristics  of  those 
truly  blessed  times  when  they  were  able  to 
carry  eight  at  eightpence. 

Below  these  justly  celebrated  stairs,  no 
striking  point  presented  itself  on  either  side, 
and  the  thoughts  of  the  passengers  were 
turned  towards  their  stomachs.  It  is  a 
beautiful  feature  in  the  character  of  Eng- 
lishmen, that  they  are  never  truly  happy 
hut  when  they  are  either  eating  or  drinking. 
The  rapid  action  of  their  digestive  organs 
seems  to  be  essential  to  their  enjoyment  of 
any  scene,  however  exciting  in  itself.  They 
must  set  them  to  work  upon  something,  or 
their  hearts  are  not  at  ease;  they  cannot  feel 
comfortable,  their  thoughts  revert  to  pecu- 
niary affairs,  and  their  spirits  evaporate.  It 
is  hence  that  on  this  gay  occasion  the  per- 
sons upon  deck  became  dull,  when  they  dis- 
covered that  they  could  get  nothing  either 
to  eat  or  to  drink.  It  is  true  there  was 
plenty  below,  but  the  cabin  was  so  choked 
up  that  they  could  not  insinuate  themselves 
hy  any  means  down  its  throat.  They  were, 
therefore,  compelled — and  the  idea  of  bring 
compelled  to  do  anything,  is  one  which  a 
Britun  cannot  bear — to  defer  tlir  commence- 
ment of  iheir  pleasures  until  they  reached 
(in -I'liwicli,  which  was  a  pity,  inasmuch  as 
a  little  sour  stout,  or  even  a  little  <_nnnvr- 
beer,  would  have  made  them  feel  joyous  and 

They,  however,  made  np  for  the  mortifi- 
cation they  had  endured,  the  very  moment 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


279 


they  landed,  by  pouring  into  the  various 
public  houses  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of 
the  pier;  when,  having  obtained  a  supply  of 
the  essence  of  mirth,  their  features  relaxed, 
and  they  were  all  life  and  spirit. 

Valentine  and  Llewellen  made  at  once  for 
the  Park,  and,  as  they  entered,  it  presented 
a  scene  of  surpassing  gaiety.  Little  indeed 
of  the  green  sward  could  be  seen,  while  the 
hill  which  rose  before  them  appeared  to  be 
one  moving  mass  of  hats,  bonnets,  scarfs, 
ribbons,  and  shawls.  The  effect  was  strik- 
ing. Every  color  that  art  could  produce 
was  displayed,  and  in  the  sun  all  harmonised 
brilliantly.  Such  was  the  appearance  of 
the  mass,  but,  when  analysed,  its  softness 
and  beauty  were  lost. 

As  Llewellen  was  excessively  anxious 
to  be  active,  and  as  Valentine  was  not  in  a 
contemplative  mood,  they  mounted  the  hill 
without  delay,  and,  before  they  had  reached 
the  summit,  partook  freely  of  the  pleasure 
with  which  all  around  them  appeared  to  be 
inspired.  It  was  delightful  to  view  their 
manifestations  of  happiness,  for  on  such 
occasions  the  poorest  enjoy  themselves  the 
most.  Give  a  poor  girl  a  holiday,  place 
anything  like,  a  sweetheart  by  her  side,  let 
her  have  some  pink  ribbon — and  plenty  of 
it,  that  the  ends  may  hang  well  over  her 
shoulders — with  a  little  white  handkerchief 
to  carry  in  her  hand,  and,  when  in  the  Park, 
princesses  might  envy  her  feelings. 

"  How  peautiful  all  the  cirls  look!"  ex- 
claimed Llewellen.  "  Can't  we  have  a 
came  with  them,  look  you1?  Hur  want  to 
see  more  of  them  roll  town  the  hill." 

"I've  no  doubt  we  shall  see  plenty  of 
them  do  that  by  and  by.  They  are  not 
yet  sufficiently  excited.  But  the  people 
appear  to  be  nocking  this  way.  Let  us  join 
them.  There  is  sure  to  be  something  worth 
seeing,  or  the  attraction  would  not  be  so 
strong." 

"  Hnr  ton't  think  we  shall  too  much  pet- 
ter,"  said  Llewellen,  "  put  we'll  co." 

They  went  accordingly  down  the  avenue 
which  leads  to  Blackheath,  and  which  was 
throngeo"  by  persons,  of  whom  the  majority 
were  in  much  better  circumstances  than 
others  whom  they  saw,  and  who  appeared 
to  be  extremely  anxious  that  those  others 
should  know  it,  they  did  walk  so  stately 
and  looked  so  severe. 

The  Heath  was  covered:  not  alone  by 
human  beings,  for  there  were  donkeys  be- 
yond calculation,  and  forty-year-old  ponies, 
and  marquees,  and  cockshies,  and  innumer- 
able other  great  attractions,  which  combined 
to  swell  out  the  importance  of  the  scene. 

Llewellen  felt  as  if  every  limb  hung  upon 
wires.  He  could  not  keep  quiet.  He  ran 
about  like  a  young  lunatic:  now  getting  his 


hat  filled  with  gingerbread-nuts  to  pelt  the 
children  of  the  gipsies — who  have  always 
swarms  of  those  little  articles  at  command 
— and  then  pulling  the  girls  about  and  kiss- 
ing— aye,  absolutely  kissing  them,  and  that 
too  in  the  face  of  the  sun!  He  did  not 
know  at  all  what  to  do  with  himself,  and  at 
length  declared  that  nothing  could  or  should 
content  his  soul  until  he  had  had  a  ride  on  one 
of  the  ponies.  "  Hur'll  kiff  you,"  said  he, 
"  fifty  yarts,  look  you,  out  of  five  huntret, 
ant  peat  you,  ant  you  shall  have  which  you 
please. — There!"  he  added,  pointing  to  a 
poor  little  pony,  "  he's  a  Welshman:  I 
know  he's  a  Welshman:  hur'll  let  you  take 
him." 

Valentine  looked  at  the  little  animal;  and 
he  might  have  been  a  Welshman,  but  he 
must  have  been  foaled  in  the  middle  ages. 

"  Phot  say  you!"  cried  Llewellen,  who 
was  then  all  impatience.  "  Will  you  accept 
my  challench?" 

"  I  will,  if  you'll  ride  that  nice  white 
one,"  said  Valentine,  pointing  to  a  dirty 
little  wretch  of  a  mare  that  in  point  of  years 
looked  at  least  a  thousand. 

"  No,  no:  that's  too  pat,  there's  nothing 
in  her:  there's  no  blut  in  her  potty;  no 
pone." 

"  Why  she  is  all  bone! — what  would 
you  have?" — Take  her;  and  I'll  not  have 
the  fifty  yards  you  offered." 

"Well:  hur'll  try  her  speet!"  And  he 
mounted,  when  Valentine  mounted  the 
Welshman;  and  they  made  a  fair  start. 

The  Welshman  went  a-head,  for  there 
was  a  little  stuff  still  in  him;  but  the  other, 
with  all  Llewellen's  jockeyship,  could  not 
be  prevailed  upon  to  believe  that  it  was  ne- 
cessary for  her  to  go.  The  strongly  excit- 
ing moment  of  starting  indeed  did  stimulate 
her  into  a  trot;  during  which,  the  active  en- 
ergies of  Llewellen  caused  the  saddle  to 
slip  off,  although  he  managed,  by  dint  of 
great  dexterity,  to  stick  on;  but  after  that 
great  event  the  mare  would  not  stir  an  inch: 
she  would  not  even  make  the  slightest  effort 
to  go  along,  knowing  perhaps  that  if  she 
did,  such  effort  would  be  unsuccessful  in- 
asmuch as  the  saddle  was  dangling  between 
her  legs,  while  her  rider  sat  firmly  upon  the 
girth.  Of  all  this  Llewellen  was  utterly 
unconscious  until  Valentine  pointed  it  out  to 
him  on  his  return.  His  firm  impression  was 
that  he  had  left  the  saddle  behind  him!  He 
could  not  understand  at  all  the  motive  of 
the  mare,  and  wondered  that  all  around  him 
should  be  roaring  with  laughter.  He  very 
soon  however  dismounted  after  that,  and 
acknowledged  that  Valentine  had  won. 

This  calmed  him  a  little  for  at  least  ten 
minutes,  during  which  time  he  walked  very 
quietly  along,  but  he  broke  loose  again  very 


280 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


soon  after   that,  and  ran   about  as   much 
elated  as  before. 

*'  My  little  tear,  phot  shall  I  treat  you  to, 
look  you?"    he  inquired  of  a  smart  servant 
girl,  who  was  rather  a  shrewed   little  crea 
ture  in  her  way.     "  Phot  will  you  have  for 
a  fail-ink?" 

"That  thimble  and  pincushion,  please," 
replied  the  girl,  as  she  pointed  to  the  arti- 
cles stuck  upon  a  stick. 

"  Which  of  course  you  shall  have,  my 
little  tear,"  said  Llewellen. 

"Year,  yer  liar,  sir! — Three  throws  a 
penny,  and  six  for  tuppence!"  cried  a  fel- 
low who  approached  at  this  moment  with 
an  armful  of  sticks. 

"  Hur  want  these  two  little  things,  look 
you:  phot's  the  price?" 

"  Can't  sell  'em  hoif  the  sticks,  sir;  it's 
three  throws  a  penny." 

"  Oh,  nonsense!  Hur'll  kiff  you  phot- 
ever  price  you  ask.  Hur  shall  preak  them, 
if  hur  throw,  look  you!" 

"  Oh,  no  yer  von't,  sir!  D'yer  vornt 
them  petickler?" 

"  Why,  of  course!  ant  must  have  them 
for  this  laty." 

"  Werry  well,  sir!  year's  three  throws  a 
penny:  yer  safe  to  bring  'em  down!" 

"  Oh,  hur'll  pring  them  town!— there's 
no  tout  apout  that!"  cried  Llewellen,  and  he 
at  once  took  three  sticks  and  repaired  to  the 
place  appointed. 

The  first  he  pitched  gently,  lest  he  should 
injure  the  little  articles,  but  missed  them: 
the  next  he  delivered  with  a  sweep,  and 
down  they  came  in  an  instant. 

"  Hin  the  ole,  upon  me  soul!"  cried  the 
fellow,  who  danced  to  the  spot  to  stick 
them  up  again. 

Llewellen  did  not  understand  this  pro- 
ceeding, and  expressed  himself  exactly  to 
that  effect,  when  the  proprietor  explained  to 
his  own  satisfaction  that,  in  order  to  obtain 
them,  it  was  absolutely  necessary  for  them 
to  fall  out  of  the  hole. 

*'  Very  well!"  said  Llewellen,  who  threw 
the  third  stick  which,  however,  went  wide 
of  the  mark. 

"  Ow  werry  near,  sure-/y/"  exclaimed 
the  active  proprietor,  who  seemed  to  pride 
himself  especially  upon  the  performance  of 
the  most  extraordinary  antics.  "Try  again, 
sir! — safe  to  get  'em!— no  mistake,  sir!— 
Year's  three  more!" 

Llewellen  now  took  a  most  deliberate 
aim,  holding  the  stick  horizontally  in  the 
middle  to  make  sure;  and  again  the  little 
articles  fell,  but  again  they  dropped  into 
the  hole.  Conceiving  that  this  was  not 
exactly  the  way  to  win  them,  he  seized  t In- 
next  firmly  at  one  end,  and  with  a  slashing 
iweep  sent  it  whizzing  at  them! — he  struck 


the  stick  upon  which  the  little  articles  were 
prrched,  but  those  articles  dropped  as  be- 
fore into  the  hole.  What  could  be  the 
meaning  of  it?  Did  he  not  throw  with 
sufficient  force?  He  threw  the  next  more 
forcibly;  but,  alas!  with  the  same  result. 

"Try  again,  sir!— yer  carn't  be  off  gittin 
'em! — Ave  another  shy!" 

Llewellen  had  another  "shy,"  and  ano- 
ther, and  another! — The  little  articles  would 
fall  into  the  hole. 

He  therefore  changed  his  tactics  in  toto; 
for  he  had  begun  very  calmly  to  reason  upon 
the  matter.  "  If,"  thought  he,  "I  roll  the 
stick  just  over  the  hole,  the  little  articles 
will  fall  upon  the  stick,  and,  of  course,  will 
not  allow  them  to  go  in!"  which,  in  the  ab- 
stract, was  a  very  ingenious  idea,  and  he 
proceeded  to  act  upon  it,  but  found  that  the 
practical  part  of  the  business  was  not  quite 
so  easy  as  he  had  anticipated.  The  diffi- 
culty was  in  persuading  the  sticks  to  roll 
'•just  over  the  hole."  They  wouldn't  do 
it.  He  tried  again  and  again:  for  he  felt, 
of  course,  that  the  theory  of  the  thing  was 
very  excellent;  but  no:  it  was  not  to  be  done 
— at  least  it  was  not  to  be  done  by  him; 
and  hence  he  had  recourse  to  the  slashing 
mode  again. 

"That's  your  sort! — yer  carn't  do  better, 
sir;  that'll  beat  the  world!"  exclaimed  the 
proprietor,  who  informed  his  victim  every 
time  he  gave  him  fresh  sticks,  that  "  a  faint 
heart  never  yet  won  a  fair  lady." 

Llewellen  now  threw  with  desperation — 
he  swept  all  before  him,  and  at  length  the 
little  thimble  on  falling  into  the  hole  for 
about  the  fiftieth  time  absolutely  leaped  out 
again!  Well!  that  was  something.  He 
seized  the  prize  and  presented  it  to  the 
lady,  and  then  wished  to  purchase  the  pin- 
cushion. Oh!  the  proprietor  would  not  take 
any  money  for  it! — it  was  invaluable  to 
him!  Llewellen  went,  therefore,  again  to 
the  sticks,  which  he  threw  as  if  he  wished 
to  knock  a  house  down. 

"Throw  them  perpendicularly,"  said  a 
worthy  mechanic,  who  was  pained  to  see  so 
much  money  wasted  upon  a  tiling  which 
was  not  worth  three  farthings.  "  You  will 
never  get  it  fairly  down  by  striking  at  the 
stick." 

The  proprietor  looked  at  this  mechanic 
with  an  aspect  indicative  of  anything  but 
friendship.  He  wished  him  dead  and 
buried;  for  Llewellen,  by  acting  upon  this 
highly  correct  suggestion,  went  alarmingly 
near  the  pincushion  at  every  throw,  and  did 
eventually  knock  it  off!  when  the  proprietor 
gave  another  sweet  look  at  the  mrrhanic; 
and,  conceiving  that  he  had  robbrd  him  of 
a  little  fortune,  felt  bound  to  inform  him 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


281 


that,  for  "  two  pins,"  he'd  show  him  the 
difference  between  them. 

Llewellen  of  course  was  delighted.  He 
picked  up  the  cushion  in  an  instant,  and 
the  very  next  instant  discovered  that  the 
cause  of  its  remarkable  tendency  towards 
the  hole,  was  involved  in  the  fact  of  its  be- 
ing laden  with  dirt.  Considering,  however, 
the  various  conflicting  circumstances  of  the 
case,  he  did  not  explain  to  the  man  his 
private  sentiments  upon  the  point;  but  pre- 
sented the  prize  with  great  delicacy  to  the 
lady,  whom  he  moreover  loaded  with  gin- 
gerbread-nuts, of  which  she  appeared  to  be 
remarkably  fond,  and  then  left  her. 

"  Hur  tit  pekin  to  think,"  said  he  to  Va- 
lentine, as  they  walked  from  the  spot,  "  that 
hur  never  shoult  be  apel  to  kit  it  at  all,  look 
you!  There's  a  pair  of  peautiful  plack 
eyes!"  he  added,  directing  attention  to  a 
dirty  young  woman,  whose  features  were 
certainly  of  the  most  handsome  caste. 
"  Phot  is  she?" 

"A  gipsy,"  replied  Valentine,  as  she 
approached  them, 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  your  fortune,  good  gen- 
tleman1?" she  inquired,  addressing  Llewel- 
len, whom,  at  a  glance,  she  perceived  to  be 
the  greener  of  the  two. 

"  My  fortune,  pless  you! — my  fortune  is 
mate!" 

"  But  I  can  tell  you  something  much  to 
your  advantage.  1  can  tell  you  the  lady 
you  love,  and  who  loves  you — the  color  of 
of  her  hair — the  first  letter  of  her  name,  and 
something  besides  you'll  be  much  pleased 
to  know." 

**  Inteet,  then:  phot  is  it,  look  you?" 

"  Let  me  see  your  hand." 

Llewellen  at  once  held  it  forth,  and  the 
gipsy  proceeded  to  examine  the  palm  with 
great  intensity  of  feeling — to  trace  the  ca- 
balistic lines  in  all  their  varied  ramifica- 
tions, and  to  look  altogether  mysterious. 

"  There  is  great  fortune  here,  good  gen- 
tleman," she  observed,  after  this  minute 
preliminary  examination — "great  fortune. 
Just  cross  your  hand  with  silver." 

"That  of  course  is  indispensable,"  said 
Valentine. 

"The  charm  is  in  the  silver,"  rejoined 
the  gipsy. 

And  it  is  a  mysterious  fact  that  therein 
lies  the  charm.  In  all  matters  of  this  kind 
there  is  infinite  virtue  in  silver. 

Of  course  Llewellen  acted  quite  up  to 
her  instructions,  when  she  examined  the 
palm  again  very  minutely,  and  looked  oc- 
casionally into  his  eyes  with  the  view  of 
giving  some  additional  effect  to  the  thing. 

"  You  will  be  married,"  she  observed, 
in  a  low  tone  of  voice,  "  before  the  present 
year  is  out,  to  the  lady  you  love." 
25 


"  Inteet!— that's  coot.    Put  who  is  she?" 

"  Her  name  begins  with  an  L:  she  is 
handsome,  rather  tall,  very  rich,  has  dark 
brown  hair,  and  a  delicate  complexion." 

"  Peautiful!— Well!  ant  how  many  chil- 
tren  look  you!" 

"I  can  only  count  eleven;  but  you  may 
have  more.  I  can't  take  upon  myself  to 
say  to  one." 

"  Oh,  that's  quite  near  enough!  Eleven 
will  too.  Well?" 

"  I  see  nothing  more  but  that  you  will 
always  be  prosperous  and  happy." 

"Her  name  begins  with  an  L!"  thought 
Valentine.  "  Handsome,  rather  tall,  rich, 
dark  hair,  and  delicate  complexion! — Why, 
that  is  Louise!" 

"Shall  I  tell  your  fortune,  good  gentle- 
man," said  the  gipsy,  who  had  a  splendid 
eye  to  business. 

"No,"  said  Valentine,  abruptly. 

"  Oh,  too!"  cried  Llewellen.  "  Too,  too 
have  it  tolt." 

"Not  I! — Come!"  said  Valentine,  taking 
Llewellen's  arm. 

"  I  can  tell  you  something  which,  if  it 
does  not  please  you,  good  gentleman,  will 
put  you  on  your  guard!" 

And  this  was  very  ingenuous  on  the  part 
of  the  gipsy,  and  reflected  great  credit  upou 
her  powers  of  perception;  for  she  saw  in  a 
moment  that  what  she  had  said  to  Llewellen 
had  not  imparted  much  pleasure  to  Valen- 
tine, and  felt  that,  under  the  circumstances, 
a  warning  was  the  only  means  available  by 
which  he  could  be  caught.  "Beware!" 
she  exclaimed,  as  she  followed  him.  "  Be- 
ware of  false  friends!"  And  this  had  its 
effect;  but  not  the  effect  she  desired,  for  he 
still  kept  on. 

"  It  is  strange,"  thought  he,  as  they 
passed  through  the  gate  from  the  Heath 
into  the  Park,  "  very  strange:  and  yet  how 
is  it  possible  that  she  can  tell? — Pooh! — 
Absurd! — and  even  if  she  could,  it  would 
not  follow  of  necessity  that  it  should  be 
Louise.  L  is  the  first  letter  of  Laura, 
Lucy,  Lucrelia,  Lydia,  Leonora,  and  many 
other  names  which  do  not  occur  to  me  at 
the  moment;  and  why  should  not  one  of 
these  be  handsome,  rather  tall,  and  rich, 
with  dark  hair,  and  a  delicate  complexion? 
But  the  idea  of  her  being  able  to  tell  is 
ridiculous!" 

And  so  it  was:  truly  ridiculous;  but  it 
was  notwithstanding  an  idea  which  he  could 
not  repudiate.  It  continued  to  haunt  him, 
and  to  make  him  feel  very  uncomfortable. 
In  vain  he  brought  reason  to  bear  upon  the 
point:  although  he  tried  very  hard  to  per- 
suade himself  that  he  ought  to  feel  ashamed 
of  allowing  such  an  absurdity  to  vex  him, 
he  could  not  avoid  feeling  vexed  at  it  still. 


2S2 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"  Phot  is  the  matter,  look  you?  Phy  are 
you  so  lull?"  inquired  Llewellen,  whom 
Valentine,  in  spite  of  himself,  again  regard- 
ed with  a  feeling  of  jeaUusy. 

"  Dull!— Am  I  dull?— Well,  we  shall  see 
more  to  enliven  us  presently." 

"Oh!  too  let  us  mount  the  other  hill!" 
exclaimed  Llewellen,  on  reaching  the  Ob- 
servatory. "  Look  you!  What  thousants 
of  people  there  are!" 

"  Now  then!"  cried  Valentine,  determin- 
ed to  shake  off  all  thought  of  the  gipsy  and 
her  prophecy  if  possible.  "  Let's  have  a 
run." 

"Apove  all  things! — come  on!"  cried 
Llewellen,  who  started  off  at  once  very 
swiftly;  Valentine  stopped  to  watch  him. — 
He  had  had  some  experience  uponThetford 
hill,  and  therefore  felt  that  Llewellen  would 
not  loiter  long.  Nor  did  he.  No  man  ever 
made  so  much  haste.  His  stride  gradually 
increased  in  length  as  he  descended,  until 
they  became  amazed.  He  seemed  to  fly 
down.  No  swallow  could  have  beaten  him. 
He  lost  his  hat,  but  would  not  stop  to  pick 
even  that  up,  he  was  in  such  a  hurry,  and 
when  he  happily  arrived  at  the  bottom,  he 
flew  over  about  five  hundred  yards  of  level 
ground  before  he  deemed  it  expedient  to 
stop. 

He  then  sat  down  upon  the  grass  and 
panted  freely,  while  Valentine  descended 
But  he  did  not  do  it  half  so  fast:  his  was 
no  run  at  all! — it  was,  in  fact,  nothing  more 
than  a  most  disgraceful  shuffle.  He  did, 
however,  get  down  eventually,  and  having 
secured  Llewellen's  hat,  reached  the  spot 
from  which  its  owner  had  no  immediate 
disposition  to  move. 

"  Hur  tit  peat  you  there,"  he  cried,  "  look 
you!  Put  in  truth,  hur  tit  not  mean  to  come 
town  so  fast." 

"  Have  you  hurt  yourself  at  all!" 

**  Oh  no,  not  a  pit:  put  hur  might  just  as 
well  have  run  against  a  tree,  as  not,  for  hur 
tit  not  see  phere  hur  was  coink.  Hur  lost 
sight  of  everything,  look  you;  put  hur 
thought  hur  could  not  too  much  petter  than 
stretch  out  rny  leeks." 

"  Well,  come.  Shall  we  mount  the  other 
hill,  as  you  proposed?" 

"  Oh  yes!— hur'm  quite  retty,"  said  Lle- 
wellen, who  rose  from  the  ground  on  the 
instant,  and  it  may  be  believed  that,  profit 
ing  by  experience,  he  actually  did  not  run 
up  that  hill  so  fast  as  he  ran  down  the  other. 

On  reaching  the  top,  they  at  once  per- 
ceived that  as  far  as  life  and  gaiety  were 
concerned,  it  was  incomparably  the  more 
attractive  hill  of  the  two.  It  was  less  aris- 
tocratic than  the  other.  The  people  were 
more  free  and  merry.  They  laughed  more 
loudly,  and  chatted  more  cheerfully,  giving 


a  more  extensive  scope  to  the  development 
of  their  feelings,  and  all  was  in  consequence 
ollity  and  joy. 

The  grand  point  of  attraction,  however, 
was  the  slope  of  the  hill  on  the  other  side, 
where  thousands  of  comfortable  creatures 
were  seated  enjoying  the  juvenile  revels 
below.  Some  had  gin  in  little  botiles,  to 
which  they  applied  their  lips  occasionally; 
others  had  somewhat  larger  bottles  of  beer; 
others  were  eating  cakes,  gingerbread,  and 
oranges,  while  others  were  glancing,  and — 
it  must  be  written — kissing! 

It  was  pleasing  to  distinguish  the  lovers 
from  the  rest  of  those  who  formed  this  ex- 
tensive amphitheatre  of  happiness.  They 
suffered  not"  concealment  like  a  worm  i' the 
bud,  to  prey  on  their  damask  cheeks!"  they 
knew  better!  They  loved;  and  were  not 
ashamed  to  let  the  world  know  it! — while 
the  warmth  with  which  they  loved  did 
develop  itself  in  this,  that,  whereas  the 
ladies  sported  the  hats  of  the  gentlemen, 
the  gentlemen  embellished  themselves  pro 
tern,  with  the  upper  habiliments  of  the 
ladies.  And,  oh!  how  dearly  a  lady  loves 
to  put  on  the  hat  of  her  lover! — how  well 
it  becomes  her! — how  charmingly  she  looks! 
— although,  it  must  be  admitted,  sometimes 
a  little  rakish.  Still,  she  loves  it;  and  there 
was  not  a  single  lady  that  sported  a  hat  on 
this  memorable  occasion,  who  tried  to  con- 
ceal this  fact  from  either  her  lover  or  her- 
self. They  all,  on  the  contrary,  made  the 
very  most  of  it;  they  felt  that  they  looked 
most  bewitching;  and  so  they  did;  which 
is  more  than  can  be  said  of  their  lovers, 
seeing  that  gentlemen  in  bonnets,  caps, 
scarfs,  shawls,  and  tippets,  do  net  look  be- 
witching at  all. 

The  great  game  going  forward  below, 
however,  commanded  the  special  attention 
both  of  Valentine  and  Llewellen.  They 
saw  from  four  to  five  hundred  lively  little 
youths  with  their  mouths  widely  extended, 
giving  the  very  sharpest  possible  look  out 
for  the  oranges  that  were  thrown  from  the 
brow  of  the  hill.  For  each  orange  thrown 
there  were  at  least  a  hundred  candidates, 
and  the  beautiful  spirit  of  emulation  it  in- 
spired, imparted  a  high  degree  of  pleasure 
to  all  around.  If  well  directed,  one  orange 
caused  fifty  youths  to  fall,  which  of  course 
was  about  one  of  the  purest  delights  in  na- 
ture. Scarcel^  anything,  in  fact,  can  be 
conceived  more  delightful  to  a  <;enerous  and 
intellectual  mind,  than  the  process  <•!  a 
mob  of  little  eager  individuals  rolling  <>vrr 
each  other  down  a  hill  after  an  oranjje  \\  hieh 
is  of  course  crushed  by  him  who  has  the. 
joy  to  fall  upon  it.  It  is  useless  to  throw 
them  at  the  heads  of  the  little  mob,  for  they 
are  caught  by  the  dexterous,  and  cause  no 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


283 


fun:  they  must  be  rolled  down  rapidly  to 
produce  the  effect  desired,  and  whenever 
that  effect  is  produced,  what  a  thrilling  sen- 
sation of  delight  doth  it  impart! 

Of  course  Llewellen  was  at  it  in  a  mo- 
ment, and  Valentine  very  soon  joined  him. 
They  threw  an  immense  number,  and  with 
so  much  dexterity  and  tact,  that  they  gave 
great  pleasure  to  all  around,  save  one,  and 
that  one  was  the  lady  who  had  supplied 
them  with  ammunition.  They  had  used  all 
her  oranges,  for  which  she  had  had  her  own 
price;  but  as  she  happened  to  have  a  lot 
more  at  home,  she  left  the  spot  with  her 
empty  basket,  growling  gruffly  at  herself 
for  having  been  such  a  fool  as  not  to  bring 
them  out  with  her. 

"Well,"  said  Valentine,  as  soon  as  he 
found  that  no  more  ammunition  could  be 
obtained,  "have  you  anything  like  an  ap- 
petite!" 

"An  appetite!  pless  you,  hur  never  was 
so  huncry!  I  coot  eat,  look  you,  anything  in 
the  worlt!" 

"Then  we  had  better  return  to  the  town 
at  once,  and  see  after  dinner:  we  shall  be 
able  no  doubt  to  get  something." 

They  accordingly  descended  the  hill,  and 
left  the  park;  and  after  having  been  stopped 
by  a  variety  of  ladies  in  long  white  aprons, 
who  informed  them  that  they  could  have  at 
their  establishments  respectively  excellent 
accommodation  for  tea,  with  all  the  fas- 
cinating smiles  at  their  command,  they 
sought  and  found  a  decent  inn  in  the  middle 
of  the  town,  where  they  ordered  whatever 
sort  of  dinner  could  be  immediately  placed 
before  them. 

In  less  than  ten  minutes  the  table  was 
covered.  As  they  had  ordered  nothing  hot, 
they  had  every  thing  cold;  but  they  never- 
theless enjoyed  it,  and  ate  like  giants. 

The  window  of  the  room  into  which  they 
had  been  shown  commanded  a  fine  view, 
not  only  of  the  opposite  houses,  but  of  the 
street  in  which  those  houses  were  situated, 
together  with  the  people  with  whom  it  was 
thronged.  To  this  window  they,  therefore, 
repaired  to  enjoy  their  wine,  and  Valentine 
felt  quite  resolved  to  return  to  town  as  soon 
as  it  became  dark,  as  he  had  promised. 
Llewellen  was  of  course  quite  opposed  to 
such  a  proceeding;  but  as  Valentine  was 
firm,  his  opposition  was  not  urged  beyond  a 
certain  extent.  There,  then,  they  sat,  sip- 
ping their  port  and  smoking  cigars,  highly 
pleased  with  the  scene  before  them,  until 
twilight  arrived. 

It  may,  by  some  few,  have  been  remark- 
ed, that  a  man's  feelings  vary.  It  is  strange 
and  mysterious  no  doubt  that  they  should; 
but  that  they  do,  is  a  sound  philosophical 
truth  which  no  sophistry  can  shake.  They 


will  vary;  and  as  if  with  the  view  of  prov- 
ing to  demonstration  that  they  will,  Valen- 
tine, who  had  before  felt  so  firmly  resolved 
not  to  look  at  the  fair,  now  proposed  a  walk 
through  it. 

Of  course  Llewellen  was  delighted  with 
this  proposition,  and  "  plest  the  peautiful 
wine"  that  had  induced  it.  "Let's  ring  the 
pell  for  the  pill,"  said  he,  "ant  we'll  co  off 
at  once  my  poy,  look  you." 

The  bill  was,  therefore,  ordered,  and  on 
its  being  discharged,  they  started  direct  for 
the  fair. 

The  space  between  the  booths  was  dense- 
ly crowded.  They  could  scarcely  get  along, 
but,  being  in,  they  went  forward  with  the 
struggling  stream.  The  pleasure  of  being 
in  such  a  place  is  doubtless  great,  although 
involved  to  some  considerable  extent  in 
mystery;  but  Valentine  and  Llewellen  hav- 
ing resolved  to  go  through  it,  disdained  to 
retreat,  they  kept  on,  and  were  driven  past 
many  great  attractions,  at  which  they  had 
not  time  even  to  look  until  they  arrived  at 
the  top,  where  a  rush  was  made,  and  in  an 
instant  the  crowd  was  wedged  in! 

"  Now,  then,  take  care  of  your  pockets," 
said  Valentine,  who  still  stuck  close  to 
Llewellen,  and  who  understood  the  move- 
ment exactly. 

"They  must  be  clever  inteet  to  kit  any- 
thing out  of  me,"  said  Llewellen,  with  a 
chuckle,  which  denoted  security;  and  by 
drawing  the  tails  of  his  coat  forward,  he 
covered  all  his  pockets  at  once  with  his 
hands. 

The  mass  now  moved  to  and  fro  for  some 
moments  very  gently;  but  presently  the 
women  began  to  scream,  and,  singularly 
enough,  the  very  instant  they  left  off  scream- 
ing, the  pressure  relaxed,  and  all  were  able 
to  move. 

"  Too  let  us  co  into  that  show,"  said  Lle- 
wellen, when  the  mass  had  given  way,  "I 
shoot  so  like  to  co  into  one." 

"Very  well,"  said  Valentine,  "I  am 
quite  willing.  We  may  as  well  go  up  at 
once." 

Up  accordingly  they  went,  and  on  reach- 
ing the  place  at  which  the  money  was 
taken,  Llewellen  could  not  find  his  purse. 

"  I  told  you,"  said  Valentine,  on  being 
informed  of  this  interesting  fact,  "  to  take 
care  of  your  pockets." 

"  And  so  her  teet  !"  cried  Llewellen, 
"  until  the  cirls  pecan  to  scream!  There 
were  two  little  tears  just  pehind  me,  nearly 
smuttert:  of  course  hur  teet  all  hur  coot  for 
them!" 

"  And  while  you  were  doing  all  you 
could  for  them,  the  little  dears  robbed  you 
of  your  purse." 

"  Phot,  the  cirls!" 


284 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"  Of  course!  They  are  the  most  success- 
ful and  dexterous  pickpockets  we  have. 
Whenever  you  hear  them  scream  in  a  crowd 
like  that,  look  to  your  pockets.  They  do 
do  not  scream  because  they  are  hurt:  the 
fellows  whom  they  are  with  protect  them." 

"The  little  tevils.  Oh!  hur  wish  hur 
hat  known  it!  Put  never  mind,  you  are  all 
right,  that's  a  plessing." 

The  entertainments  of  the  evening  were 
varied  and  attraciive.  In  the  bills— at 
which  they  glanced,  while  a  brigand  was 
bawling,  "  All  in  !  all  in  !"— it  was  an- 
nounced that  the  performances  would  com- 
mence with  a  serio-historical  tragedy,  called 
The.  Speechless  Spectre;  or,  the  Sanguinary 
Stab.-  after  which,  there  would  be  an~infinite 
variety  of  comic  singing:  the  whole  to  con- 
clude with  the  celebrated  pantomimic  pan- 
tomime of  How  are  you  off  for  Chips?" 

This  promised  a  highly  intellectual  treat; 
and  on  reaching  the  interior  of  the  theatre— 
which  they  did,  by  diving  through  a  large 
hole  in  a  blanket,  which  appeared  to  have 
been  established  expressly  for  the  purpose 
— they  found  "  the  house  crowded  to  the 
ceiling." 

The  aristocracy,  of  course,  were  duly 
separated  from  the  democracy.  There  were 
both  pit  and  boxes;  and,  as  in  theatres  of 
larger  dimensions,  they  convert  the  worst 
part  of  the  pit  into  stalls;  so  here,  as  the 
crowd  poured  in,  they  stuck  up  an  addi- 
tional plank,  and  called  it  boxes;  which 
boxes  were  immediately  filled  with  the 
elite,  to  the  imminent  danger  of  their  necks. 

When  all  had  been  satisfactorily  arran- 
ged, the  curtain  rose  and  the  tragedy  com- 
menced. An  individual  who  appeared  to 
have,  for  several  months,  repudiated  the 
practice  of  shaving,  stole  in,  and  after 
bouncing  about  the  stage  like  a  maniacal 
individual,  and  making  a  variety  of  despe- 
rate attempts,  stabbed  a  lady  who  was 
sleeping  upon  a  plank,  placed  so  as  to  con- 
vey the  idea  of  a  couch,  and  who  gave  a 
loud  scream,  and  all  was  over.  This  finish- 
ed the  first  act;  and  then  came  the  second. 
The  murderer  entered  with  a  number  of  his 
associates,  dressed  in  a  variety  of  styles, 
from  that  of  the  duke  to  that  of  the  dust- 
man— for  he  evidently  kept  all  sort*  of 
society — and  when  he  had  said  something 
which  appeared  to  be  highly  satisfactory  to 
them  all,  two  sweet  ladies  entered;  but  no 
sooner  had  he  taken  the  hand  of  one  of 
them,  than  the  elements  let  loose  their  fury! 
— the  thunder  roared!  and  the  lightnings 
flashed!  and  the  rain  came  down  in  torrents! 
Oh!  dreadful  were  the  feelings  of  the  mur- 
derer then!  A  gong  vras  heard!— all  nature 
shook! — from  a  hole  in  the  earth,  white 
smoke  arose,  and  the  Speechless 


stood  before  him!  The  murderer  trembled! 
— of  course  he  trembled! — he  must  have 
been  in  a  horrible  way.  He  tried  to  speak! 
in  vain  he  tried!  but  while  he  was  trying, 
an  infinite  host  of  merry  devils  ran  up  to 
him  with  links,  and  dragged  him  down  into 
the  bowels  of  the  earth,  as  the  blue  fire 
blazed  and  the  elements  crashed! 

Thus  ended  the  historical  tragedy:  the 
moral  of  which  was,  that  in  Nature  there  is 
such  a  thing  as  retributive  justice.  The 
comic  singing  came  next,  and  then  the  pan- 
tomime; and  as  the  performances  concluded 
in  less  than  ten  minutes  from  the  period  at 
which  they  commenced,  it  will  be  highly 
correct  to  state,  that  the  attention  of  the 
audience  was  kept  all  alive  from  first  to  last. 

As  they  came  out  on  one  side,  hundreds 
who  had  assembled  on  the  stage  in  front, 
were  waiting  to  go  in  at  the  other:  which 
was  pleasant  to  all  concerned  in  the  specu- 
lation, and  tended  to  show  the  highly  intel- 
lectual character  of  the  age. 

"  Now  let  us  co  into  that  lonk  pooth,  look 
you,"  said  Llewellen,  "  in  which  they  were 
tancink." 

"  It  is  getting  rather  late,"  said  Valen- 
tine; "  I  think  we  had  better  return." 

"  Well,  well!  put  only  just  to  look!"     0 

Valentine  consented;  and  after  struggling 
back  through  the  crowd  for  some  distance, 
they  reached  the  entrance  of  a  brilliantly 
illuminated  booth,  which  at  that  particular 
period  was  called  the  Crown  and  Anrhor. 
On  the  right  as  they  entered,  rows  of 
benches,  and  planks  in  the  similitude  of 
tables  were  established  for  the  accommoda- 
tion of  those  who  loved  to  pick  periwinkles 
and  shrimps,  while  discussing  gin-and- 
water  in  mugs;  while  on  the  left  about  five 
hundred  couples  were  engaged  in  the  per- 
formance of  an  extremely  picturesque  coun- 
try dance. 

To  the  left,  therefore,  Valentine  and 
Llewellen  went  at  once,  and  found  the 
dancers  looking  all  hot  and  happy.  The 
freedom  with  which  they  perspired  was 
perfect,  while  they  seemed  to  breathe  no- 
thing but  dust. 

As  in  his  innocence  Valentine  conceived 
that  the  place  must  be  ventilated  somewhere, 
they  went  to  the  upper  end,  but  there  they 
found  it  hotter  still,  and  more  dusty.  They 
very  soon,  howover,  became  accustomed  to 
the  thing;  and  while  Llewellen  was  seeking 
a  partner,  Valentine  sat  upon  one  of  the 
tables  to  look  on. 

It  may  here  be  remarked  that  this  booth, 
at  that  period,  was  a  celebrated  pi." 
assignation;  and  that  the  ruin  of  thousands 
of  poor  weak  girls  might  be  dated  from  their 
first  introduction  therein.  It  was  not  a  place 
for  the  amusement  of  the  lower  classes  of 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


285 


society — at  least  not  as  far  as  the  men  were 
concerned.  The  clubs  of  the  West  End, 
and  the  counting-houses  of  the  city  poured 
forth  their  hundreds  on  these  occasions  in 
search  ef  virtue  to  corrupt;  and  as  they  in- 
variably introduced  those  whom  they  meant 
to  destroy,  there,  it  at  length  became  diffi- 
cult indeed  to  find  a  female  who  wished  to 
preserve  her  virtue,  if  even  she  happened  to 
have  any  to  preserve. 

Valentine  was  not  aware  of  this  when  he 
entered,  but  it  soon  became  manifest  that 
that  was  not  the  place  for  really  innocent 
enjoyment.  Llewellen,  however,  had  dia- 
metrically opposite  ideas  on  this  subject, 
at  that  moment.  He  had  managed  to  get  a 
partner,  and  she  was  a  flamer:  her  face  was 
as  red  as  the  sun  as  it  declines,  and  her 
dress  was  as  red  as  her  face.  She  was 
tall  and  stout,  very  hot,  but  very  active, 
and  when  she  laughed  she  did  it  fairly  from 
ear  to  ear.  With  such  a  partner,  at  such  a 
time,  of  course,  Llewellen  could  not  but  feel 
merry,  and  as  he  was  not  a  small  man,  it 
really  was  an  awful  thing  for  those  against 
whom  they  came  in  contact. 

While  they  were  thus  happily  engaged, 
a  large  party  of  gentlemen — each  of  whom 
had  a  nice  penny  trumpet,  which  he  played 
in  the  most  engaging  manner  possible — 
marched  round  the  booth.  Oh,  it  was  such 
sport,  and  they  looked  so  interesting,  and 
felt  so  happy!  Some  of  them  had  masks 
on,  while  others  were  attired  as  fresh-water 
sailors,  but  the  style  in  which  they  dressed 
was  of  little  importance,  the  thing  was  so 
truly  delightful:  for  they  not  only  looked 
most  valiant,  but  made  "  most  healthful 
music." 

"  Now,  my  tear,"  said  Llewellen,  when 
the  dance  had  concluded.  "  Phot  will  you 
have  to  trink?  Put  first  allow  me,  look 
you,  to  introduce  you  to  my  frient." 

The  introduction  took  place  with  due 
formality,  and  Valentine  felt  himself,  of 
course,  highly  honored:  and  as  the  lady  im- 
mediately after  the  introduction,  declared 
that  she  preferred  brandy-and-water  to  any 
other  thing,  of  course,  brandy-and-water 
was  immediately  ordered. 

"  It  is  rather  warm  work  I  should  ima- 
gine," observed  Valentine,  addressing  the 
flame  of  Llewellen. 

"It  is  indeed  warm,"  said  the  lady,  "but 
then  I  don't  mind  it." 

"  Have  you  been  dancing  much  this 
evening?" 

"  Ever  since  they  commenced." 

"You  have  friends  with  you  of  course1?" 

"No;  I  expected  to  meet  some  here,  but 
they  have  not  yet  arrived." 

The  waiter  now  brought  the  brandy  and 


water,  and  the  lady  having  taken  a  very 
fair  sip,  politely  passed  it  to  Llewellen. 

"  Too  you  call  this  pranty  and  water!" 
cried  Llewellen,  after  having  put  his  lips 
to  it. 

"  Yes,  sir,  brandy  and  water,  sir,  you 
ordered  I  believe,  sir." 

"  Put  this  is  pranty  and  water  without 
pranty,  look  you." 

"  They  never  give  you  anything  better 
here,"  said  the  lady.  "If  you  want  a  glass 
of  good  brandy  and  water  you  must  go  to 
one  of  the  houses  out  of  the  fair." 

"  Well,  come  then,  let's  co;  hur  can't 
trink  this!" 

"Oh,  with  all  my  heart!"  said  Valen- 
tine, who  was  really  very  anxious  to  get 
out  of  the  place. 

"  Now,  my  tear,  are  you  retty?" 

"  Don't  take  her  with  you,"  said  Valen- 
tine, having  drawn  Llewellen  aside. 

"  Phy  not?  She's  a  coot  cirl!  hur  know 
she's  a  coot  cirl." 

"I  am  quite  at  your  service,"  said  the 
lady,  who  at  this  moment  took  Llewellen's 
arm. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  we  are  taking  you  from 
that  which  you  much  enjoy,"  observed  Va- 
lentine, with  great  consideration. 

"  Not  at  all!"  cried  the  lady,  "  I  can  re- 
turn if  I  wish  it.  I  should  like  a  breath  of 
air  above  all  things." 

Of  course  there  was  no  help  for  it  then; 
and  as  such  was  the  case,  why  they  left 
the  booth  together. 

The  space  between  the  gingerbread  stalls 
was  not  quite  so  much  crowded  as  before, 
and  the  consequence  was  that  Llewellen 
was  pulled  into  almost  every  one  of  them 
expressly  for  the  purpose  of  pressing  to 
buy  nuts. 

The  seductive  arts  of  the  ladies  who  at- 
tend these  stalls  surpass  nature.  They  are 
so  zealous,  their  importunities  are  so  fasci- 
nating, that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  resist 
them.  Llewellen  on  two  occasions  felt 
compelled  to  make  a  purchase."  They  laid 
violent  hands  upon  him;  they  would  not  let 
him  pass,  and  as  it  was  perfectly  imma- 
terial to  the  lady  whom  he  was  with,  how 
many  nuts  he  bought  for  her,  for  of  course 
she  had  them  all,  she  with  admirable  for- 
bearance abstained  from  pressing  him  for- 
ward when  she  conceived  he  was  most  in 
danger  of  being  seduced. 

They  did,  however,  eventually  get  out  of 
the  fair,  and  when  that  important  feat  had 
been  accomplished,  Llewellen's  lady  led 
them  to  an  inn,  in  which  the  people  were 
singing  very  loudly.  Valentine  was  not  at 
all  anxious  to  enter,  but  as  Llewellen  ex- 
plained that  he  could  not  with  any  degree 
of  propriety  refuse  to  give  the  lady  some 

25*    , 


286 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


brandy-and-water,  after  having  induced  her  I 
to  leave  the  booth,  expressly  in  order  to 
point  out  the  place,  they  went  in. 

"  Oh,  do  come  into  one  of  the  rooms  to 
hear  them  sing!"  said  the  lady. 

"Of  course!"  said  Llewellen;  and  they 
entered  a  room  in  which  between  two  and 
three  hundred  persons  were  sitting.    In  the 
mouth  of  every  man  there  was  a  pipe,  and 
in  the  mouth  of  every  woman,  a  gingerbread  j 
nut.     And  they  were  all  getting  tipsy;  and  i 
they  looked  upon  themselves  as  being  just 
as  good  as  the  best,  and  cared  for  no  man! 
Why   should   they1?      This   question   they '' 
wished  very  much  to  have  answered. 

"  Silence  for   the   next  harmony!"  was 
now  loudly  commanded,  and  a  gentleman  j 
volunteered  to  sing  a  song  for  a  lady  who' 
had  been  called   upon  in  vain.     He  com- 
menced.    It  was  a  plaintive  ditty,  and  he 
had  an  extremely,  small  voice;  but  at  the  I 
end  of  the  verse,  to  his  utter  amazement, ! 
he    had  a  chorus  which  broke   forth   like 
thunder.     In  vain   the  little  volunteer  ex-' 
postulated  with  them:  in  vain  he  explained  ! 
that  the  song  had  no  chorus;  a  chorus  they  i 
would   have!  and  they  had  it  throughout,  | 
and  as   it  harmonised   sweetly,  Valentine 
and  Llewellen  at  once  left  the  room. 

"  Well,"  said  Valentine,  as  they  walked 
towards  the  place  from  which  the  coaches 
started,  "  what  do  you  think  of  Greenwich 
Fair?" 

"  Phy,  I  think  it  very  coot,  look  you, 
very  coot  inteet." 


"Then,  of  course,  you  do  not  think  that 
it  ought  to  be  suppressed!" 

"  Suppressed!  No;  do  you  think  it  ought 
to  be  suppressed?" 

"As  far  as  the  fair  is  concerned,  I  most 
certainly  do." 

"  Put  surely  you  are  not  one  of  those  who 
would  take  away  the  innocent  pleasures  of 
the  poor!" 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  would  extend  them: 
but  the  suppression  of  this  fair  would  not 
at  all  interfere  with  the  innocent  pleasures 
of  the  poor.  Let  them  assemble  on  these 
occasions  as  usual:  let  the  beautiful  park 
be  thrown  open  to  them  as  now:  let  them 
enjoy  themselves  there;  and  there  the  poor 
do  enjoy  themselves  who  seek  only  plea- 
sures which  are  innocent." 

"  Put  the  shows,"  said  Llewellen,  "  the 
shows!" 

"  If  they  are  fond  of  dramatic  entertain- 
ments let  them  go  to  the  theatres.  They 
can  see  there  far  more  intellectual  and  at- 
tractive performances  than  any  that  can  be 
seen  at  the  fair,  and  that  too  at  the  same 
price.  The  fair  itself  is  a  mere  nursery  of 
immorality  and  crime,  and  as  its  suppres- 
sion could  not  in  the  slightest  degree  dimin- 
ish the  innocent  pleasures  of  the  poor,  my 
firm  conviction  is  that  it  ought  to  be  sup* 
pressed  as  a  glaringly  dangerous  nuisance." 

They  now  entered  a  coach,  and,  as  it 
started  immediately,  Llewellen  immediately 
dropped  off  to  sleep,  and  did  not  wake  until 
they  arrived  at  Charing-cross. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 


IN  WHICH  A  CERTAIN  INTERESTING  QUESTION  IS  PROPOSED. 


WHEN  Valentine  called  the  next  morn-  j 
ing  upon  Louise,  he  found  her  in  the  very  j 
act  of  lecturing  Llewellen  with  severity; 
she  had  him  on  the  sofa,  and  nothing  could 
exceed  the  intensity  of  feeling  with  which 
she  insisted  upon  his  making  a  full  confes- 
sion of  all  the  circumstances  connected  with 
their  visit  to  the  fair,  but  more  especially 
those  which  had  direct  reference  to  what 
they  did,  whom  they  saw,  and  what  induced 
them  to  keep  out  so  late. 

At  first  Llewellen  made  an  extremely 
clear  and  straightforward  statement;  but  as 
ladies  in  general  conduct  matters  of  this 
kind  in  the  spirit  of  the  celebrated  Sp-.mish 
Inquisition,  so  Louise  in  this  particular 
instance,  although  professing  the  discovery 
of  truth  to  be  her  object,  would  not  hi  lieve 
truth  when  it  appeared,  because  its  ;ipp< -,ir- 
ance  did  not  meet  her  views.  Llewellen 


was  therefore  subjected  to  a  very  searching 
cross-examination,  during  which  she  man- 
aged so  to  confuse  his  faculties,  that  at 
length  he  knew  neither  what  to  say,  what 
he  meant  to  say,  nor  what  he  had  said;  and 
as,  under  these  peculiarly  pleasing  circum- 
stances, she,  with  infinite  presence  of  mind, 
recapitulated  the  evidence  and  proved  it 
thereby  to  be  one  chaotic  mass  of  contra- 
dictions, he  started  up  the  very  instant  Va- 
lentine entered,  exclaiming,  "  My  tear  poy! 
hur'm  so  clad  you're  come;  she's  pin  patch- 
ering  me  apout  this  pisiness  until  hur  ton't 
know  inteet  t'  coolness  phether  hurnf  in 
standing  upon  my  het  or  my  heels." 

'*  What  business!"  inquired  Valentine  as 
lie  approached  Louise. 

11  Don't  come  near  me,  sir,  until  you  have 
explained  your  conduct." 

Valentine  looked  at  Llewellen  as  if  he 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


287 


really  did  not  understand  it  exactly;  but 
Llewellen  on  the  instant  threw  a  light  on 
the  subject  by  exclaiming,  "  It's  apout  the 
fair,  pless  you!  hur  never  was  so  patgert  in 
all  my  porn  lays." 

"Oh,  the  fair!"  cried  Valentine,  "just 
so.  Well,  let  us  sit  down  and  explain  all 
about  it." 

"  Hur'll  have  no  more  to  too  with  the 
pisiness,"  cried  Llewellen,  approaching 
the  window.  "  Hur've  hat  quite  enough. 
Hur'll  leave  you  to  it:  Cot  pless  you!  hur 
wish  you  joy!" 

"  Now  then,  Louise,  what  am  I  to  ex- 
plain?" 

"Your  conduct  sir,  at  that  wicked  fair. 
I  know  that  it's  a  wicked  place:  I'm  sure 
of  it!" 

"You  are  quite  right:  it  is  a  wicked 
place,  and  I  may  say  that  perhaps  Fred 
and  I  were  two  of  the  most  wicked  persons 
that  were  present." 

At  this  point  Llewellen  turned  and  looked 
quite  bewildered. 

"  His  conduct,"  continued  Valentine, 
"  was  probably  more  dreadful  than  mine;  but 
I  confess  toyou  that  mine  was  bad  enough." 

"  Coot!"  cried  Llewellen,  whose  counte- 
nance relaxed. 

*'  I  know,"  said  Louise,  "  that  you  are  a 
clever  creature,  but  I  am  not  to  be  induced 
to  believe  that  you  are  better,  because  you 
choose  to  represent  yourself  ironically  as 
being  worse,  than  you  really  are." 

"  Oh,"  cried  Llewellen,  "  we  were  poth 
pat  poys." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  sir.  I  was  not  ad- 
dressing you." 

"  If  you  wish  to  know  seriously,"  said 
Valentine,  "  how  we  passed  our  time  there, 
I  can  assure  you  that  we  did  so  most  inno- 
cently and  pleasantly.  We  saw  thousands 
of  happy  people  in  the  park,  and  thousands 
more  upon  the  river,  upon  the  heath,  and  in 
the  town,  and  as  it  was  on  the  whole  a  most 
enlivening  scene,  I  shall  never  regret  having 
visited  Greenwich." 

"  Upon  my  word,  said  Louise,  "  your 
explanation  is  very  lucid  and  very  minute. 
I  ought,  I  arn  sure,  to  feel  obliged  to  you 
for  being  so  explicit,  for  I  find  that  I  can 
make  nothing  of  either  of  you!" 

Louise,  however,  did  not  despair.  She 
privately  made  up  her  mind  to  subject 
Llewellen  to  another  severe  cross-examina- 
tion the  very  first  opportunity,  feeling  cer- 
tain of  being  by  such  means  enabled  even- 
tually to  elicit  the  truth. 

The  subject  was  then  dropped,  and 
Llewellen — who  did  not  much  like  the  idea 
of  Valentine  being  let  off  so  easily,  after 
what  he  himself  had  endured — began  to 
whistle,  which  act  being  invariably  indica- 


tive of  a  desire  on  his  part  to  go  out,  Louise 
well  understood,  and  therefore  cried,  "  Fred, 
Fred!  If  you  want  to  go  out  again,  go;  for 
goodness  sake,  don't  annoy  us  with  that 
dreadful  whistling;  really,  one  may  just  as 
well  be  in  Smithfield." 

"  Come,  my  tear  poy!"  cried  Llewellen. 
"  We've  cot  leave  to  co." 

"  You  have  sir;  but  Valentine  wishes  to 
remain." 

Which  was  an  absolute  fact:  he  did  wish 
to  remain;  for  although  he  was  not  inclined 
to  put  the  smallest  faith  in  the  gipsy's  pro- 
phecy, he  found  that  it  had  made  a  deep 
impression  on  his  mind,  and  was  therefore 
most  anxious  to  have  a  little  strictly  private 
conversation  with  Louise,  on  a  subject  which 
bore  directly  upon  the  point.  Of  this, 
however,  Louise  was  entirely  unconscious. 
When  she  suggested  that  Valentine  wished 
to  remain,  she  did  so  on  speculation  merely; 
but  albeit,  that  speculation  answered  her 
views  as  far  as  the  wish  of  itself  was  con- 
cerned, it  signally  failed  to  realise  the  hope 
she  entertained  of  getting  rid  of  Llewellen. 
He  was  as  anxious  to  go  out,  as  any  man 
could  be;  but  then  without  Valentine  no- 
thing could  induce  him  to  stir  from  the 
house.  Where  he  went,  his  "tear  poy" 
also  must  go,  which,  on  that  occasion,  Va- 
lentine as  well  as  Louise  thought  particu- 
larly disagreeable. 

"  Fred,  I  wish  you  would  fetch  me 
Poodle's  Poems  from  the  library,"  said 
Louise,  who  had  conceived  a  vague  notion 
that  Valentine  was  anxious  to  communi- 
cate something  in  private. 

"  Pootle's  Poems.  Phery  coot,"  said 
Llewellen,  who  proceeded  to  the  library  in 
search  of  them,  at  once. 

"  Do  you  feel  at  all  disposed  for  a  walk!" 
inquired  Valentine. 

"  Quite:  1  should  enjoy  it:  but  then  we 
shall  have  that  pest  with  us." 

"  Oh,  we  shall  be  able  to  get  rid  of  him. 
You  can  send  him  somewhere  when  we  get 
out;  let  me  see — oh!  send  him  for  some  rib- 
bon or  anything  of  that  sort." 

"  The  only  question  is,  will  he  go?" 

"  No  doubt  of  it.  If  he'll  go  for  Poodle's 
Poems,  he'll  go  for  anything.  Let  him 
walk  with  us,  for  instance,  as  far  as  the 
Horse  Guards,  and  then  we  can  tell  him 
where  to  find  us  in  the  park." 

"  Well,  what  will  be  the  best  thing  to 
send  him  for?  Let  me  consider,"  said 
Louise,  and  while  she  was  engaged  with 
this  high  consideration,  Llewellen  re-enter- 
ed the  room.  "  Inteet  hur  can't  fint  Pootle's 
Poems,"  said  he.  "  There's  Cowper's  ant 
Pyron's,  putt  tevil  of  any  of  Pootle's." 

"  You  are  a  very  stupid  creature,"  said 


288 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


Louise,  who  could  scarcely  keep  her  coun- 
tenance. 

"  Phell !  putt  there  are  no  Footle's  poems, 
look  you!  Is  it  a  pig  pook?" 

41  No  matter.  It's  of  no  importance  now." 

"  We  are  going  for  a  walk,"  said  Valen- 
tine, "  will  you  join  us?" 

"Of  course:  putt  just  come  with  me,  my 
poy,  while  Louey  is  putting  on  her  ponnet, 
and  see  if  you  can  fint  this  Pootle  pook. 
Inteet  hur  can't  see  it,  look  you!" 

44  Oh,  never  mind:  the  book  is  not  wanted 
now.  You  will  not  be  long,  Louise1?" 

44  Scarcely  a  moment." 

44 1  say,  Fred,"  said  Valentine,  when 
Louise  had  left  the  room,  4'  what  was  the 
matter  this  morning1?" 

44  Oh,  Louey  was  poring  and  pothering 
me  apout  the  fair,  ant  although  hur  toll  her 
everything  putt  apout  the  cockshy  pisiness 
and  the  pooth,  she  questioned  me  just  like 
a  parrister,  look  you,  until  hur  titn't  know 
inteet  phot  hur  was  apout.  Putt  hur  say, 
my  poy,  phere  shall  we  go?  Hur  wish 
that  little  tevil,  look  you,  woultn't  co  with 
us." 

44  Oh,  we  must  take  her  out  you  know 
sometimes,  poor  girl  !'* 

44  Yes,  yes:  putt  she  is  such  a  pore.  Hur 
say!  phill  this  blue  coat  too  to  walk  with  a 
latey,  look  you?" 

44  Oh,  that  will  do;  but  run  away  and  put 
on  another  if  you  like." 

44  Phery  coot.  Hur'll  not  pe  half  a  se- 
cont." 

44  You  need  not  hurry  yourself.  You 
know  how  like  an  hour  a  lady's  moment  is, 
doubtless." 

Immediately  after  Llewellen  left  the 
room  Louise  entered,  and  Valentine  thought 
that  he  never  saw  her  look  so  really  beauti- 
ful. He  took  her  hands  and  pressed  them, 
and  gazed  upon  her  fervently  and  exclaim- 
ed, 44  My  own  Louise!"  and— kissed  her! 

Louise  blushed  deeply,  but  was  silent. 

4'  Phot  too  you  think  of  my  new  pottle- 
creen?"  cried  Llewellen,  as  he  bounced 
into  the  room,  and  buttoned  his  coat,  and 
looked  over  his  left  shoulder,  and  turned 
round  and  round  with  the  view  of  display- 
ing his  figure  to  the  best  advantage  possible. 
*4Ton1t  you  think  it  looks  pherry  peautiful 
and  smart?" 

44  Oh,  very,"  said  Valentine,  but  Louise 
said  nothing,  although  she  wished  him  at 
Wales  then,  more  heartily  than  ever. 

Llewellen  waa  amazed  that  she  failed  to 
pronounce  upon  his  bottle-green  coat,  seeing 
that  generally  she  took  particular  interest 
in  those  matters,  and  made  him  wear  just 
what  she  pleased,  and  very  few  articles  of 
dress  indeed  had  he,  with  which  the  ex- 
pression of  her  pleasure  had  been  unquali- 


fied. At  any  other  time  she  might  have 
given  her  opinion  upon  the  subject  with 
some  freedom,  but  her  thoughts  were  then 
engaged  on  a  matter  of  greater  moment, 
and  Llewellen  therefore  naturally  attributed 
her  silence  to  what  he  conceived  to  be  a 
fact,  that  his  new  bottle-green  was  a  thing 
with  which  no  fault  whatever  could  be 
found. 

They  now  started,  and  as  they  walked 
towards  the  point  they  had  proposed,  Louise 
and  Valentine  were  both  extremely  thought- 
ful— not  dull — but  in  the  silent  enjoyment 
of  those  happy  feelings  which  spring  from 
reciprocal  love.  Occasionally  their  eyes 
met,  and  then  they  would  smile,  but  with 
such  an  expression! — the  soul  of  each  seem- 
ed to  commune  with  the  other. 

44  Oh,  Fred  !"  exclaimed  Louise,  sudden- 
ly starting,  as  they  reached  the  Horse 
Guards,  as  if  something  of  importance  had 
just  occurred  to  her,  44  will  you  do  rne  a 
favor?" 

44  Anything  in  the  worlt!" 

u  Run,  then,  there's  a  good  creature,  and 
desire  Bull  the  butcher  to  send  home  that 
beef." 

"  Phot!  is  it  for  tinner?" 

"  Desire  him  to  send  it  immediately." 

44  Phery  coot;  phere  toes  he  live?" 

44  At  the  top  of  this  street  you'll  see  a 
church,  and  then  inquire  of  any  one.  Come 
back  to  us.  We  shall  be  in  the  Park:  but 
keep  on  that,  the  south  side  of  the  water." 

Llewellen  promised  to  be  back  as  soon 
as  possible,  and  started  off  in  search  of  the 
undiscoverable  butcher. 

"Poor  Fred!1'  said  Louise,  as  they  en- 
tered the  Park:  "  Upon  my  word  it  is  almost 
too  bad." 

And  so  it  was  in  reality:  and,  therefore, 
as  he  had  been  directed  to  keep  on  the  south 
side  of  the  water,  they  immediately  pro- 
ceeded to  the  north. 

If  any  doubt  had  remained  in  Valentine's 
mind  having  reference  to  the  feelings  of 
Louise  with  respect  to  Llewellen,  this  pro- 
ceeding would  at  once  have  dispelled  it: 
but  he  spurned  the  gipsy's  prophecy,  and 
utterly  repudiated  the  idea  of  Llewellen 
being  in  any  shape  his  rival;  still  he  felt 
that  he  might  as  well  make  "  assurance 
doubly  sure"  by  virtue  of  coming  at  once  to 
the  point. 

Louise  knew  that  a  crisis  was  at  hand — 
and  tho  quickness  with  which  ladi<- 
rally  discover  these  things  is  really  very 
surprising — she  knew  as  well  -.is  Valentino 
liimsrlf  knew  that  something  relating  to 
something  which  had  n«t  hrl'.>re  hern  men- 
tioned was  about  to  lie  eommnnieated,  and, 
therefore,  she  clung  to  him  more  closely 
tii  .11  ever,  and  waited  with  breathless  im- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


289 


patience  for  him  to  speak,  for,  as  the  sub- 
ject was  one  of  deep  interest,  she  conceived 
it  to  be  entitled  to  the  most  profound  atten- 
tion. 

For  some  considerable  time  not  a  syllable 
was  breathed:  they  walked  upon  the  grass 
very  slowly,  and  felt  very  oddly;  but  al- 
though the  impatience  of  Louise  did  prompt 
her  to  peep  in  order  to  ascertain  what  was 
going  on  next  door,  not  a  single  word  on 
either  side  was  uttered.  Valentine  knew 
that  he  had  to  put  a  question;  but  how  was 
that  question  to  be  put?  He  felt  puzzled. 
He  had  conceived  it  to  be  a  mere  matter-of- 
fact  kind  of  thing  which  caused  simple 
people  only  to  feel  embarrassed;  but  he  now 
found  that  if  indeed  such  were  the  case, 
he  was  one  of  the  most  simple  creatures 
breathing. 

It  is  not  perhaps  to  be  with  truth  asserted 
that  men  who  are  anxious  to  marry  for 
wealth  or  convenience  merely,  experience 
these  feelings  of  embarrassment  at  such  a 
time  in  any  great  degree.  They  in  general 
find  no  difficulty  at  all  about  the  matter: 
they  manage  the  preliminaries  like  men  of 
business;  they  put  the  grand  question  as  a 
purely  commercial  matter  of  course,  and 
come  to  the  point  without  any  unnecessary 
nonsense.  It  is  however  questionable  whe- 
ther any  man  who  sincerely  and  tenderly 
loved  ever  did  or  ever  could  do  the  thing 
quite  so  coolly.  It  is  perfectly  certain  that 
Valentine  could  not,  for  he  felt  very  droll, 
and  thought  himself  very  stupid. 

"  Louise!"  said  he  at  length.  "  Shall  we 
sit  down,  Louise!" 

Louise  looked  at  him  archly, and  smiled, 
and  then  said,  "  Why — I  have  no  objec- 
tion!" 

Very  well!  This  was  quite  satisfactory 
as  far  as  it  went;  and  they  did  sit  down, 
but  were  silent  again;  which  Louise  thought 
particularly  tiresome.  She  wished  he  would 
say  what  he  had  to  say,  really,  and  yet  she 
felt  half  afraid  to  hear  it:  she  knew  not 
why  she  should  have  this  feeling,  but  this 
feeling  she  certainly  had,  despite  her  natural 
anxiety  to  give  him  every  encouragement  to 
begin.  Still  in  silence  they  continued  to 
sit— she  playing  with  the  fringe  of  her 
Lilliputian  parasol,  and  he  wringing  the 
necks  of  the  buttons  of  his  waistcoat  with 
his  watch-guard — until  he  began  to  think 
this  never  would  do,  when  he  summoned 
all  his  courage  and  spoke! 

"  Louise,"  said  he,  softly.  "  Upon  my 
word  I  am  very  stupid." 

"  What  a  number  of  new  and  interesting 

rt^c'""""*,ions  you  have  made  this  morning!" 

ed    Louise,    playfully,    conceiving 

t  she  might  perhaps  encourage  him  in 

•f.     "  You  have  really  become  more 


entertaining  than  ever.  One  would  imagine 
that  you  had  something  on  your  mind  which 
pressed  very,  very  heavily!" 

"  1  certainly  have  something  on  my  mincj, 
Louise,  which  makes  me  feel  very,  very 
awkward.  Can  you  not  guess  what  it  is!" 

"  Now  how  is  that  possible?  Can  you 
guess — I  know  you  are  very  clever — but 
can  you  guess  what  is  passing  at  this  mo- 
ment in  my  mind?" 

"  I  think  that  I  am  sufficiently  clever  for 
that!  You  are  thinking  of  precisely  the 
same  thing  as  that  which  occupies  my 
thoughts!" 

"Dear  me!  what  an  extraordinary  coin- 
cidence! But  what  were  you  thinking  of?" 

"The  day,"  replied  Valentine,  taking 
her  hand. 

*«  Oh!  the  day!  Well,  it  really  is  a  fine 
day.  The  sun,  it  is  true,  is  rather  warm, 
hut  then  the  breeze  is  extremely  refresh- 
ing." 

"  You  are  a  rogue,  Louise.  You  know 
that  I  do  not  mean  this  day,  but  that  on 
which  we  are  both  to  be  made  happy." 

"  That  on  which  we  are  both  to  be  made 
happy?  Are  you  not  happy  now?" 

**  Not  nearly  so  happy  as  I  hope  to  be 
then.  I  expect,  Louise,  that  that  will  be 
indeed  a  happy  day." 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  I  hope  it  may  be:  but 
what  particular  day  do  you  mean?" 

"  The  day,"  said  Valentine,  earnestly, 
"  on  which  we  are  to  be  united." 

"  Oh!"  said  Louise,  between  a  whisper 
and  a  sigh,  and  she  began  to  pick  the  fringe 
of  her  parasol  again;  for  although  she  had 
deemed  it  incumbent  upon  her  to  accelerate 
Valentine's  arrival  at  that  interesting  point, 
conceiving  that  nothing  at  all  could  be  done 
if  both  were  embarrassed  at  one  and  the 
same  time,  she  now  found  that  it  was  her 
turn  to  feel  rather  droll,  and  it  really  was  a 
moment  of  very  deep  interest. 

"  Louise,"  said  Valentine,  who  now  be- 
gan to  feel  a  little  better;  "  Louise:  when 
is  that  happy  day  to  be?" 

Louise  was  silent,  but  she  tugged  at  the 
fringe  with  more  violence  than  ever. 

"  I  need  not,  my  dearest,"  continued 
Valentine,  "explain  how  sincerely,  how 
fondly  I  love  you:  I  feel  that  you  already 
know  it  all.  Tell  rne,  therefore — come! 
when — when  is  it  to  be?" 

"  Indeed,"  said  Louise,  "  I  know  nothing 
at  all  about  it." 

"  Do  you  prefer  May  to  June?" 

"  Really — I— it  is  such  a  curious  ques- 
tion!" 

"  Perhaps  it  is,  but  I  think  it  one  which 
might  be  very  easily  answered." 

"  But  I  don't  know  how  to  answer  it.— 
Upon  my  word,  I — I  have  had  no  expert- 


290 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


ence  in  such  matters— I  never  had  to  answer 
such  a  question  before." 

"  Indeed  I  never  for  a  moment  supposed 
that  you  had;  but  what  can  be  in  reality 
more  simple]  Assuming — I  will  if  you 
please  put  it  so! — assuming  that  you  were 
about  to  become  a  dear  little  wife,  in  which 
month,  May  or  June,  would  you  prefer  be- 
ing married?" 

"  Why,  I  don't  know— I  cannot  tell, 
really;  but  I  think  that  if  I  were  ever  to  be 
placed  in  that  dreadful  position,  I  should 
perhaps  like  June  rather  better  than  May." 

"  Louise! — let  us  come  to  the  point:  we 
have  known  each  other  long  enough  to  know 
each  other  well.  I  know  you  to  be  a  tire- 
some little  creature,  upon  whom  the  happi- 
ness of  my  whole  life  depends,  and  you 
know  me  to  be  the  most  handsome — I  think 
the  most  handsome — and  perhaps  the  most 
affectionate  fellow  that  ever  breathed — who 
will  study  to  do  all  in  his  power  to  make 
you  wretched.  Under  these  frightful  cir- 
cumstances now,  what  say  you — shall  we, 
my  sweet  girl,  be  married  in  June]" 

"  Marry] — I  marry] — in  June] — how  ever 
could  such  a  fancy  have  entered  your  head] 

"  I  cannot  pretend  to  be  able  to  explain 
the  exact  process;  but  most  certainly  you 
introduced  it  among  other  strange  fancies 
which  I  occasionally  entertain  when  in- 
clined to  give  a  party  of  that  description. 
But  Louise,  are  you  conscious  of  the  fact 
that  you  have  not  yet  given  me  an  answer]" 

"  I  really — I  don't  at  all  know — I — how 
can  I  possibly — it  is  such  a  question — you 
have  taken  me  so  much  by  surprise — I  don't 
know  how  to  give  an  answer,  really." 

"  Let  me  teach  you — say  'yes.'  It  will 
save  a  world  of  trouble.  Say  'yes'  and 
have  done  with  it.  Take  my  advice,  and 
say  '  yes.' 

"  But  do  you  think  now,  really,  that  this 
is  a  strictly  proper  question  to  put  to  me]" 

"  Why  I  think  that  I  thought  so,  or  I 
don't  think  I  should  have  proposed  it." 

"  Have  you  forgotten  that  I  have  a 
father]" 

"  By  no  means." 

"Have  you  ever  named  the  subject  to 
him]" 

'*  Never  directly.  But  of  course  he  is 
prepared  to  receive  the  dreadful  blow.  He 
has,  I  have  no  doubt,  been  waiting  some 
considerable  period  for  us  to  inflict  it." 

"  Uut  do  you  not  conceive  that  he  is  the 
first  person  to  whom  such  a  subject  as  this 
should  be  named]" 

*•  Why,  Louise,  I  like  you  have  had  but 
little  experience  in  these  matters;  but  1 
really  thought  that  he  was  the  soroml:  I  did 
indeed.  If  however  you  im.i<_mir  that  in 
the  present  afflicting  state  of  things,  he 


ought  to  be  the  first,  1  will  first  obtain 
his  answer,  provided  you  promise  me  faith- 
fully now,  that  if  he  should  say  yes — and  I 
shall  strongly  advise  him  to  do  so — your 
answer  will  be  the  same." 

"  Why  I  am  bound  of  course  to  act  in 
obedience  to  my  father's  wishes:  you  would 
not,  I  feel  sure,  in  the  event  of  such  an 
answer  being  returned,  have  me  act  in  op- 
position to  him!" 

"Believe  me,  not  for  the  world!  It  is 
then  understood;  if  he  should  say  '  yes,  let 
it  take  place  in  June,'  you  will  also  say 
'yes,  let  it  take  place  in  June;'  that  is  to 
say  in  other  words,  that  you  are  perfectly 
willing  that  it  should  take  place  then,  if  he 
has  no  particular  objection.  That  is  it  I 
apprehend]" 

"  You  are  a  very  teasing  creature;  I'll 
have  nothing  more  to  say  to  you  on  the 
subject." 

"  Until  I  have  obtained  the  consent  of 
your  father]" 

"Indeed  I'm  not  going  to  answer  any 
more  questions.  You  inveigled  me  here,  I 
perceive,  expressly  in  order  to  tease  me, 
and  now  if  you  please  we'll  return." 

It  was  natural — perhaps,  highly  natural 
—that  during  this  brief,  but,  to  the  parties 
concerned,  deeply  interesting  conversation, 
Llewellen  should  have  been  altogether  for- 
gotten, or  nothing  could  have  been  urged  to 
excuse  their  oblivion  in  this  particular;  for 
they  actually  thought  of  him  no  more  than 
if  he  had  not  been  at  all  in  existence,  until 
they  rose  to  return,  when  they  happened  to 
see  him  on  the  opposite  side  deeply  en- 
gaged in  the  delightful  occupation  of  feed- 
ing the  ducks. 

There  is  in  all  probability  no  species  of 
pleasure  at  once  so  exciting,  so  generous, 
and  so  pure,  as  that  which  springs  from  the 
strictly  philosophical  process  of  feeding 
these  acute  and  deeply  interesting  birds. 
They  are  so  highly  intelligent,  so  sensible; 
they  know  as  well  when  they  have  got  a 
bit  of  biscuit  in  their  bills  as  possible! 
They  will  swallow  it,  and  enjoy  it,  and 
dart  after  more,  and  fight  and  plunder  each 
other  like  Christians.  It  is  delightful  to 
observe  the  dignity  with  which  they  assert 
their  claim  to  whatever  they  can  get.  It 
really  affords  a  great  social  lesson;  for 
although  in  the  Park  the  majority  are 
foreigners,  they  insist  upon  having  equal 
rights  with  the  natives;  and  as  the  natives 
are  not  sufficiently  strong  to  put  them 
down,  they  accommodate  themselves  to 
those  republican  principles  which  have  of 
late  ye.ars  in  spite  of  them  obtained. 

I  ml*  r  all  these  circumstances,  then,  it 
will  nut  In-deemed  marvellous  that  Lli-wel- 

len's  attention  could  not  be  drawn  to  the 


F290. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


291 


opposite  side  of  the  water;  and  as  such  was 
the  case,  Louise  and  Valentine  were  com- 
pelled to  go  round,  where  they  surprised 
him  in  the  very  act  of  playing  with  a  mob 
of  little  Muscovites,  that  by  dint  of  zealous 
dillying  he  had  seduced  upon  land. 

"  Where  on  earth  have  you  been1?"  cried 
Louise,  as  they  approached  him. 

"  Phere  have  you  pin?"  retorted  Llewel- 
len;  "  hur've  pin  pack  here  a  long  time! 
Phell!"  he  continued,  with  a  mournful  ex- 
pression, "  there'll  pe  no  peef  for  dinner  to- 
tay!  Inteet  hur  can't  fint  the  putcher,  look 
you!" 

"  What!"  exclaimed  Louise. 

"  Nopotty  knows  Pull  the  putcher  at 
all!" 

"  Did  you  ever!" 

"  Phell,  hur  ton't  care;  hur  tit  all  her 
coot  to  fint  him  out;  "hur  phent  into  all  the 
shops;  but  no, — ephery  potty  laught  phen 
hur  inquirt,  put  nopotty  knew  anything 
apout  any  putcher  named  Pull." 

"This  is  always  the  case,"  said  Louise; 
"  I  don't  think,  Fred,  that  I  shall  ever  ask 
you  to  do  me  another  favor  while  I  live." 

"  Hur  can't  help  it.  Hur  knew  you't  co 
on;  put  hur  tit  all  hur  coot,  ant  phith  the 
tirection  phich  you  cave  me,  the  tevil  him- 
self cootn't  fint  Pull  the  putcher." 

"  Well,  come  Louise,"  said  Valentine, 
"  say  no  more  about  it.  It  is  not  I  presume 
of  any  very  great  importance.  You  had 
better,  perhaps,  show  Fred  at  once  where 
Bull  lives,  and  then  he  will  know  where  to 
find  him." 

"Yes  too,  Louey,  come;  hur  shoot  like 
apove  all  things  in  the  worl't  to  know  phere 
he's  to  be  fount,  for  hur  huntit  him  in  ephery 
tirection.  It  phill  not  take  you  much  out  of 
the  phay,  look  you — come!" 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I  shall  not  do  anything  of 
the  sort,"  said  Louise,  pinching  Valentine's 
arm  very  severely;  "  if  people  are  so  ex- 
tremely stupid  as  to  be  actually  unable  to 
find  out  the  shop  of  a  butcher,  I  really  don't 
feel  myself  bound  to  take  any  trouble  with 
them  at  all.  As  to  you,  sir,"  she  added, 
addressing  Valentine,  "you  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  having  made  such  a  suggestion: 
I  beg  that  the  subject  may  not  be  re- 
newed." 

Llewellen  now  conceived  that  she  was 
indeed  very  angry,  and  therefore  said  no- 
thing more  about  it;  and  as  Valentine  had 
no  desire  to  induce  him  to  suspect  that  he 
had  been  played  with,  the  propriety  of 
adopting  the  suggestion  he  had  offered  was 
not  urged.  They  at  once  proceeded  home; 
and,  although  the  lovers  were  not  quite  so 
silent  as  before,  they  were  stil  1  very  thought- 
ful, and  would,  to  common  observers,  have 
appeared  very  dull. 


Of  course  Valentine  felt  himself  bound 
under  the  circumstances  to  dine  there  that 
day.  It  is  true  he  thought  at  one  time  that 
it  might  perhaps  be  better  to  excuse  him- 
self, in  order  that  both  he  and  Louise  might 
reflect  upon  what  had  happened,  before  he 
took  the  next  step;  but  having  considered 
the  matter  for  a  moment,  he  felt  that  this 
would  be  quite  unnecessary,  seeing  that 
while  he  had  firmly  made  up  his  mind,  he 
had  not  the  smallest  doubt  that  she  had  as 
firmly  made  up  hers;  and  that  therefore  the 
subject  might  as  well  be  named  to  Raven 
without  any  further  delay. 

He  accordingly  consented  to  remain,  and 
continued  to  amuse  himself  in  the  garden 
with  Llewellen  until  they  were  summoned 
to  dinner,  when  he  found  that  in  honor  of 
the  occasion  Louise  had  taken  pains  to  look 
more  than  usually  attractive.  Her  manner 
was  however  much  altered;  she  was  far 
more  reserved,  spoke  but  little,  and  felt  in 
some  slight  degree  embarrassed. 

"  You  are  not  yourself  to-day,  my  girl," 
said  Raven,  on  noticing  this  change,  "  who 
has  been  putting  you  out!" 

"  Oh,  pless  you,  she's  only  pin  plowink 
me  up,"  said  Llewellen,  "  pecause  hur 
cootn't  fint,  look  you,  Mr.  Pull  the  putcher!" 

"  Indeed,  sir,  you  are  mistaken,"  cried 
Louise,  "  and  I  beg  that  you  will  be  silent." 

"  What,  have  you  been  changing  your 
butcher,  my  girl1?"  inquired  Raven. 

"No,  it  is  only  his  stupidity — he  gets 
worse  and  worse." 

"  Well,  but  I  thought  Scraggs  supplied 
us1?" 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Louise. 

"  Putt  you  said  Pull!  Titn't  she  say 
Pull,  my  poy?  Oh!  hur'll  take  my  oath 
she  sail  Pull." 

"  Did  you  ever  know  any  one  so  stupid?" 

"  Perhaps,"  observed  Raven,  "  he  was 
thinking  of  the  bull  beef!" 

"Oh!  as  likely  as  not,"  cried  Louise. 

"  Putt  too  you  mean  to  say  that  you  litn't 
say  Pull?" 

"  Good  gracious  hold  your  tongue  Fred, 
and  don't  be  so  silly!" 

"Putt  hur  say,  Louey,  look  you— too 
you  mean  Louey — too  you  mean  to  say  that 
you  titn't  tell  me  Pull?" 

"  I  mean,  sir,  to  say  nothing  more  on  the 
subject.  I  am  ashamed  of  you." 

"  Doubtless,"  observed  Raven,  "  the 
mistake  originated  in  the  remarkable  simi- 
larity of  the  names." 

"  Phot,  petween  Pull  and  Scraggs!" 
cried  Llewellen,  "  phell,  coolness  knows! 
— putt  is  it  propaple;  is  it,  look  you,  at  all? 
— oh!— pesites  hur  know  Scraggs,  look  you; 
putt  she  sait  Pull!" 

"  You  had  better  say  no  more  about  the 


292 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


matter,"  said  Louise,  "  I'm  sorry  you  ex- 
pose yourself  in  this  way." 

"Never  mind,  Fred,"  said  Raven,  "mis- 
takes will  occur;  let  me  send  you  a  little 
more  fish." 

Llewellen  had  no  objection  to  a  little  more 
fish,  but  he  had  an  objection — a  very  seri- 
ous objection — to  its  being  supposed  that 
he  had  mistaken  the  name  of  Scraggs  for 
that  of  Bull.  He  would  not  however  suffer 
that  circumstance  to  interfere  at  all  with  his 
dinner:  he  ate  heartily — fiercely;  but  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  have  the  thing  satis- 
factorily cleared  up  anon. 

The  dinner  therefore  passed  off  without 
any  further  allusions  being  made  to  the 
affair;  and  when  Llewellen  began  to  exhibit 
strong  symptoms  of  a  very  deep  anxiety  to 
renew  it,  Valentine  happily  started  a  sub- 
ject which  precluded  the  possibility  of  its 
being  hedged  in. 

In  due  time  Louise  made  her  exit,  and  as 
she  had  previously  intimated  to  Llewellen 
that  she  had  something  of  importance  to 
communicate  to  him  in  the  drawing-room, 
he  almost  immediately  followed,  leaving 
Raven  and  Valentine  alone. 

Of  course  Valentine  perfectly  understood 
this  arrangement,  although  he  had  had  no- 
thing whatever  to  do  with  it.  He  knew  for 
what  purpose  Llewellen  had  been  with- 
drawn, and  he  also  knew  that  his  absence 
would  in  all  probability  be  prolonged,  inas- 
much as  Louise,  if  she  could  but  get  him 
near  the  piano  after  dinner,  had  the  mar- 
vellous faculty  of  playing  him  to  sleep. — 
He  therefore  made  up  his  mind  to  speak  to 
Raven  on  the  subject  at  once.  He  felt  cer- 
tainly rather  awkward  at  the  moment,  and 
scarcely  knew  how  to  begin;  but  being  en- 
couraged by  the  conviction  that  the  consent 
which  he  was  about  to  solicit  would  not  be 
withheld,  he  conquered  his  scruples  and 
commenced. 

"  Mr.  Raven,"  said  he,  replenishing  his 
glass  as  if  about  to  propose  a  toast,  which 
invariably  fixed  Raven's  attention,  it  being 
a  practice  of  which  he  was  particularly 
fond — "  Mr.  Raven:  the  uniform  kindness 
with  which  you  have  received  me,  and  for 
which  I  shall  ever  feel  deeply  indebted,  in- 
duces me  to  hope  that  you  will  entertain 
that  which  I  am  now  most  anxious  to  pro- 
pose." 

•'  Certainly;  by  all  means,"  said  Raven, 
who  filled  his  glass,  and  listened  attentively 
again. 

"The  affection  which  exists  between 
Louise  and  myself,"  continued  Valentine, 
"I  believe  to  be  mutual  and  firm." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  said  Raven, 
41  no  doubt  of  it  in  the  world." 

"  And  as  you  have  never  appeared  to  dis- 


countenance the  growth  of  that  affection,  I 
am  encouraged  to  believe  that  you  have  no 
desire  to  check  it  now." 

"  None  at  all,  my  bo-y:  not  the  least  in 
life." 

"  Such  being  the  case,  then,  my  pre- 
sent object  is  to  obtain  your  consent  to  our 
union." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  Raven,  "  you  have 
it!  I  give  it  freely,  and  at  once.  1  will 
not  disguise  from  you  how  highly  I  admire 
your  character,  and  as  I  feel  that  as  a  hus- 
band you  will  be  faithful  and  affectionate, 
take  her,  and  may  every  earthly  blessing 
throughout  life  be  yours. — God  bless  you 
both!"  he  added,  raising  the  glass  to  his 
lips,  as  the  tears  stood  and  sparkled  in  his 
eyes.  "  But  I  am  sure  you  will  be  happy: 
I  am  quite  sure  of  that.  She  is  a  good  girl: 
I  know  that  she  is  a  good  girl,  and  as  a 
wife  will  be  all  that  a  man  can  desire." 

He  then  drank  off  his  wine,  and  having 
instantly  replenished,  proposed  the  health 
of  Louise  in  a  bumper. 

"Louise  and  I,"  said  Valentine,  when 
with  heartfelt  pleasure  he  had  done  honor 
to  the  toast,  "  had  some  little  conversation 
on  the  subject  this  morning,  but,  as  with 
very  great  propriety,  she  suggested  that  you 
were  the  first  person  to  whom  I  oujrht  to 
speak,  she  left  it  in  your  hands  entirely." 

"Just  like  her!"  exclaimed  Raven,  high- 
ly pleased  with  the  fact.  "  She  is  the  best 
and  most  amiable  girl  in  the  world." 

"  Now  I  was  thinking,"  said  Valentine, 
"  that  June  is  a  very  pleasant  month." 

"  So  it  is:  but  I  must  leave  all  that  to  be 
settled  between  yourselves.  Only  tell  me 
when  it  is  settled.  Let  me  see— June — oh! 
yes.  I  wish  you  would  give  my  compli- 
ments to  your  uncle,  and  tell  him  I  shall  be 
happy  to  see  him  when  convenient.  Per- 
haps he  will  dine  with  us  to-morrow?  Just 
ask  him." 

Valentine  promised  to  do  so;  and,  after 
drinking  a  few  more  appropriate  toasts,  they 
left  the  table  to  join  Louise. 

"  My  girl !"  said  Raven,  as  he  entered 
the  drawing-room,  "  come  here." 

Louise  approached,  and  he  placed  her 
hand  in  Valentine's,  and  blessed  them,  and 
then  went  to  pommel  Llewellen.  That 
gentleman  was  soundly  asleep  on  tho  sofa: 
but,  although  it  was  usually  very  difficult 
to  rouse  him  under  those  peculiar  circum- 
stances, Raven,  being  then  in  high  spirits, 
soon  succeeded  in  waking  him  up. 

"Now  don't  you  think,  Fred,  that  you 
are  a  very  pretty  fellow!"  cried  K'avrn, 
when  his  efforts  had  been  crowned  with 
success. 

"Inteet,  coolness  knows  hur'vc  pin 
asleep!"  said  Llewellen,  which  with  him 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


293 


was  an  occurrence  of  so  extraordinary  a  cha- 
racter, that  he  felt  quite  confused.  "  Putt," 
he  added,  "it  phos  Louey's  fault.  She 
setucet  me  up  here,  and  phootn't  let  me  co 
town  acain,  look  you." 

Louis,  doubtless,  at  any  other  time  would 
have  given  free  expression  to  her  opinion 
on  the  propriety  of  this  observation;  but 
she  was  then  too  much  engaged,  having 
coffee  to  dispense  and  certain  feelings  to 
conceal,  to  attend  to  anything  so  really  un- 
important. Her  reserve  was  remarkable. 
She  scarcely  said  a  word.  She  looked,  and 
blushed,  and  occasionally  smiled,  but  she 
did  not  by  any  means  feel  self-possessed. 
Valentine,  on  the  contrary,  was  buoyant 
and  merry;  he  chatted  with  Raven,  and  ral- 
lied Llewellen  with  unusual  spirit,  until 


the  evening  became  far  advanced,  when  he 
took  leave  of  them,  and  left  the  room  with 
Louise,  who  appeared  to  be  somewhat  anx- 
ious, on  that  particular  occasion,  to  see  him 
safely  out. 

"  My  dearest  love,"  said  he,  stopping 
near  the  drawing-room  door,  "  I  need  not 
perhaps  state  that  your  father  has  freely 
consented  to  our  union.  With  me  he  thinks 
that  June  would  be  a  very  pleasant  month; 
but  as  he  leaves  that  entirely  to  you,  pray 
think  of  it:  I  shall  see  you  in  the  morning. 
Oh,  Louise!  I  have  felt,  and  still  do  feel,  so 
happy!  My  dear  girl,  good  night." 

Louise  was  silent,  but  she  returned  his 
embrace  with  affectionate  warmth,  when  he 
once  again  bade  her  adieu,  and  departed. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 


VALENTINE  VISITS  THE  ROYAL  ACADEMY,  AND  RAVEN  ASTONISHES  THE  FACULTIES  OF 

UNCLE  JOHN. 


ON  reaching  home,  Valentine  briefly  ex- 
plained the  substance  of  all  that  had  occur- 
red to  Uncle  John,  who  was  in  consequence 
highly  delighted.  He  had  passed  a  mourn- 
ful evening;  for  Whitely,  who  now  despair- 
ed of  obtaining  the  slightest  clue  to  the  dis- 
covery of  his  children,  had  been  his  only 
companion ;  but  when  Valentine  arrived 
with  his  "  glorious  news,"  he  at  once  made 
up  his  mind  to  have  an  additional  glass, 
and  resolved,  moreover,  that  Whitely  and 
Valentine  should  join  him.  He  found  it, 
however,  extremely  difficult  to  prevail  upon 
W^hitely  to  do  this,  for  that  gentleman 
cherished  his  sad  thoughts  as  if  he  loved 
them,  and  appeared  to  have  a  horror  of  every 
thing  likely  to  cause  them  to  be  even  for  a 
moment  dispelled:  but  eventually  Uncle 
John  succeeded  in  inducing  him,  in  honour 
of  the  occasion,  to  yield,  when  despair  by 
degrees  was  supplanted  by  hope,  and  after 
an  hour's  enlivening  conversation,  he  re- 
tired comparatively  happy. 

In  the  morning — after  having  held  a  deep 
consultation  with  Uncle  John,  who  felt  that 
he  had  that  day  to  perform  a  great  duty — 
Valentine  proceeded  to  call  upon  Louise, 
whom  he  found  still  embarrassed,  but  affec- 
tionate and  gentle.  She  appeared  to  have 
been  completely  disarmed;  and,  although 
she  flew  to  receive  him  as  he  entered,  she 
was  silent,  and  subsequently,  whenever  her 
eyes  met  his,  which  did  not  unfrequently 
happen,  she  blushed,  and  seemed  greatly 
confused. 
26 


"  Hur  say,  my  poy,"  whispered  Llewel- 
len, embracing  the  first  opportunity  of  draw- 
ing him  aside:  "  Phot  is  the  matter  phith 
Loueyl  She  hasn't  plown  me  up  all  the 
morning!" 

"  You  have  not  offended  her,  probably." 

"  Oh,  coolness  knows  it,  that's  no  rule 
to  co  py:  there's  something  pesites  in  the 
wint." 

"  Don't  despair,"  said  Valentine,  encou- 
ragingly. "  You  will  have  it  no  doubt  by 
and  by.— Louise!"  he  added. 

"  No,  no,  no!"  interrupted  Llewellen. 
"Inteet,  hur  ton't  want  it! — No,  no!  hur 
ton't  want  it! — pe  still !" 

"  I  was  about  to  ask  Louise  if  she  felt 
inclined  to  go  to  the  Royal  Academy  this 
morning." 

"  Oh,  that's  another  pisiness!  Hur  shoot 
like  that  apove  all  things  in  the  worlt." 

"Well,  shall  we  go,  my  love]" 

"  I  should  enjoy  it  much,"  replied  Louise, 
softly. 

"Run  away,  then,  and  prepare.  And 
Louise! — tell  your  father  that  my  uncle  will 
do  himself  the  pleasure  of  dinning  here  to- 
day." 

Louise  left  the  room;  and  the  moment 
she  was  gone,  Llewellen  said,  "  My  poy, 
you  mate  me  tremple.  Hur  was  afrait  that 
you  were  coing  to  tell  Louey  phot  hur  sait, 
pecause  then  she  woot  have  pecan,  look 
you,  at  once.  Put  her  say! — phot's  the 
matter?  Pelieve  me  she  titn't  say  a  wort 


294 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


all  the  time  we  were  at  preakfast.  Is  there 
anything  wrong!" 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Valentine.  "  Every 
thing  is  perfectly  right.  You  will  soon 
know  the  cause  of  this  change  in  Louise." 

"  Phot!     Are  you  coing  to  pe  marriet!" 

"Married:  how  came  you  to  think  of 
that!" 

"  Phel,  hur  titn't  know,  look  you.  How- 
ever, hur  ton't  care  a  pit,  if  there's  nothing 
coing  wrong." 

As  Louise  returned  shortly  after  this, 
they  proceeded  at  once  to  the  exhibition. 
Llewellen  was  a  great  connoisseur:  he 
could  tell  in  a  moment  if  a  picture  pleased 
him,  and  wouldn't  pretend  to  admire  what 
he  didn't.  To  such  a  connoisseur  the  ex- 
hibition of  the  Royal  Academy  did  at  that 
particular  period  present  many  charms 
which  few  others  could  see,  and  hence  it 
will  not  be  held  to  be  very  extraordinary 
that  Llewellen  was  highly  delighted.  He 
looked  at  the  portraits.  Very  good!  As  far 
as  the  likenesses  were  concerned,  why  of 
course  he  knew  nothing,  and  didn't  mean 
to  care;  they  all  appeared  to  be  very  plea- 
sant people,  and  that  was  sufficient  for  him. 
The  dogs  however  attracted  his  particular 
attention:  he  was  at  once  almost  lost  in  ad- 
miration of  them. 

«'  How  phery  font  people  are  kitting  of 
togs,"  he  observed. 

"It  would  appear  so,  certainly,"  said 
Valentine.  "  One  would  imagine  that  we 
were  a  nation  of  dog  fanciers." 

"  How  do  you  account,"  inquired  Louise, 
"for  so  many  being  painted?" 

"  Young  artists  are  advised  to  direct  at- 
tention to  that  particular  branch,"  replied 
Valentine,  "it  being  assumed  that  all  who 
are  anxious  to  have  portraits  of  their  dogs 
can  afford  to  pay  handsomely  for  them." 

"Then  if  things  co  on  so,  phe  shall  have 
nothing  putt  tog  painters  py  ant  py,  look 
you!" 

"See  how  highly  they  are  admired," 
said  Valentine,  directing  the  attention  of 
Louise  to  two  ladies  and  a  highly  rouged 
gentleman,  who  were  extolling  the  sub- 
limity of  a  portrait  of  a  bloodhound. 

"  Dear  me!"  exclaimed  one  of  the  ladies, 
14  what  a  love! — is  he  not!" 

"Foine  animal!  foine  dog!  foine  creach- 
or!"  cried  the  highly  rouged  gentleman; 
but  he  had  no  sooner  got  to  the  "  creachor," 
than  Valentine  made  an  angry  growl  pro- 
ceed apparently  from  the  bloodhound,  which 
caused  the  admirers  of  the  "creachor"  to 
start  back  amazed. 

M  \vi,y  what!-why!— why !-aloive!" 
exclaimed  the  highly  rouged  gentleman, 
with  an  aspect  of  horror. 

M  Don't  be  alarmed,  my  love,"  said  Va- 


lentine, whispering  to  Louise,  "it  was  I 
that  made  the  noise." 

"  You!  why  it  appeared  to  be  the  dog!" 

"  Exactly;  I'll  explain  to  you  presently. 
Take  no  notice  now." 

In  a  state  of  the  most  intense  astonish- 
ment did  the  highly  rouged  gentleman  look 
at  the  ladies  whom  he  had  accompanied, 
and  then  at  the  bloodhound.  He  couldn't 
make  it  out!  He  had  heard  it,  surely!  Oh! 
the  ladies  themselves  had  borne  testimony 
to  that,  for  while  one  of  them  said  "  Did 
you  ever,"  the  other  exclaimed  "Well,  I 
never!"  which  of  course  was  conclusive. 
But  then  the  "creachor"  was  not  alive! 
and  if  the  "creachor"  was  not  alive,  why 
— what  then!  He  couldn't  tell;  he  only 
knew  that  he  had  heard  the  "  creachor" 
growl.  He  looked  again,  and  approached 
him  gradually,  until  he  was  able  to  make  a 
very  minute  inspection  indeed.  It  certainly 
was  not  alive!  He  touched  the  "  creachor" 
— not  near  the  mouth  it  is  true,  but  he  ab- 
solutely touched  him. 

"  Keep  your  hands  off  the  pictchors," 
said  Valentine,  throwing  his  voice  behind 
the  offender,  "how  dare  you  touch  the 
pictchors!" 

The  highly  rouged  gentleman  turned, 
and  really  felt  quite  frightened;  but  as  he 
saw  no  one  behind  him  that  looked  like  a 
man  who  had  the  courage  to  speak  to  him 
in  that  style,  he  naturally  felt  himself 
bound  to  give  the  ladies  a  little  idea  of  his 
valour.  Perceiving  a  very  quiet  looking 
elderly  gentleman  on  one  of  the  seats,  he 
therefore  marched  up  to  him  boldly,  and 
said  in  a  tone  which  conveyed  a  great  deal 
of  indignation,  "  Did  you  speak  to  me, 
sor!" 

The  old  gentleman  looked  at  him  over 
his  spectacles  very  inquisitively,  and  after 
having  carefully  examined  the  animal,  re- 
plied, "I  don't  know  you,  I  don't  under- 
stand you." 

"  1  ask  if  you  spoke  to  me  just  now  in 
that  abrupt  and  particularly  ungentleman- 
like  manner!"  ^' 

"Decidedly  not." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  highly  rouged  gentleman, 
"oh!"  and  the  ladies  becoming  alarmed, 
drew  him  at  once  from  the  spot,  but  he 
turned  to  look  again  at  the  "creachor." 

"  Is  it  possible,"  said  Louise,  "  that  it 
was  you  in  reality!" 

"Quite.  But,  Louise,  you  must  keep 
what  I  am  now  about  to  impart  to  you  a 
most  profound  secret." 

Louise  promised  to  do  so,  and  to  her 
utter  amazement,  he  proceeded  to  explain 
to  her  his  power  as  a  ventriloquist,  while 
Llewellen  was  particularly  engaged  with  n 
painting  in  the  subject  of  which  he  appeared 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


295 


to  take  the  deepest  possible  interest.  This 
painting  told  a  plain  tale  of  heartlessness 
on  the  one  hand,  and  weakness  on  the 
other — a  tale  of  seduction  and  its  wretched 
results;  and  while  he  sympathised  deeply 
with  the  victim  who  was  there  represented 
sitting  in  abject  misery  upon  the  steps  of  a 
mansion,  with  her  infant  at  her  breast, 
while  the  tears  trickled  fast  down  her 
cheeks,  he  shook  his  fist  at  her  seducer 
with  an  energetic  action  which  seemed  to 
intimate  that  he  could,  with  a  great  deal  of 
pleasure,  knock  his  head  out  of  the  canvass. 

"  Oh,  do,"  said  Louise,  when  Valentine 
had  explained,  "  do  try  the  effect  upon 
Fred." 

"  Well,  but  you  must  be  cautious;  1  shall 
have  an  opportunity  presently.  But  see 
how  excjted  he  appears." 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter1?"  inquired 
Louise,  as  they  approached  him. 

"  Inteet,  now,"  said  Llewellen,  address- 
ing Valentine,  and  pointing  to  the  seducer, 
"that's  a  creat  scountrel,  look  you1?" 

"  A  what!"  cried  Valentine,  whose  voice 
seemed  to  proceed  from  the  figure  alluded 
to,  "  a  what!" 

"  A  creat  scountrel /"  repeated  Llewellen, 
nothing  daunted,  for  he  was  very  indignant, 
and  looked  at  the  figure  very  fiercely.  He 
however  recollected  himself  the  next  mo- 
ment, and  turned  to  look  alternately  at  Va- 
lentine and  Louise. 

"Why,  what  in  the  name  of  goodness 
are  you  about1?"  exclaimed  Louise. 

Llewellen,  without  immediately  replying, 
examined  the  painting  very  closely;  but 
having  satisfied  himself  that  it  was  really  a 
painting,  and  that  no  one  could  possibly  be 
behind  it,  he  thought  it  better  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, not  to  subject  himself  to  the 
rallying  sarcasm  of  Louise,  and  therefore, 
having  said  "  hur  only  thought  somepotty 
spoke,"  moved  away. 

"  Dear  me,"  cried  Louise,  "  how  exces- 
sively natural  it  seems.  For  goodness  sake 
don't  tell  any  one  about  it.  We  shall  have 
such  sport,  Til  assist  you.  But  do  you  not 
move  your  lips  at  all!" 

"  Can  you  see  them  move1?"  said  Valen- 
tine, sending  his  voice  behind  her. 

Louise  turned  in  an  instant.  "  Good  gra- 
cious!" she  exclaimed,  "  that  person  over- 
heard us!" 

"  Of  course,"  said  Valentine,  throwing 
his  voice  as  before. 

"Let  us  go,"  said  Louise,  "he'll  insult 
us." 

"Insult  you!" 

"  Oh,  do  let  us  go  into  the  next  room!" 

"  Why,  that  person  has  not  spoken,"  said 
Valentine,  in  his  natural  voice,  smiling. — 
44  He  has  not  said  a  word." 


"  But  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  it  was 
you?" 

"  Why,  of  course!" 

"  Well  I  never! — But  you  know — you 
must  not  frighten  me  /" 

"  Oh!  any  one  else1?" 

"  Nay,  it  will  not  be  fair  to  frighten  me! 
you  would  not  wish  to  do  it,  would  you"? — 
No,  let  that  be  clearly  understood." 

"  Very  well.  Of  course,  what  you  say 
now  amounts  to  law!" 

"  No,  no,  not  so.  At  least,"  she  added 
playfully,  "  not  yet:" 

"  Is  Mr.  Llewellen  in  the  room?"  cried 
Valentine,  throwing  his  voice  to  the  oppo- 
site corner. 

"  Cootness,"  said  Llewellen,  turning  to 
Valentine,  "  toes  he  mean  me1?" 

"  Mr.  Llewellen  of  Caermarthen!"  cried 
Valentine  as  before,  and  looking  at  the  same 
time  steadily  at  the  victim. 

"  Yesm!"  cried  Llewellen,  "  some  frient 
of  mine,  no  tout.  Who  t'cootness  can  it 
pe?" 

As  Llewellen  walked  anxiously  towards 
the  spot  from  which  the  voice  appeared  to 
proceed,  every  eye  was  upon  him.  The 
thing  was  so  unusual!  The  idea  of  calling 
out  a  gentleman's  name  in  such  a  manner, 
and  in  such  a  place!  It  was  evidently  held 
by  all  to  be  extremely  incorrect,  and  even 
Louise  exclaimed,^"  what  a  vulgar  person 
to  be  sure!" 

"  Do  you  really  conceive  him  to  be  a  vul- 
gar person?"  inquired  Valentine,  with  a 
smile,  which  clearly  intimated  something. 

"  Why— gracious  Valentine!— surely  that 
was  not  you  then?" 

"  Why,  is  it  at  all  likely  to  have  been  any 
one  else?" 

"  Oh!  how  glorious.  Well,  I  thought  it 
very  singular! — Now,  let  us  hear  what  he'll 
say.  But  you  should  tell  me!  You  should 
let  me  know  beforehand!  I  should  enjoy 
it  so  much  more  if  you  were  to  do  that. — 
Here  he  comes." 

"  Hur  can't  fint  any  potty,"  said  Lle- 
wellenj  as  he  approached  with  a  counte- 
nance remarkably  vacant.  "  Inteet  t'coot- 
ness, now  hur  shoot  like  to  know  pho  it 
coot  pe!— Photare  you  laughing  at,  Louey?" 
he  added,  as  Louise  covered  her  face  tocon- 
eal  her  convulsions. 

"  Have  you  really  no  idea  who  it  was?" 
inquired  Valentine. 

"  Pless  you!  not  the  least.  It  was  some 
frient,  no  tout.  Hur  shoot  like  now  to  fint 
him  apove  all  things  in  the  worlt."  And 
again  he  looked  round  and  round  the  room  in 
the  lively  hope  of  seeing  some  friend  from 
Caermarthen. 

"  Louise,"  whispered  Valentine,   "  this 


296 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


will  never  do!  you'll  spoil  all  if  you  do  not 
keep  your  countenance." 

"Yes — I  know,  but  I  really  could  not 
help  it.  He  did  look  so  silly — poor  Fred!" 

"  How  do  you  like  that  style  of  paint- 
ing?" said  Valentine,  alluding — more  with 
the  view  of  restoring  the  tranquillity  of  her 
countenance  than  anything  else — to  a  flam- 
ing red  and  hlue  lightning  subject,  which 
appeared  to  have  been  done  by  some  emi- 
nent artist,  while  looking  through  a  pair  of 
kaleidoscopic  spectacles — "  Do  you  admire 
It?" 

"  Why,  upon  my  word  I  cannot  under- 
stand it!"  replied  Louise. 

"  Nor  can  I,  nor  can  any  one  else,  I  should 
say,  with  the  exception  of  the  artist  him- 
self. But  do  you  admire  the  style?" 

"It  is  so  indistinct  and  glaring." 

"  There  is  an  infinite  deal  of  something 
about  it:  it  may  by  possibility  be  very  sub- 
lime, but  1  should  say  its  chief  merit  con- 
sists in  its  being  altogether  incomprehensi- 
ble." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Louise  with  impati- 
ence, "never  mind;  I've  no  doubt  that  it 
was  meant  to  be  very  poetic,  but  do,  there's 
a  dear,  tease  Fred." 

The  fact  is,  after  Valentine  had  entrusted 
her  with  the  secret  of  his  power,  Louise 
took  but  little  interest  in  the  paintings:  it 
had  at  once  so  delighted  and  amazed  her, 
that  she  looked  at  them  only  as  a  medium 
through  which  that  power  might  with  effect 
be  developed:  and  as  it  was  but  natural  that 
Valentine  should,  under  existing  circum- 
stances, be  anxious  to  please  her  by  all  the 
means  at  his  command,  he  went  up  to  Lle> 
wellen,  who  had  been  running  about  in  all 
directions  in  search  of  his  undiscoverable 
friend,  and,  looking  steadily  at  him,  said, 
in  the  most  cordial  manner  possible,  "  Ah! 
Llewellen!" 

The  voice  apparently  proceeded  from  be- 
hind him,  and  he  turned  on  the  instant  and 
scrutinised  the  features  of  every  man  whom 
he  saw.  But  no!  No  friend  was  visible! 
He  could  not  see  a  soul  of  whom  he  had  the 
slightest  knowledge!  which  in  the  abstract 
was  very  remarkable. 

"  There's  somepotty  having  a  came  with 
me,"  he  observed,  when  he  had  satisfied  his 
conscience  that  every  creature  behind  him 
was  unknown  to  him;  "  Inteet,  t'  coolness 
hur  shoot  like  to  fint  him  out!"  And  it  was 
not  by  any  means  extraordinary  that  he  did 
wish  to  do  so,  more  especially  as  he  felt  in 
some  slight  degree  displeased  ! 

'*  Now,  now,"  said  Louise,  "  make  that 
picture  appear  to  speak  to  him:  do!" 

"  No,  no;  it's  too  bad,"  said  Valentine. 
"Besides,  he  will  begin  to  suspect." 

"Never  mind,"  said  Louise,  "he  will 


not  suspect  us.     Do,  there's  a  dear;  once 
more:  come,  only  once!" 

"  Well,  well;  you  must  draw  his  attention 
to  it." 

"  Oh,  I'll  do  that.— Fred,  I  want  you  to 
give  me  your  opinion  upon   this  portrait. 
Now  what  do  you  really  think  of  it?     Be 
I  candid." 

"  Phell,  look  you,  hur  ton't  know:  hur 
i  ton't  pretent  to  pe  a  jutch;  putt  her  should 
|  say  it's  phery  peautiful." 

"  Do  you  really,"  said  Valentine,  assum- 
ing the  voice  of  a  female,  and  making  it 
appear  to  proceed  from  the  canvass, — "  Do 
you  really  think  me  beautiful  ?" 

Llewellen  started,  and  then  looked  at  the 
portrait  in  a  very  steady,  straightforward, 
unflinching  manner,  and  then  looked  at 
Louise  and  then  at  Valentine,  and  then  at 
the  portrait  again.  At  length,  being  unable 
to  make  any  thing  at  all  of  it,  in  the  fulness 
of  his  heart  he  exclaimed — "  Inteet  t'  coot- 
ness,  hur  think  now  the  tevil's  in  the  pic- 
tures!" 

"  For  shame  !"  cried  Louise.  "  How 
dare  you  make  use  of  that  wicked  expres- 
sion?" 

"  Phell  hur  ton't  care,  Louey;  he's  in  the 
room  somephere,  look  you,  that's  my  pelief. 
Titn't  you  hear?" 

"  I  heard  you  say  that  the  portrait  was 
very  beautiful." 

"So  hur  tit!— so  hur  tit!— ant  then  it 
asked  if  hur  tit  think  it  peautiful !" 

"  It!  what,  the  portrait?  Why,  you  do 
not  mean  to  be  so  ridiculous  as  to  imagine 
that  the  portrait  spoke,  surely?" 

"  Hur  ton't  care  a  pit  about  the  pisiness, 
look  you,  Louey,  putt  coolness  knows  hur 
heart  somepotty  speak!  Titn't  you,  my 
poy?_/t7n'£  you?" 

"  I  heard  some  one  speak,  thal's  quile 
certain:  bul  it  couldn'l,  by  any  possibility, 
be  the  painting!" 

"  Absurd  !"  cried  Louise.  "  Now  really, 
Fred — give  me  your  candid  opinion — do  you 
nol  yourself  ihink  lhat  you  are  getting  very 
stupid?" 

"  Hur  ton't  care  phot  you  say:  you  may 
call  me  stupil  if  you  please,  pull  if  hur 
titn'l  hear  lhat  phery  picture  ask  me  plain 
plank  phcther  hur  tit  think  it  peautiful, 
plessme!"  - 

"  But  how  is  it  possible?  How  could 
it?" 

"  I  lur  ton't  pretenl  to  know  how  it  coot; 
put  it  tit!  Coolness  knows,  am  hur  not  to 
pelieve  my  own  ears?" 

it  does  seem  hard  that  a  man  cannot  al- 
ways with  safety  have  the  firmest  and  the 
most  implicit  faith  in  the  evidence  of  those 
useful  and  ornamenlal  organs;  bul  il  is  not- 
withstanding a  fact,  that,  in  all  such  cases 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


297 


as  those  in  which  ventriloquism  is  concern- 
ed, such  evidence  is  perfectly  certain  to  be 
false.  However  direct  it  may  be,  however 
specious,  however  strong,  it  is  sure  to  mis- 
lead the  inquiring  mind,  so  invariable  is  its 
perversion  of  truth — so  stubborn  its  adhe- 
rence to  error. 

Of  all  this  Llewellen  was  utterly  igno- 
rant, and  hence  he  stuck  firmly  to  his  faith. 
He  of  course  thought  it  strange,  unaccounta- 
bly strange;  but  no  reason  which  he  could 
bring  to  bear  upon  the  point  was  sufficiently 
powerful  to  shake  his  conviction;  no  species 
of  ridicule — nay,  not  even  the  manifest  im- 
possibility of  the  thing  itself— could  induce 
him  to  repudiate  or  even  to  doubt  the  evi- 
dence of  those  false  witnesses,  his  ears. 

This  was  a  source  of  great  enjoyment  to 
Louise.  She  rallied  him  cruelly,  not  only 
at  the  exhibition,  but  as  they  returned.  He 
was  a  martyr;  and  with  the  characteristic 
firmness  of  a  martyr  he  endured  it, 

On  reaching  home,  however,  Louise 
became  thoughtful  again.  Knowing  that 
Uncle  John  was  to  dine  there  that  day,  her 
thoughts  reverted  to  the  cause  of  his  being 
specially  invited,  and,  although  she  was  as 
happy  as  any  aFectionate  little  creature 
under  the  circumstances  could  be,  she  could 
not  but  feel  in  some  slight  degree  embar- 
rassed. 

From  Valentine  this  was  concealed  as 
much  as  possible.  She  naturally  did  not 
wish  him  to  know  all;  she,  therefore,  left 
him  immediately  on  their  return  with  the 
full  determination — and  it  really  was  a  very 
important  determination — not  to  make  her 
appearance  again  until  Uncle  John  arrived. 

The  interim  would,  doubtless,  have  been 
somewhat  tedious  to  Valentine  if  matters 
had  taken  their  usual  course;  but  the  mo- 
ment she  had  left  him,  Raven  entered  the 
room,  and,  actuated  by  his  characteristic 
love  of  display,  begged  Valentine  as  a  favor 
to  take  the  carriage  for  his  Uncle.  Of 
course,  anything  calculated  to  please  the 
bitter  enemy  of  the  aristocracy  Valentine 
had  then  no  inclination  to  oppose.  The 
carriage  was,  therefore,  immediately  order- 
ed, for  Raven  suggested  that,  although  it 
was  early,  his  old  friend  might  like  to  have 
an  airinor  before  he  dined:  which  was  very 
affectionate. 

Matters  being  thus  arranged,  Raven  left 
the  room  with  dignity,  when  Llewellen 
claimed  the  privilege  of  going  with  Valen- 
tine, on  the  ground  of  his  being  a  great 
favorite  of  Uncle  John.  »'  Hur  too  like 
him,"  said  he,  just  to  strengthen  his  claim, 
"  pecause  hur  pelieve  him  to  pe  a  coot  tern- 
pert,  kint,  ant  penevolent  olt  soul,  ant  hur 
know  he  likes  me,  pecause  phenever  hur 
speak  to  him,  look  you,  he  smiles." 


This  was  held  to  be  conclusive,  and,  as 
in  a  very  few  minutes  the  carriage  was  an- 
nounced, they  proceeded  to  put  Uncle  John 
in  a  fidget.  This,  strange  as  it  may  appear, 
was  the  effect  which  the  sight  of  that  car- 
riage invariably  had  upon  him.  He  was 
sufficiently  feverish  when  it  came  to  the 
door  on  any  ordinary  occasion,  but  when- 
ever it  was  sent  expressly  for  him  it  threw 
him  at  once  into  a  dreadful  state  of  mind, 
for  he  held  it  to  be  beyond  all  doubt  or  dis- 
pute entirely  out  of  the  regular  course. 

Fortunately,  however,  in  this  particular 
instance  he  was  sitting  with  Whitely  in 
poor  Goodman's  room,  when  it  dashed  up 
to  the  door,  and  was,  therefore,  unconscious 
of  the  fact  until  Valentine  announced  it. 

"  But,  dear  me,"  said  Uncle  John,  pull- 
ing out  his  watch  with  great  promptitude 
and  tact,  "  why,  it  wants  a  full  hour  and  a 
half  of  the  time!" 

Whitely  enjoined  silence,  for  Uncle 
John's  lungs  were  very  powerful,  and  Good- 
man was  asleep.  They,  therefore,  repaired 
to  the  drawing-room  in  which  Valentine 
had  left  Llewellen,  a  fact  of  which  both 
Uncle  John  and  Whitely  were  unconscious. 

"  Ah!  Mr.  Llewellen!"  exclaimed  Uncle 
John,  "  I  hope  you're  well,  sir;  I  hope 
you're  very  well !  Allow  me  to  introduce 
to  you  my  friend  Mr.  Whitely." 

"  Hur'm  prout  to  know  you,"  said  Lle- 
wellen, extending  his  hand.  "Hur've  heart 
of  you  t'  cootness  knows  how  often." 

Whitely  during  the  salutation  looked  at 
him  intensely!  He  seemed  to  be  struck 
with  Llewellen's  appearance,  and  yet  there 
was  nothing  in  it  very  extraordinary.  Still 
he  inspired  on  the  instant  some  feeling 
which  caused  him  to  turn  pale  as  death! 

Neither  Uncle  John  nor  Valentine  noticed 
the  agitation  into  which  he  had  been  thrown, 
but  Llewellen  did,  and,  therefore,  said, — 
"  You  are  not  well,  my  frienf?  Come  for  a 
rite.  Inteet,  t'  cootness  it  will  too  you  all 
the  coot  in  the  worlt!" 

Whitely  tremulously  begged  to  be  ex- 
used,  and  almost  immediately  after  retired 
'rom  the  room. 

"  Now,  then,  my  tear  old  frient;  come, 
et  us  have  a  clorious  rite  pefore  tinner,  ant 
then  you'll  pe  aple  to  keep  me  in  counte- 
nance, for,  look  you,  nopotty  can  eat  at  all 
,ere! — hur  ton't  know  t'  cootness  how  it  is 
people  manache  to  live  phithout  eating." 

"But  bless  my  life!"  exclaimed  Uncle 
John,  "  I'm  not  dressed !  You  have  taken 
me  quite  by  surprise!" 

'  Oh,  never  mint  that,  look  you! — never 
mint  that.     We  can  wait  phile  you  tress! 
ootness  knows  it,  our  time  is  not  so  pre- 
cious!" 

Eventually  Uncle  John  consented:   for, 

26* 


298 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


although  he  thought  it  hard  that  he  could 
not  be  suffered  to  go  quietly,  he  was  pressed 
so  warmly,  not  only  hy  Llewellen,  but  by 
Valentine,  who  explained  how  highly  Ra- 
ven would  be  pleased,  that  he  felt  himself 
bound,  as  a  disagreeable  matter  of  courtesy 
on  this  one  particular  occasion  to  yield. 

He,  therefore,  left  the  room  to  make  him- 
self tidy,  and  Valentine  ordered  up  the  tray, 
it  being  questionable  whether  he  could  by 
any  other  means  hold  Llewellen  in  a  per- 
fect state  of  happiness.  He  had  not  the 
smallest  doubt  of  being  able  to  effect  this 
great  object  in  that  way,  and  the  correctness 
of  his  judgment  in  this  particular  was  abun- 
dantly proved  by  the  result.  The  very 
moment  Llewellen  saw  a  ham  and  three 
ribs  of  beef,  that  moment  did  his  eyes  begin 
to  sparkle  with  pleasure,  and  he  set  to  work 
like  a  new  man. 

"I  think  you  will  find  that  a  decent  glass 
of  sherry,"  said  Valentine,  placing  the  bot- 
tle before  him. 

"  My  poy,"  cried  Llewellen,  "  too  let's 
have  some  peer!" 

The  beer  was  ordered  on  the  instant,  and 
when  that  was  produced  his  views  were  met 
to  a  hair.  Nothing  could  have  been  better. 
He  slashed  away,  and  ate  with  so  much 
energy  and  gusto,  that  really  any  stranger 
would  have  imagined  that  he  had  been  ex- 
perimentalised upon  by  the  poor-law  com- 
missioners, from  whom  he  had  just  escaped. 
The  only  thing  which  at  all  interfered  with 
his  enjoyment  was  a  lively  apprehension  of 
Uncle  John's  return.  Every  sound  made 
him  start;  every  footstep  alarmed  him;  he 
trembled  whenever  he  heard  a  door  bang. 

His  apprehensions,  however,  were  per- 
fectly vain.  Uncle  John  it  is  true  was  in  a 
very  great  hurry,  but  it  is  also  true  that  he 
could  not  make  haste.  He  had  a  ten 
minutes'  hunt  for  a  particular  stocking, 
which,  as  a  matter  of  convenience,  he  had 
thrown  over  his  shoulder,  and  a  period  of 
ten  minutes  more  was  occupied  in  looking 
lor  a  waistcoat  he  had  on. 

Under  these  afflicting  circumstances,  Lie 
wellen  was  in  no  actual  danger  of  being  in- 
terrupted. But  then  he  did  not  know  that: 
which  was  a  pity.  Had  he  possessed  the 
slightest  cognisance  of  the  real  state  of 
things  at  that  period  in  Uncle  John's  dress- 
ing-room, doubtless  he  would  have  been, 
although  equally  energetic,  more  cool;  but 
working  away  as  he  was  in  the  dark  as  to 
the  actual  state  of  the  case  there,  it  was  but 
natural  that  he  should  have  the  unpleasant 
idea  that  courtesy  would  compel  him  pre- 
maturely to  give  in. 

It  was  not,  however,  until  some  time 
after  he  had  said  to  himself  privately, 


4  Now  hur  ton't  care  if  he  toes  come,"  that 
Uncle  John  actually  made  his  appearance. 

44 1  have  to  apologise,"  said  that  gentle- 
man, who  was  in  a  very  great  heat,  44 1 
lave  to  apologise  for  keeping  you  so  long." 

44  Hur  peg  you'll  make  no  apology  at  all," 
cried  Llewellen,  which  was  really  very 
;ood  of  him  considering,  44  hur've  not  pin 
[tie,  look  you!  Hur'd  recommend  you  to 
have  a  pit!  the  peef  is  peautiful !" 

Uncle  John  very  gracefully  declined,  and 
having  miraculously  found  a  pair  of  gloves, 
he  searched  the  whole  of  his  pockets  at 
once,  with  the  view  of  ascertaining  if  any 
important  little  matter  had  been  forgotten, 
and  then  declared  himself  to  be  quite  at 
Llewellen's  service. 

44  Put  hur  must  pit  your  olt  frient  coot 
py,"  cried  Llewellen. 

44  He  is  now  in  a  sound  sleep,"  said  Un- 
cle John. 

44  Tear  t'  cootness  how  ott!  Toes  he  al- 
phays  co  to  sleep  in  the  mittle  of  the  lay1?" 
/'  Do  you  mean  poor  friend  Goodman?" 

44  No,  look  you,  Mr.  Phitely!" 

4'  Oh,"  said  Valentine,  44  he  is  not  asleep; 
I'll  go  and  tell  him." 

He  did  so,  and  found  him  in  tears,  which 
he  hastened,  but  in  vain,  to  conceal. 

44  My  good  friend!  come,  keep  up  your 
spirits!"  said  Valentine,  44  Llewellen  wants 
to  bid  you  good  day." 

44 1  look  at  that  young  man  with  pleasure," 
returned  Whitely,  44but  that  pleasure  is 
accompanied  with  a  bitter,  bitter  pang." 

**Then  do  not  see  him.  I'll  tell  him  I 
have  said  good  day  for  him." 

44  Yes,  do,  please — yet— oh  no,  I'll  bid 
him  good  day."  And  he  dashed  away  a 
tear  which  stood  trembling  in  his  eye,  and 
went  at  once  to  shake  hands  with  Lle- 
wellen. 

44  God -bless  you!"  said  he,  44 1  shall  see 
you  again?" 

44  Oh!  yes;  hur  shall  alphays  pe  coming. 
Putt  hur  wish  you't  co  pnith  us  for  a  rite! 
Inteet  it  phoot  too  you  a  creat  teal  of  coot." 

Again  Whitely  begged  to  be  excused, 
and  after  having  again  shaken  Llewellen 
warmly  by  the  hand,  he  saw  him  into  the 
carriage,  and  they  started. 

44  Home!"  cried  the  servant,  as  he  mount- 
ed behind. 

44  Phot  a  set  of  stupit  togs  to  be  sure!" 
cried  Llewellen,  pulling  the  check  string 
with  violence. 

Tim  carriage  stooped  in  an  instant. — 
44  \\hat  a  pity  it  is,"  said  Uncle  John, 
44  that  fine  horses  like  (hose  should  be  pulled 
upon  their  haunches  liko  that." 

44Titn't  hur  tell  you  the  park!"  rrir.l 
Llewellen,  as  the  servant  reappeared  at  the 
door,  44  co  rount  the  park  ant  then  home." 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


299 


Correct  orders  were  then  conveyed,  and 
they  dashed  towards  the  park;  and  as  they 
proceeded,  Uncle  John,  although  he  had 
been  put  out  of  his  way  very  seriously, 
could  not  help  thinking  that  a  carriage  was 
rather  a  comfortable  sort  of  thing  than  not! 
He  was  cool  and  collected  then,  and  had 
the  whole  of'his  faculties  about  him,  which 
was  pleasant,  and  he  enjoyed  himself  ex- 
ceedingly, and  thought,  as  he  rode  round 
the  ring,  that  the  Park  was  in  reality  very 
delightful. 

"  Phoot  you  like  to  co  roimt  once  morel 
We  have  plenty  of  time,"  said  Llewellen. 

"  If  we  have  plenty  of  time  I  really 
should,"  said  Uncle  John,  "  for  although 
I  have  walked  in  the  Park  frequently,  I  had 
no  idea  of  its  being  so  pleasant  a  drive." 

Llewellen  therefore  at  once  gave  the  ne- 
cessary orders,  and  they  went  round  again, 
and  then  "  home." 

It  is  a  singular  thing  perhaps  to  place 
upon  record,  and  yet  it  is  an  absolute  fact 
nevertheless,  that  every  time  Valentine  saw 
Louise  now,  he  fancied  she  looked  more 
lovely  than  before.  Especially  so  was  it 
in  this  particular  instance,  for  on  reaching 
the  drawing-room,  he  really  did  believe  that 
he  had  never  beheld  any  creature  so  beau- 
tiful. She  was  calm,  very  calm;  except 
indeBd  when  Uncle  John  held  her  hand  for  a 
moment,  and  passed  a  high  compliment,  to 
the  justice  of  which  her  heart  cheerfully 
subscribed;  and  when  Valentine  led  her  to 
the  window  to  converse  with  her  alone,  she 
really  felt  that  she  never  was  so  happy. 

Raven's  reception  of  Uncle  John  was  of 
the  most  cordial  character,  and  Uncle  John 
did  not  fail  to  appreciate  it  highly;  nor  did 
he  omit  to  explain  how  much  he  had  enjoy- 
ed his  ride,  which  pleased  Raven  perhaps 
more  than  anything  else. 

Llewellen  was  of  course  quite  shut  out; 
but  he  was  not  inactive:  he  had  got  the 
little  delicate  Neapolitan  greyhound — which 
used  to  be  the  very  first  favorite  with  Louise 
— upon  the  sofa,  and  while  instead  of  allow- 
ing him  to  bound  with  delight,  he  rolled 
him  over  and  over,  as  if  Jie  had  been  but  a 
surfeited  pug,  the  little  wretch  looked  at  his 
tormentor,  with  all  the  intelligence  of  which 
those  stupid  things  are  possessed,  for  he 
really  didn't  like  it. 

Dinner  was  now  announced,  and  Uncle 
John  took  Louise  with  all  the  grace  he  had 
in  him,  when,  as  Raven  took  Valentine, 
Llewellen,  who  couldn't  take  the  dog — and 
the  dog  didn't  want  him! — went  down  with 
his  appetite  alone. 

During  dinner  Raven  proved  that  he  was 
in  the  highest  possible  spirits,  which  Uncle 
John  of  course  was  delighted  to  perceive; 
but  as  nearly  the  whole  of  his  observations 


had  indirect  reference  to  the  corning  event, 
Louise  was  sadly  embarrassed,  although 
Valentine  and  Uncle  John  too  did  all  in 
their  power  to  neutralize  the  edect  of 
inuendos  which  opened  even  the  eyes  of 
Llewellen.  Still  Raven  kept  on:  it  was 
seldom  indeed  that  he  was  in  a  happy  vein; 
but  when  this  did  occur,  no  trifle  could  stop 
him.  It  will  hence  be  inferred  that  Louise 
was  not  sorry  when  dinner  was  over,  hav- 
ing the  power  to  leave  when  she  pleased; 
but  it  strangely  enough  happened  that  Ra- 
ven then  dropped  the  subject,  much  to  the 
mortification  of  Llewellen,  who,  having  had 
but  little  time  to  attend  to  it  while  anything 
remained  on  the  table  to  eat,  now  prepared 
himself  to  listen  to  any  observation  which 
might  have  a  tendency  to  show  him  a  light. 
It  was  therefore  particularly  annoying  to 
him,  privately,  that  no  such  observation 
was  made;  for  up  to  the  time  Louise  rose 
to  retire,  they  continued  to  converse  exclu- 
sively upon  matters  in  which  he  took  really 
no  interest  at  all. 

"Now  then,"  said  Raven,  when  he  saw 
Louise  move;  "  now  run  away,  all  you 
young  people:  we  don't  want  you  here!" 

Valentine,  of  course,  started  up  in  an  in- 
stant; but  Llewellen,  who  really  did  not 
understand  it,  looked  round  very  naturally 
for  a  little  explanation.  The  very  moment, 
however,  Valentine  beckoned  him,  he  rose, 
and  permitted  himself  to  -be  led  from  the 
room  in  a  state  of  mental  darkness. 

"  Well,  my  old  friend!"  exclaimed  Ra- 
ven, when  he  and  Uncle  John  were  alone. 
"In  the  first  place,  we'll  drink  the  health 
of  Val  and  Louise!~God  bless  them  both: 
may  they  be  happy!" 

Uncle  John  most  heartily  responded  to 
this  toast,  and  made  an  addition  directly 
touching  the  little  consequences  of  their 
union.  He  then  gave  the  health  of  Lle- 
wellen, whom  he  lauded  as  one  of  the  best- 
hearted  fellows  that  ever  lived;  and  when 
Raven  had  made  a  very  slight,  but  a  highly 
eulogistic,  addition  to  that,  he  said,  "  Now 
let  us  drink  our  noble  selves,  and  then  to 
business." 

"Valentine,"  he  continued,  when  this 
toast  had  been  appropriately  honored,  "  has 
doubtless  told  you  that  he  has  had  a  little 
quiet  conversation  with  me  on  the  subject 
of  his  marriage  with  Louise." 

Uncle  John  nodded  an  affirmative. 

"  He  has  also  told  you  that  the  result 
was  my  free  and  unconditional  consent  to 
their  union1?  Very  well.  Now  I  admire  the 
character  of  that  boy.  Were  he  my  own 
flesh  and  blood,  I  could  not  love  him  more. 
He  is  a  fine  fellow,  a  noble,  firm,  affec- 
tionate, fellow,  and  Louise  is  about  the 
best  girl  that  ever  breathed.  They  love 


300 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


each  other  fondly  and  firmly:  t  know  it! 
and  they  are  worthy  of  each  other.  And  as 
they  are  about  to  he  united  to  each  other, 
now!  what  can  we  do  for  them?" 

"What  /  have,"  said  Uncle  John, 
promptly,  "  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to 
divide  with  them.  I  have  been  thinking  of 
.  this  matter  all  the  morning,  and  as  I  calcu- 
late that  I  cannot  be  worth,  on  the  whole, 
more  than  sixteen  thousand  pounds,  and  as 
I  shall  have  no  one  then  but  his  mother  to 
provide  for,  I'll  give  them  eight  thousand 
at  once  to  begin  with." 

44  My  friend,"  said  Raven,  grasping  the 
hand  of  Uncle  John.  "If  you  have  made 
up  your  mind  to  do  that,  I  have  made  up 
my  mind  that  you  shall  not.  You  shall 
not,  my  friend,  do  anything  of  the  sort! — 
and  if  we  are  to  have  a  quarrel  about  the 
matter,  we  had  better  at  once  fight  it  out. 
I  don't  wish  to  say  anything  in  disparage- 
ment of  your  circumstances,  but  I  will  say 
this,  that  I  can  afford  to  provide  for  them 
better  than  you  can.  I'll  at  once  give  them 
twenty  thousand  pounds.  I'll  not  give 
them  a  single  penny  more,  because  I  don't 
wish  to  spoil  them  by  tempting  them  to 
launch  into  a  sea  of  aristocratic  extrava- 
gancies. No:  I'll  give  them  that — which 
is  as  much  as  they  ought  to  have,  and  as 
much  as  I  will  consent  to  let  them  have  to 
begin  with — and  if  you  will  not  allow  me 
to  do  this  alone,  why  the  only  alternative 
is,  you  must  fight  me!" 

"If  I  were—" 

"  Stop,"  said  Raven,  "  stop.  Before  you 
speak  let  us  have  a  glass  of  wine." 

This  interruption  was  indeed  a  great 
relief  to  Uncle  John,  who  had  been  so 
startled  by  Raven's  generous  proposition, 
that  he  scarcely  at  the  moment  knew  how 
to  reply. 

"  Now,"  continued  Raven.  "  What  have 
you  to  say  against  it1?" 

"Why,  I  hardly  know  what  I  have  to 
say,  with  the  exception  that  I  cannot  con- 
sent to  do  nothing.  I  think  with  you,  that 
they  ought  not  to  have  more  than  twenty 
thousand,  but  why  can  you  not  give  twelve 
and  let  me  give  the  rest?" 

"  I'll  not  have  it!" 

"  Well  then — come,  I'll  meet  your  views 
if  I  can! — you  shall  put  down  fifteen  and  j 
I'll  give  the  odd  money." 

"I  tell  you,  my  friend,  I'll  do  nothing  of 
the  sorl.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  give 
the  whole,  and  the  whole  I  will  <:ive!  1,  of 
course,  do  not  wish  to  deprive  you  of  the. 
pleasure  of  doing  something! — Make  them 
a  present! — I'll  let  you  do  that!" 

"  Well  then,  I'll  give  them  a  house  to 
live  in." 

••  Nonsense !"    cried    Raven,    "  young 


people  don't  like  to  be  tied.  If  you  give 
them  a  house  to  live  in,  they'll  want  to  re- 
move the  second  quarter!  Now,  I'll  tell 
you  what  I'll  do — I'll  conciliate  you  if  pos- 
sible!— I'll  consent  to  your  furnishing  a 
house  for  them,  but,  to  nothing  more  will  I 
consent,  I'm  determined." 

"Mr.  Raven!"  said  Uncle  John,  "really 
your  generosity  has  surprised  me." 

"  I  arn  not  a  man,"  said  Raven,  with 
dignity  and  pride — "I  am  not  a  man  to 
boast  of  my  wealth  and  resources;  but  I 
may  be  permitted  to  state  in  justification  of 
the  tone  I  have  assumed,  that  as  this  sum 
of  money  is  to  me  a  mere  flea-bite,  I  feel 
that  1  have  a  right  to  insist  upon  giving  it 
alone.  But  come,  the  thing  is  now  settled. 
I  am  to  have  my  way  and  you  are  to  have 
yours." 

"No,  no:  not  exactly!" 

"To  the  stipulated  extent! — therefore 
without  sayinor  another  single  word  upon 
the  subject,  I'll  give  you — what?— Health 
and  prosperity  to  the  forthcoming  branches, 
and  may  they  be  numerous  and  strong." 

"  With  all  rny  heart!"  cried  Uncle  John, 
"  with  all  my  soul!  and  may  we  live  to  see 
the  lovely  little  cherubs  playing  around  us 
and  strewing  with  flowers  our  path  to  the 
grave." 

A  pause  ensued;  but  it  was  not  of  long 
duration.  The  glasses  were  replenished, 
and  Raven  said,  "Now  sir,  I'll  give  you — 
oh!  of  course — their  grandmamma!" 

"Again,  with  all  my  heart!"  cried  Uncle 
John,  "  she  is  one  of  the  best  women  in 
creation — a  natural  woman!  if — " 

"Those  are  the  women  for  me!"  ex- 
claimed Raven.  "None  of  your  rouged 
stuck-up  beggarly  aristocracy! — a  natural 
woman  will  beat  them  all  into  fits." 

"If  ever  there  existed  a  really  good  wo- 
man in  the  world  she  is  one!" 

"  We  must  have  her  up!"  cried  Raven. 
"We  must  have  her  up  in  time.  This 
affair  you  know  must  not  take  place  in  her 
absence.  Apropos  we've  not  drunk  our 
absent  friends!" 

"Our    absent    friends!"   echoed    Uncle 
John,  promptly,  "  And  may,"  for  he  /' 
make   an  addition   to  every  toast — "may 
they  always  be  as  firm — as  firm — may  tln-v 
always  he  as  firm  as  the  rock  of  Gibraltar!" 

"Bravo!"    crinl     Haven,    *•  Very    good, 
very  <_rood!     And   now  I  rise  to  pmp,.- 
liealih  of  one  whom  I  highly  esteem,  whom 
I  IOVP,  and  will  eherith— -of  one  to  whom  I 

<>\v'  my  pivsent  stale  of  existence  —  of  cue 
— of — of  a — brave — of  a  brave — who— of 
one  who — who — I'll  tell  yon  what  it  is,  rtiv 
old  friend — if  I  go  much  farther  I 
stick  in  the  mud!  I  am  no  public  speaker; 
not  a  bit  of  it;  but  I  do  with  sincerity  pro- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


301 


pose,  and  I  know  I  feel  sure — at  least,  I 
know  you  will  with  equal  sincerity,  drink 
the  health  of  Valentine!" 

"  Let  me  see,  I  think  we  drank  that  be- 
fore?" 

44  Did  we"?  Well,  I  believe  we  did,  now 
you  have  mentioned  it; — you  are  right.  But 
never  mind! — let  us  drink  it  again.  And 
yet,  if  my  memory  serves  me  you  know — 
if  my  memory  se'rves  me,  we  only  drank 
them  together!  so  let's  have  them  separately 
— Valentine!— he's  a  fine,  noble  fellow!  I 
drink  his  health  with  all  my  heart!  and  suc- 
cess to  him!" 

Of  course,  after  this  Uncle  John  pro- 
posed Louise,  and  then  Llewellen,  and  then 
every  other  toast  which  had  been  previously 
drank,  until  really  he  did  begin  to  think 
that  the  things  around  him  were  getting 
particularly  restless!  Happily,  however, 
the  real  state  of  the  case  did  not  fail  to 
strike  him,  and  he  addressed  himself  to 
Raven  as  nearly  as  possible  to  that  effect, 


and  suggested  that  albeit  they  were  per- 
fectly right  then,  the  probability  was,  that 
if  they  drank  much  more  they  should  riot  be 
quite  so  right,  and  as  this  correct  suggestion 
accorded  precisely  with  the  views  as  well 
as  the  feelings  of  Raven  himself,  that  gen- 
tleman promptly  made  another  suggestion 
which  had  immediate  reference  to  coffee. 
In  vain  Uncle  John  made  one  more  sugges- 
tion, which  touched  upon  the  abstract  pro- 
priety of  having  it  below:  Raven  would 
have  him  up!  and  up  they  went. 

At  first,  Valentine  feared  from  the  some- 
what studied  stateliness  of  his  walk,  that 
Uncle  John  was  not  exactly  so  correct  as 
he  had  seen  him;  but  he  found  that  he  was 
merry,  not  tipsy — elated,  nothing  more.  Im- 
mediately after  coffee,  notwithstanding,  he 
conceived  it  to  be  proper  to  send  for  a 
coach,  and  Uncle  John,  as  he  gracefully 
took  his  leave,  declared,  openly  and  warmly, 
that  he  never  spent  so  happy  an  evening  in 
his  life. 


CHAPTER  LV. 


THE  DAY  IS  NAMED. — ECHO  INSISTS  UPON  FORMING  AN  ALLIANCE  WITH  LLEWELLEN. 


"  HE  is  a  prince,  my  boy! — nothing  less 
than  a  prince!"  exclaimed  Uncle  John, 
while  in  the  coach,  and  this  was  all  in  the 
shape  of  explanation  that  could  be  obtained 
from  him  until  they  reached  home,  when 
he  entered  at  length  into  the  matter. 

That  Valentine  was  delighted  when  he 
heard,  not  only  of  Raven's  generosity,  but 
of  the  high  estimation  in  which  he  was 
held,  is  a  fact  which  it  were  useless  to  at- 
tempt to  conceal.  Everything  now  shone 
brightly  before  him:  he  knew  of  no  joy 
which  he  could  not  possess;  with  love  on 
the  one  hand  and  competence  on  the  other, 
he  felt  that  he  and  Louise  had  but  to  live 
and  be  happy. 

"  Now,  the  very  first  thing,"  said  Uncle 
John,  when  he  had  explained  all  clearly — 
44  the  very  first  thing,  my  boy,  that  you 
have  to  do  is  to  get  the  day  fixed,  that  we 
may  know  what  we  are  about.  There  are 
many  important  matters  to  attend  to  which 
cannot  be  done  in  a  day.  There's  the  house 
to  look  after:  there's  that  to  prepare:  there's 
your  mother  to  run  down  for,  and  a  hundred 
other  things  which  require  time  and  study. 
Therefore,  let  the  day  be  fixed,  that  we  may 
know  how  much  time  we  have  to  do  it  all 
in." 

Valentine  promised  to  prevail  upon  Louise 
to  name  the  day  if  possible  in  the  morning, 


and,  accordingly,  when  he  and  Uncle  John 
called  together,  he  remained  with  that  ob- 
ject in  view. 

Louise  was  still  very  gentle,  and,  although 
rather  timid,  very  happy;  and  as  Valentine 
had,  the  previous  evening,  imparted  the 
secret  to  Llewellen,  that  gentleman  cor- 
rectly felt  that  his  presence  was  not  on  all 
occasions  absolutely  wanted.  He,  there- 
fore, left  them  together  on  the  morning  in 
question  the  very  moment  they  began  to 
converse,  and  as  this  was  what  Valentine 
deemed  strictly  proper  and  very  agreeable, 
he  reverted  to  the  subject  at  once. 

"My  dearest  Louise,"  said  he,  "all  is 
now  happily  settled  with  the  exception  of 
one  point,  which  rests  with  you  entirely. 
The  day,  my  Louise! — when  is  it  to  be? 
Indeed,  it  pains  me  to  tease  you,  appre- 
ciating as  I  do  that  delicacy  of  feeling  by 
which  you  are  actuated;  but  you  know,  my 
dear  girl,  that  I  must  be  importunate  until  I 
can  prevail  upon  you  to  give  me  an  answer. 
Come,  settle  it  at  once!  Why,  you  silly 
girl ! — why  do  you  tremble"?  Smile,  my 
Louise,  and  be  joyous  as  I  am!  I  know 
that  we  shall  be  happy!  Do  you  not  believe 
that  we  shall!" 

"1  do — I  do  indeed,"  replied  Louise. 

44  Come,  then,  why  are  you  so  pensive? 
Look  up,  my  girl,  and  settle  the  point  at 


302 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


once.  Do  you  think  that  I  would  be  so 
teased  when  I  could  put  an  end  at  once  to 
it,  and  that  with  a  single  word?  Well, 
well,  let  me  manage  it  for  you.  Now  at- 
tend to  my  instructions.  It  is  to  be  in  June: 
I  will,  therefore,  commence  with  the  first 
of  the  month,  and  go  on  until  I  reach  the 
day  on  which  you  would  like  it  to  take 
place,  when  you  must  kiss  me  and  say 
"yes,"  or  to  simplify  the  thing  say  "yes," 
and  then  1  will  kiss  you.  Now,  then, 
would  you  like  it  to  be  on  the  first  of 
June?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Louise,  but  in  a  whisper  so 
soft  that,  had  it  not  been  for  the  hissing  of 
the  s,  it  might  have  been  mistaken  for  si- 
lence. 

The  moment  Valentine  heard  it  he  press- 
ed her  to  his  heart,  and  paid  his  debt  in  the 
coin  above  alluded  to  with  the  most  usurious 
interest. 

**  Now,  my  love,"  said  he,  "  you  must  be 
cheerful  and  gay!  I  have  to  tease  you  no 
more:  all  is  settled  now;  come!  banish  that 
melancholy  look,  Louise,  and  smile!  Where 
is  Fred1?  I  must  get  him  to  put  you  in 
spirits.  I  will  not  allow  you  to  be  dull. 
Shall  we  find  him  in  the  garden?  Yes, 
there  he  is,  come." 

Into  the  garden  they  immediately  went, 
and  Valentine,  making  his  voice  appear  to 
proceed  from  various  quarters,  shouted, 
"  Llewellen  ! — Llewellen  ! — Llewellen  ! — 
Llewellen!" 

Llewellen  promptly  turned  towards  every 
point,  and  then  exclaimed, — "Tear  t'  coot- 
ness  now  phot  an  extraortinary  echo!" 

"  Did  you  ever  notice  it  before?"  inquired 
Valentine. 

"  Coolness  knows  it,  never." 

"  You  try  it:  sing." 

"  Tol,  lol,  lol,  lol!"  sang  Llewellen,  very 
correctly  jumping  up  an  octave. 

"Tol,  'lol,  lol,  lol!"  echoed  Valentine, 
faintly,  thereby  making  it  appear  to  proceed 
from  an  immense  distance. 

"  Phunterful!  Phell  I  never  tit!— pecause 
there  are  no  mountains,  no  hills,  look  you, 
here!" 

"  What  is  that  to  me?"  said  Valentine, 
assuming  a  female  voice,  which  appeared 
to  come  from  the  adjoining  garden. 

"  Pho  is  that?"  inquired  Llewellen. 
"Some  potty  pelonginir  to  nnxt  toor! — 
hur'll  see  pho  it  is!"  And  he  instantly  ran 
for  a  ladder,  which  he  placed  against  the 
wall,  and  then  cautiously  mounted  with  the 
view  of  peeping  over. 

"  I  s(;e  you,"  said  Valentine  in  the  same 
assumed  voice. 

"  Hnr  ton't  paro!"  cried  Llewellen,  as  he 
showed  himself  boldly. 

t  down:  don't  expose  yourself  there. 


If  you  wish  to  say  anything  to  me,  I'll 
come  over  to  you.  Now,"  continued  Va- 
lentine, having  drawn  his  voice  cleverly 
within  the  garden,  "now  what  have  you  to 
say?" 

Llewellen  stared  with  an  expression  of 
the  most  intense  amazement.  There  was 
no  one  in  the  garden  adjoining!  he  could 
not  see  a  soul,  and  yet  he  heard  the  voice 
as  plainly  as  he  ever  heard  anything  in 
his  life!  Of  course  Valentine  and  Louise 
stood  as  if  they  were  astonished,  which 
was  perhaps  under  the  circumstances  venial. 

^Come  down!"  cried  the  voice,  "don't 
stand  there!" 

Llewellen  was  not  a  man  whom  a  trifle 
could  alarm,  but  it  must  be  recorded  that 
the  blood  left  his  cheeks.  He  however 
descended,  and  feeling  secure  in  the  in- 
tegrity of  his  intentions,  stood  firmly  again 
upon  the  face  of  the  earth. 

"  Now  what  have  you  to  say?"  inquired 
the  voice. 

"  Who^are  you?"  demanded  Llewellen. 

"  Dear  me,  don't  be  alarmed!  I'm  only 
Echo!" 

"  Echo!  putt  t'cootness,  phere  are  you? 
Hur  can't  see  you  any  phere  apout." 

"See  me!  How  can  you  expect  to  see 
me  when  you  know  that  there  is  nothing  of 
me  left  but  my  voice?" 

Llewellen  held  this  as  far  as  it  went  to 
be  conclusive.  He  clearly  could  not  see  a 
voice,  and  as  there  was  nothing  else  of 
Echo,  it  followed  of  course  that  there  was 
nothing  to  see.  But  although  this  suffi- 
ciently accounted  for  the  invisibility  of  the 
nymph,  Llewellen  could  not  understand  the 
exact  meaning  of  her  immediate  presence; 
nor  had  he  ever  either  heard  or  read  of  her 
having  the  power  to  converse.  "  Speak  to 
her,"  said  he  to  Valentine.  "Inteet  it's 
phery  ott!" 

"  I'll  have  nothing  to  say  to  him,"  ob- 
served Echo,  "  I  have  ihis  moment  taken  a 
regular  fancy  to  you,  and  to  you  only  will 
I  speak." 

"  Converse  with  the  lady,"  said  Louise, 
ushe  will  not  harm  you." 

"  Putt,  look  you,  hur  ton't  unterstant!" 

"  Freddy,"  said  Echo,  "  I  love  you! 
Spoak  to  me,  my  dearest!  converse  with 
me;  «lo,  there's  a  duck!" 

'"Oh,  speak  to  her  Fred!"  said  Valen- 
tin. .  "speak  to  her!" 

"  Putt  pho  am  hur  to  speak  to?" 

"Oh,  hear  what  tin;  lady  has  to  sny,  and 
niakr  suitable  rrplirs.  .Shall  we  retire?" 

"Not  for  the  work!" 

"  Well,  come  then,  say  something  as  a 
inattrr  of  courtesy!" 

"  Put  her  ton't  know  phot  to  say!  Inteet 
hur  ton't  know  phot  she  wants!" 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


303 


"I  remain  here,"  said  Echo,  **  expressly 
for  the  purpose  of  telling  you  how  dearly  1 
love  you." 

"Phell!  you  have  tolt  me  so  pefore!  Is 
there  anything  pesites1?" 

"  Cannot  your  heart  suggest  the  rest!" 
"No;  inteet  it  cannot." 
"  Oh!  Fred;  you  cruel  creature!" 
"Oh,    hur   won't   stant   pothering  here 
with  a  thing  hur  can't  see!"  cried  Llewel- 
len,   who    was   about   to  bounce   into  the 
house,  when  Louise  taking  his  arm,  said, 
do  obtain  permission  for  me  to  speak  to 
her." 

"Phill  you  allow  this  laty  to  speak  to 
you1?"  said  Llewellen,  who  appeared  to  be 
rather  pleased  with  the  notion  than  not. 
"By  all  means,"  replied  Echo. 
"Do  you  really  love  my  cousin1?"  in- 
quired Louise. 

"Oh,  most  fondly,  and  he  knows  it. 
He'll  break  my  voice,  the  cruel  creature! 
and  when  that  is  gone,  I  shall  be  no  more; 
I  then  shall  have  nothing  left  to  lose." 

"  Her  ton't  care.  Let  her  lose  her  voice: 
inteet  the  sooner  it's  cone  the  petter." 

"  But  would  you  marry  him?"  inquired 
Louise. 

"Would1?  I  will!  I'll  unite  myself  to  him 
at  once.  He  shall  carry  me  about.  I'll 
mock  his  every  word.  I'll  ride  in  his 
pocket.  I'm  in!" 

As  the  last  words  were  thrown  behind 
Llewellen,  he  thrust  his  hands  into  the 
pockets  of  his  coat  very  fiercely,  and  turned 
round  and  round  as  a  cockchafer  might 
under  circumstances  of  a  corresponding 
character,  for  he  couldn't  tell  at  all  what  to 
make  of  it.  "  Hur'm  in  a  mess!"  he  cried, 
"  cootness  knows  it,  hur'm  in  a  mess!" 

"How  marvellous!"  exclaimed  Louise, 
•with  appropriate  solemnity,  "how  exces 
sively  strange!" 

"Well,"  said  Valentine,  "you  have  a 
wife  that  will  stick  to  you  at  all  events." 
"  Stick  to  me!     Putt  I  won't  have  it." 
"  Well,  but  how  do  you  mean  to  get  rid 
of  her!" 

"  How  am  hur  to  kit  rit  of  her1?" 
"  By  smothering  her  voice!  I  cannot  con- 
ceive a  better  plan.     It  is  sure  to  be  effec- 
tual. Sew  up  your  pocket,  and  smother  her 
voice!" 

"Coot!"  cried  Llewellen,  and  on  the  in- 
stant he  grasped  the  tails  of  his  coat  with 
surpassing  tightness,  in  the  perfect  convic- 
tion that  Echo  must  be  in  one  of  them,  he 
didn't  care  which. 

"  Now  then,"  said  Valentine,  "  pull  th< 
coat  off.  But  be  sure  you  don't  relinquisl 
your  hold!  If  you  let  go  for  an  instant 
she'll  be  out." 

Llewellen  was  about  to  act  upon  this  ex 


:ellent  suggestion,  but  he  had  no  sooner 
made  the  attempt  than  he  was  struck  with 
in  idea,  which  prompted  him  to  ask  how  it 
/vas  possible  for  him  to  take  off  his  coat 
;vhile  he  kept  fast  hold  of  the  tails'?  which 
was  indeed  a  highly  correct  question  to  put. 
'Kif  me  a  lift,  my  poy,  look  you,"  he 
idded,  "because  hur  can't  kit  it  off  at  all 
now  myself." 

Valentine  wishing  to  meet  his  views  to 
some  extent,  pulled  the  collar  of  the  coat  off 
lis  shoulders. 

'  There,  now  you  catch  holt  of  the  tails," 
said  Llewellen,  "ant  then  hur  can  pull  out 
my  arms." 

"  No;  although  I  suggested  the  murder, 
i'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  its  execution." 
"  Phill  Louey  tear?" 
"Not  for  the  world!"  cried  Louise. 
"  Cootness  knows   it  now,  that  is   too 
pat!" 

'  Let  me  out!"  exclaimed  Echo,  "  let  me 
out!" 

"Not  a  pit  of  it  matam,"  cried  Llewel- 
en,  who,  grasping  his  tails  yet  more  firmly, 
lastened  out  of  the  garden  with  the  view 
of  obtaining  the  assistance  of  one  of  the 
servants,  and  as  he  walked  with  the  collar 
of  his  coat  below  his  elbows,  both  Valen- 
tine and  Louise  were  convulsed  with  laugh- 
ter, he  really  did  look  in  their  view  so  un- 
graceful. 

"  How  ridiculous  these  things  appear," 
observed  Valentine.  "  Without  having 
actually  witnessed  them,  should  we  not 
regard  it  as  almost  impossible  for  men 
possessing  any  sense  at  all,  to  be  placed  in 
positions  so  absurd1?" 

"  It  appears  to  be  so  natural,"  said 
Louise.  "  Upon  my  word  I  am  not  at  all 
astonished  at  its  effect  being  to  make  peo- 
ple look  so  very  silly." 

"They  are  taken  by  surprise,  you  see! 
Were  they  to  reflect  for  a  moment  they 
would  doubtless  repudiate  the  notions 
which  alarm  them;  but  they  are  called 
upon  to  act  on  the  instant:  they  are  as- 
tounded at  once;  they  have  no  time  for 
thought.  I  have  seen  men — courageous, 
strong-minded  men — men  whom  nothing 
on  earth  visible  could  appal,  so  shaken  at 
the  moment  by  sounds  for  which  they 
could  not  account,  as  to  appear  to  be  the 
veriest  cowards  in  existence." 

"Oh,  I've  not  the  slightest  doubt  of  it!" 
returned  Louise.  "  Now,  this  echo:  why, 
I  really  should  have  been  alarmed  myself! 
— although  conscious  of  its  having  but  a 
merely  mythological  existence,  and  of  its 
being  in  reality  nothing  more  than  a  re- 
percussion of  sound,  upon  my  word,  at  the 
moment  I  shouldn't  know  what  to  make  of 
it:  I  am  sure  I  should  be  frightened;  I  am 


304 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


certain  that  I  should!    But  poor  Fred!     Oh  ]  is  true  that  occasionally  the  thought  of  her 
do  let   him  carry  his  wife  in  his  pocket,    position    would    intrude   to  cast^over   her 

beautiful  features  a  slight  shade  of  medita- 


Don't  let  her  voice  be  smothered  just  yet. 
It  will  he  so  glorious!" 


live   gloom;    but  Valentine,   whenever   he 

This  put  Louise  in  high  spirits,  and  her  !  perceived  this,  dispelled   it,  and   then  all 
liveliness  continued  throughout  the  day.   It  j  was  sunshine  and  happiness  again. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 


THE    PREPARATIONS    FOR   THE    MARRIAGE. — A  SURPRISE. 


BUSINESS! — business  was  now  the  order  of 
the  day:  and  it  is  a  highly  popular  fact  that 
business  must  be  attended  to.  Uncle  John 
pronounced  himself  to  be  up  to  his  eyes  in 
it!  Valentine,  Raven,  Louise,  and  all  con- 
cerned were  now  plunged  into  the  depths 
of  business.  As  the  day— that  day  to 
which  lovers  in  general  look  forward  with 
joy — had  been  fixed;  all  felt  that  no  time 
was  to  be  lost.  The  preparations — espe- 
cially those  which  had  fallen  to  the  lot  of 
Uncle  John — were  considered  immense,  for 
he  had  made  up  his  mind  fully,  firmly,  and 
without  any  supererogatory  deliberation,  not 
only  to  do  his  duty,  but  to  astonish  the 
nerves  of  Raven  if  possible.  He  felt  strong- 
ly that  he  had  but  a  fortnight  to  do  it  all 
in,  and  it  took  him  a  week  to  look  after  a 
house.  He  never  had  such  a  job!  At  the 
full  expiration  of  that  time,  however,  he  got 
one,  and  then  he  did  think  he  saw  his  way 
pretty  clearly. 

Louise  at  this  period  felt  dreadfully  em- 
barrassed. She  had  no  female  friends.  The 
social  position  of  Raven,  since  he  retired 
from  business,  had  been  so  peculiar,  that 
they  had  lived,  although  in  midst  of  wealth 
and  splendour,  almost  secluded  from  the 
world.  He  scorned  to  associate  with  any 
below  the  aristocracy,  and  the  aristocracy 
looked  upon  him  with  contempt.  Hence 
his  bitter  hatred  of  them  in  the  aggregate, 
and  hence  the  embarrassed  position  of 
Louise.  She  had  no  one  to  advise  with,  i 
no  one  to  confide  in,  but  her  maid.  There 
were  but  two  ladies  in  the  world  with 
whom  she  had  ever  been  on  anything  like 
terms  of  intimacy,  and  they  were  both 
absent  from  town.  She  was  therefore  left 
entirely  to  her  own  resources,  which  she 
naturally  at  that  period  felt  to  be  very  dis- 
tressing. 

Valentine — although  every  effort  was 
made  to  conceal  it  from  him — was  not  long 
understanding  the  state  of  the  case  precise- 
ly, and  the  moment  he  did  understand  it  ho 
felt  himself  bound  to  do  all  in  his  power  to 
relieve  her. 


"  Louise,"  said  he,  embracing  the  very 
first  opportunity  that  presented  itself, 
"  Louise,  I  feel  very  much  hurt." 

"  Dear  Valentine!— at  what?" 

"  Nay,  I  do  not  know  indeed  that  I  shall 
ever  forgive  you." 

"  My  dear  boy! — why  what  on  earth  is 
it?-" 

"My  mother,"  said  Valentine.  "You 
have  not  invited  her.  You  do  not  know, 
my  love,  how  happy  she  would  be,  if  you 
were  to  send  for  her  at  once  to  spend  a 
week  with  you,  to  advise  with  you,  to  re- 
lieve you  of  any  little  difficulty  you  may  be 
under,  to  do,  in  short,  anything  for  you." 

"  Dear  Valentine!"  cried  Louise,  as  the 
tears  sprang  into  her  eyes,  for  she  in  an  in- 
stant perceived  his  object.  "  You  do  not 
know  how  much  I  love  you  for  this.  Oh! 
that  would  indeed  make  me  happy.  I  knew 
not  how  to  mention  this,  my  love;  but  be- 
lieve me,  my  dearest  boy,  that  situated  as  I 
am,  nothing  could  delight  me  so  much." 

"You  are  a  good  girl,  Louise:  she  shall 
come  up  at  once.  I  will  send  her  a  letter 
by  this  night's  post,  and  run  down  myself 
for  her  in  the  morning." 

"There's  a  dear!— But  you  will  not  be 
long,  my  love,  before  you  return?" 

"  I'll  be  back,  ray  Louise,  as  soon  as 
possible.  She  does  not  at  present  expect 
to  come  up  before  the  thirtieth:  but  I'll 
manage  that;  and  as  Fred  is  now  only  in 
the  way  here,  I  may  as  well  take  him  down 
with  me." 

Most  gladly  did  poor  Louise  consent  to 
this  arrangement;  and  Valentine,  who  would 
not  detain  her,  went  at  once  to  communicate 
with  Llewellen. 

That  gentleman  at  the  time  was  in  the 
library,  reading  "Fox's  Book  of  Martyrs," 
with  an  aspect  of  terror,  and  when  Valen- 
tine without  any  ceremony  entered,  he  gave 
a  sudden  start,  and  felt  strikingly  queer. 

"  Tear  t'cootness!"  he  exclaimed.  "  You 
mate  me  tremple!  Hur've  pin  renting  apout 
these  colt-plootet  intivituals,  until  inteet 
hur  pecan  to  pe/rigto/,  look  you!" 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


305 


"Dear  me!"  said  Valentine,  gravely. 
"  But  I  hope  it's  all  over1?" 

"Oh,  it's  all  over  now:  putt,  upon  my 
wort,  phen  hur  reat  apout  these  tevils  purn- 
ing  poor  peoples'  pellies,  ant  the  like  of 
that,  hur  plush  for  their  prutality." 

44  Well,  never  mind  them  now:  I  have 
something  to  say  to  you,  Fred. — To-mor- 
row, I  arn  going  into  the  country." 

"  To-morrow!— Oh!  phot  for?" 

44  To  bring  my  mother  up. — I  start  early 
in  the  morning." 

44  Then  inteet  hur'll  lie  in  pet  all  tay. 
Hur  wont  kit  up!  It's  no  use  at  all,  look 
you!  Hur've  nopotty  to  speak  to:  Louey 
is  pusy,  ant  ephery  potty's  pusy:  and  if  hur 
co  out,  hur  ton't  know  phere  to  co  to." 

44  Would  you  like  to  go  with  me?" 

44  Phoot  hur  like! — My  tear  poy! — Apove 
all  things  pesites  in  the  worlt!" 

4'  Well  then,  be  it  so:  we'll  go  down 
together;  but  it  is  upwards  of  seventy 
miles!" 

44  Hur  ton't  care  a  pit  apout  the  miles,  if 
it's  seventy  millions. — You  say  hur  may 
coT" 

44 1  shall  be  glad  of  your  company!" 

44  That's  enough.  Hur'll  pe  retty;  if  hur 
sit  up  all  night." 

44  Oh!  we  shall  not  have  to  start  before 
nine;  so  that  if  you  call  on  me  about  eight, 
we'll  have  breakfast  together,  and  be  off." 

44  Hur'll  pe  there,  my  poy:  oh!  hur'll  pe 
there.  Hur'll  kit  lots  of  cicars,  ant  we 
shall  have  such  a  peautiful  rite.  Too  you 
phont  any  coats'?— pecause  inteet  hur've  cot 
three  of  the  pest  in  the  worlt." 

44  Well,  you  had  better  bring  two:  you 
may  find  them  both  useful.  But  I  must  be 
off  to  tell  my  uncle;  for  he  has  no  idea  of  it 
yet." 

44  Hur  mustn't  co  phith  you!" 

44  Oh,  yes:  come  along." 

To  the  delight  of  Lewellen,  they  accord- 
ingly started,  first  to  book  their  places,  and 
then  to  search  "for  Uncle  John,  whom  they 
eventually  found  at  the  house,  in  the  midst 
of  the  workmen,  as  dusty  as  any  private 
gentleman  need  be. 

"Ah!  Mr.  Llewellen,"  he  exclaimed, 
"here  we  are  you  see,  up  to  our  eyes  in 
business. — It  will  be  a  different  place 
though  to  look  at  this  day  week,"  he  added 
privately.  "  I  intend  to  have  all  this  done 
up,  and  all  this.  Before  I  have  done  with 
it,  Mr.  Llewellen,  it  shall  be  fit  for  any 
prince!— mark  my  words." 

Valentine,  drawing  him  aside,  now  ex- 
plained to  him  what  he  proposed  to  do  in 
the  morning. 

" 1  am  right  glad  to  hear  it,  my  boy," 
cried  Uncle  John.  "  I  was  thinking  of  the 
same  thing  myself  this  very  day,  for  there 
27 


are  many  little  matters  that  I  find  I  can't 
manage:  by  all  means,  Val,  bring  her 
up!" 

44  But  T  want  her  to  be  with  Louise." 

44  Well,  well;  so  she  can  be,  rny  boy;  so 
she  can;  but  she  will  also  be  able  to  give 
me  a  little  advice  if  I  should  want  it!  You 
had  better  run  and  get  my  cheque  book. 
The  bank  will  be  closed,  you  know,  before 
I  get  home." 

4k  I  have  quite  enough  money,"  said  Va- 
lentine. 

44  W7ell,  but  your  mother  may  want 
some." 

44 1  have  plenty  for  both." 

44  If  you  are  quite  sure,  why  be  it  so. 
Have  you  anything  more  to  say]" 

44  Nothing." 

44  Very  well;  then  run  away  with  you. 
Mr.  Llewellen,  I'm  going  to  turn  you  out. 
I  shall  be  home  at  six.  You  will  dine  with 
us,  Mr.  Llewellen?" 

44  Inteet  hur  shall  pe  most  happy." 

44  You  will  not,"  said  Uncle  John,  taking 
his  hand — "you  will  not  be  more  happy  to 
be  there,  Mr.  Llewellen,  than  I  shall  be  to 
see  you.  But  be  off  with  you — come,  you 
have  no  business  here!" 

Being  thus  fairly  turned  out  of  the  house, 
Valentine  took  Llewellen  home  with  him, 
and  gave  him  some  cold  beef  and  beer  to 
amuse  himself  with,  while  he  wrote  to  his 
mother,  when  they  went  for  a  stroll  until 
six. 

At  this  hour  Uncle  John  returned,  and 
declared  himself  knocked  up  as  nearly  as 
possible;  but  as  he  felt  an  immense  deal 
better  during  dinner,  everything  passed  off 
with  unusual  spirit.  Whitely  and  Llewel- 
len became  great  friends;  they  paid  the 
most  marked  attention  to  each  other:  they 
seemed  to  be  happy  in  each  other's  society, 
and  conversed  together  with  as  little  re- 
straint as  if  they  had  been  intimately  ac- 
quainted for  years.  The  entertainments 
during  the  evening  were  various.  Valen- 
tine related  how  Echo  had  determined  on 
marrying  Llewellen,  and  Llewellen  related 
how  the  portraits  at  the  exhibition  had 
mysteriously  spoken,  and  how  loudly  he 
had  been  called  by  some  particular  friend 
of  his,  whom  he  was  utterly  unable  to  find, 
and  as  all  this  was  perfectly  well  under- 
stood both  by  Whitely  and  Uncle  John, 
they  were  kept  in  one  continued  roar  of 
laughter. 

Poor  Whitely  had  not  spent  so  happy  an 
evening  for  many,  many  years;  he  forgot 
all  his  cares  until  Llewellen  had  left,  when 
the  thought  of  his  boy  buried  gaiety  in 
gloom. 

Wrilh  all  the  justly  celebrated  punctuality 
of  the  sun,  Llewellen  reappeared  in  the 


306 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


morning  at  eight,  and  he  and  Valentine  sat 
down  to  breakfast;  but  strange  as  it  may 
appear — and  perhaps  it  was  one  of  the  most 
extraordinary  things  that  ever  occurred  to 
him — Llewellen  couldn't  eat!  He  had  no 
appetite!  A  most  substantial  breakfast  had 
been  provided,  a  breakfast  which  was  after 
his  own  heart,  and  to  which  he  would  at 
any  other  time  have  done  the  most  ample 
justice;  but  while  he  tried  hard,  and  mar- 
velled greatly  what  on  earth  could  be  the 
matter  inside,  all  he  could  do  was  to  get 
down  five  small  cups  of  coffee,  three  eggs, 
and  a  few  extremely  delicate  slices  of  ham, 
which  could  not  altogether  have  weighed 
more  than  a  pound.  With  this,  however, 
he  felt  himself  bound  to  be  content,  and  as 
Valentine  finished  about  the  same  time  as 
he  did,  they  took  leave  of  Uncle  John  and 
Whitely,  and  started. 

As  the  coachman  was  about  to  mount  his 
box  when  they  arrived  at  the  inn,  they  at 
once  took  their  seals  and  were  off,  and  no 
sooner  had  they  got  quite  clear  of  the  smoke 
than  Llewellen  sang  every  song  he  could 
think  of.  He  was  in  the  highest  possible 
spirits,  and  enjoyed  himself  exceedingly; 
he  got  down  every  time  they  changed 
horses  to  have  a  glass  of  "peautiful  peer," 
and  offered  his  cigar  case  ever  and  anon  to 
every  creature  upon  the  coach. 

In  due  time — to  his  unspeakable  satis- 
faction— they  reached  the  house  at  which  the 
coach  stops  about  seven  minutes  to  enable 
the  passengers  to  have  what  is  technically 
termed  down  there  "dinner,"  vrhich  cus- 
tomarily consists  of  a  roast  leg  of  mutton, 
bread,  potatoes,  and  cabbage.  Llewellen 
was  not,  however,  at  that  particular  period 
dainty,  and  therefore  at  once  set  to  work 
upon  the  mutton.  He  ought  to  have  paid 
for  six.  Being  resolved  to  make  up  for 
what  he  deemed  his  lost  breakfast,  he  made 
the  look  of  the  joint  vanish  as  if  by  magic. 
The  passengers  were  amazed,  but  said 
nothing,  which  was  in  all  probability  much 
less  than  the  host  said  when  he  looked  at 
the  remains  of  the  departed. 

They  now  resumed  their  journey,  and 
mirth  and  geod  humour  began  to  flow,  and 
continued  to  flow  on  until  they  arrived  at 
their  place  of  destination,  when  the  nas- 
M-n<n  rs— who  usually  then  bless  their  stars, 
seemed  to  think  it  a  pity  to  part. 

It  was  of  course  not  long  after  this  before 
Valentino  felt  that  he  was  in  the  -arms  of  his 
mother.  In  the  arms  of  no  oilier  creature 
breathing  could  ho  have  had  those  feelinns 
which  he  experienced  then.  The  poor 
lady,  it  is  true,  could  scarcely  speak,  hut 
she  expressed  so  much  rapture,  and  smiled 
through  her  tears  with  so  mueh  visible  j<>y, 
that  Llewellen,  as  she  welcomed  him  elo- 


quently and  warmly,  really  felt  he  possess- 
ed a  somewhat  sensitive  heart. 

"  Well,  now,  my  dear,  tea  is  quite 
ready,"  she  observed,  as  soon  as  this  burst 
of  affection  was  over,  "  I'm  sure  you  must 
feel  very  faint.  I  hope,"  she  added,  ad- 
drassing  Llewellen,  "  that  you  will  make 
yourself  perfectly  at  home." 

"  Inteet  t'  coolness  you  have  mate  me  at 
home  alretty,"  replied  Llewellen. 

"  I'm  delighted  to  hear  it;  come,  draw  to 
the  table.  Well,  and  how  did  you  leave 
Miss  Raven,  my  love?  I  do  so  long  to  see 
her,  you  can't  think!" 

"She  is  quite  well;  all  are  quite  well," 
replied  Valentine;  "of  course  you  will  be 
able  to  go  up  with  us  to-morrow?" 

"To-morrow!  impossible!  my  dearest 
boy,  consider!  I  have  not  the  least  thing 
ready!  I've  been  preparing  ever  since  I 
received  your  letter  this  morning;  but  as 
for  going  to-morrow!  indeed,  my  dear,  the 
thing  is  altogether  out  of  the  question.  Be- 
sides it  is  not  proper  that  you  should  return 
to-morrow.  I  would  not  have  you  do  it  for 
the  world.  To  come  down  one  day  and  go 
up  again  the  next!  It  would  really  he  suf- 
ficient to  throw  you  on  a  bed  of  sickness. 
I  arn  certain,  my  love,  you  couldn't  bear 
the  fatigue.  No;  what  I  was  thinking  of 
is  this;  thai  if  I  can  arrange  ibings  to-mor- 
row, we  can  go  up  the  next  day! — that  will 
be  pleasant  if  we  can  manage  it  so." 

"You  are  not  then  quite  sure  even  of 
that?" 

"Why  I  think  it  can  be  done.  At  all 
events  I'll  try.  You  have  given  me  no  time 
to  prepare!  The  thing  was  so  unexpected! 
But  1  think  nolwithstanding  lhat  1  may 
venture  to  say  that  I  am  sure  we  shall  be 
able  to  go  then." 

During  this  short  colloquy  the  chickens 
were  fast  disappearing.  Llewellen  was  at 
them,  and  doing  full  justice  to  each  particu- 
larjoinl. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  eat,"  said  the 
widow,  very  innocently;  "Valentine,  my 
love,  pray  help  Mr.  Llewellen  to  some 
more  ham." 

"  Mr.  Llewellen,"  returned  Valentine, 
"likes  to  help  himself,  mother,"  which 
was  a  fact. 

"Coolness  knows  it,  these  chickens  are 
peautiful,"  observed  Llewellen. 

"  I  am  very  olad  you  like  them. 

"Inteet  liur  enjoy  them  much,  look  you; 
ant  as  for  the  peer!  they  don't  prew  such 
peer  in  Caermarthen." 

"  \Vf  are  famous  for  beer  here,"  ob- 
served  Valentine.  "  How  old  is  this, 
mother?" 

"Two  years,  my  love." 

"  Two  years  oil!     Tear  t'  coolness,  now, 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


307 


is  it  two  years  ok?  Phy  town  phere  hur 
come  from,  they  prew  it  on  the  Saturtay, 
and  trink  it  on  the  Montay!  Two  years! 
phell,  inteet,  now,  it  is  very  excellent." 

And  it  was  very  excellent,  and  he  drank 
a  great  quantity  of  it,  and  he  enjoyed  him- 
self over  it  during  the  whole  of  the  evening, 
which  was  spent  very  happily  by  all. 

The  next  day  was  occupied  chiefly  by 
Valentine  in  showing  Llewellen  the  an- 
cient architectural  beauties  of  the  town, 
and  by  the  widow,  in  making  preparations 
for  her  journey,  which  she  looked  upon  as 
being  tremendous,  and  the  following  morn- 
ing they  started. 

As  a  pure  matter  of  courtesy  to  the  lady 
— by  whom  he  felt  that  he  had  been  most 
kindly  treated,  and  whom  he  really  admired 
very  much — Llewellen  had  insisted  upon 
riding  inside.  This  Valentine  knew  was 
an  ordeal  which,  as  he  went  through  it,  he 
would  feel  very  severely,  and  for  the  first 
forty  miles  he  most  certainly  did,  for  he 
could  neither  smoke  the  beautiful  cigars  he 
had  with  him,  nor  get  out  every  time  they 
changed  horses  for  beer;  but  when  they  had 
dined,  he  felt  nothing  more  of  it,  for  he  in- 
stantly fell  fast  asleep,  and  slept  soundly 
until  they  reached  town. 

As  Valentine  had  duly  advised  Uncle 
John  of  their  intention  to  come  up  that  day 
he  considerately  met  them  at  the  coach  and 
conducted  them  home.  Here  everything 
essential  to  their  immediate  comfort  was 
prepared,  and  they  had  tea  together,  and 
were  really  very  happy.  The  widow 
thought  that  Uncle  John  looked,  if  any- 
thing, somewhat  more  pale  than  he  was 
wont;  but  as  he  assured  her  that  he  never 
was  better  in  his  life,  she  was  perfectly 
content. 

"  But  do  I  look  pale?"  he  inquired.  "Do 
you  really  now  think  I  look  pale1?" 

"  Why,  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  it  is 
an  unhealthy  paleness;  but  you  do  not  look 
so  ruddy  as  you  did." 

Uncle  John  went  to  the  glass  and  exam- 
ined the  colour  of  his  countenance  most 
minutely;  but  he  really  could  not  himself 
perceive  any  striking  alteration.  But  then, 
seeing  himself  as  he  did  every  day,  he  ad- 
mitted mentally  that  he  was  not  perhaps 
quite  so  well  able  to  judge  as  one  who  had 
not  seen  him  for  months.  Still  he  did 
think  that  the  change  was  not  very  alarm- 
ing, more  especially  as  he  remembered  that 
while  shaving  that  morning,  it  had  struck 
him  that  he  looked  extremely  well.  And 
yet  when  he  came  to  recollect  himself  he 
had  felt  for  several  days  rather  queer,  which 
might,  it  was  true,  be  indicative  of  the 
gradual  decay  of  nature;  but  he  really, 
when  he  reflected  upon  the  matter  calmly 


again,  was  not  by  any  means  willing  to 
believe  that  it  was  so.  "The  fact  is,  my 
girl,"  said  he,  "I  have  been  of  late  so 
flurried,  that  it  wouldn't  be  surprising  if 
I  looked  even  paler  than  I  do.  For  the 
last  week,  indeed,  I  have  scarcely  had  a 
wink;  and  I'll  defy  any  man,  if  he'.s  as 
strong  as  an  elephant,  to  look  so  well  as 
he  ought  to  look,  if  he  hasn't  his  natural 
rest." 

"Oh,  you  look  very  well.  My  remark 
applied  simply  to  your  colour;  but  mere 
colour  does  not  always,  you  know,  indicate 
the  existence  of  health." 

Uncle  John  was,  however,  not  satisfied; 
if  any  other  friend  had  then  dropped  but  a 
hint  having  reference  to  his  paleness,  he 
would  doubtless  have  fancied  himself  ra- 
ther ill. 

Immediately  after  tea,  Llewellen  and 
Valentine  left  them,  the  one  to  herald  the 
virtues  of  the  widow  to  Louise,  and  the 
other  to  assure  her  of  his  safe  return.  Va- 
lentine found  that  he  had  been  anxiously 
expected,  and  when  she  had  affectionately 
welcomed  him  back,  Llewellen  commenced 
a  long  tale  having  reference  to  the  admira- 
ble characteristics  of  the  widow. 

"She  is  a  plain,  good,  kind,  motherly 
creature,"  said  Valentine,  anxious  to  put  an 
end  to  Llewellen's  warm  eulogia.  "But 
Fred  is  going  rather  too  far." 

"Not  a  pit,"  cried  Llewellen;  "she's  a 
tear  of  a  woman,  hur  atmire  her! — ant 
Louey! — she  cave  me  such  peer! — two 
years  olt,  Louey! — peer  two  years  olt!" 

"Oh,  I'm  sure  I  shall  love  her!"  said 
Louise.  "I  know  I  shall,  dearly.  I  must 
be  introduced  to  her,  you  know,  the  first 
thing  in  the  morning.  What  time  shall  I 
call]" 

"Oh!  do  not  call,  my  love,"  said  Valen- 
tine. "There  will  be  no  necessity  for 
that,  she  can  come  with  me  here." 

"  But  papa,  my  dear,  insists  upon  my 
calling.  He  says  that  I  ought  to  call  first, 
in  order  to  prevail  upon  her  to  return  with 
me;  and  I  am  sure  that  I  am  anxious,  most 
anxious  to  show  her  every  possible  re- 
spect." 

Valentine,  in  a  moment  saw  how  the 
matter  stood,  and  therefore  said  no  more 
about  it,  he  simply,  at  the  suggestion  of 
Louise,  named  the  time  and  there  left  it. 

"And  now,"  said  Louise  playfully,  look- 
ing at  her  watch,  "I'll  allow  you  to  remain 
with  me  ten  minutes  longer,  and  then  you 
must  go  home  and  have  a  long  night's  rest." 

"  1  am  not  at  all  fatigued,  my  dear  girl." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  that  you  must  be!  Poor 
Fred,  you  see,  is  already  asleep." 

"  Well,  it  certainly  is  extraordinary  that 
he  should  be  asleep." 


308 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"I  am  aware,  of  course,  that  that  is  no 
criterion;  but  ten  minutes  longer!— I'll  al- 
low you  no  more." 

\aleutine  consented  to  remain  but  ten 
minutes;  and  they  then  conversed  earnestly 
upon  the  subject  which  almost  exclusively 
occupied  their  thoughts,  until  something 
induced  Louise  to  lonk  again  at  the  watch, 
when  she  found  that  two  hours  had  flown 
away  somehow. 

"  Good  gracious!"  she  exclaimed;  "there, 
do  not  remain  another  moment.  Here,  have 
1  been  keeping  you  all  this  time  when  you 
ought  to  have  been  at  rest,  poor  boy!  There, 
good  night,  lie  sure  you  give  my  dearest 
love  at  home!" 

They  embraced  each  other,  and  havinjj 
mutually  exclaimed,  "  God  bless  you!" 
with  heartfelt  sincerity — they  parted. 

In  the  morning,  at  the  appointed  time, 
Louise  arrived  in  the  carriage.  Valentine 
had  quite  prepared  his  mother  for  this,  and 
had  endeavoured  to  convince  her  that  i  was 
44  nothing,"  which  the  good  old  lady,  even 
when  she  saw  it,  could  scarcely  believe. 
Bui  oh!  when  Louise  entered  the  room  and 
flew  towards  her,  and  kissed  her,  and  hung 
on  her  neck,  and  expressed  herself  happy, 
all  consi  lerations  having  reference  to  style, 
vanished;  she  felt  that  she  loved  her  at 
once. 

Louise,  on  this  occasion,  was  dressed  as 
plainly  as  possible,  and  this  tended  not 
only  to  heighten  the  effect  of  her  natural 
charms,  but  to  enhance  the  good  opinion  of 
her  friend,  who  saw  in  her,  not  what  she 
would  have  termed  a  "fine  lady,"  but  a 
gentle  affectionate  amiable  girl,  one  whom 
she  could  love  without  any  restraint.  On 
the  other  hand  Louise  was  delighted  with 
her;  she  felt  that  she  had  then  indeed  a 
friend  in  whom  she  could  confide:  nay,  she 
felt  that  she  then  had  a  mother. 

Under  these  delightful  circumstances— 
and  they  were  most  delightful  to  both — 
they  sat  down  side  by  side  upon  the  sofa, 
and  chatted  together,  and  opened  their 
hearts  to  each  other  as  unreservedly  as  if 
they  had  really  been  parent  and  child. 
Louise  was  impatient  to  take  her  home. 
**  I  will  indeed,"  she  exclaimed,  "endea- 
vour to  make  you  so  happy!  and  papa  will 
be  so  highly  pleased  to  see  you;  and  every- 
thing will  be  so  delightful!" 

"Indeed,  my  dear  child,  I  feel  already 
that  I  cannot  but  be  happy  with  you!" 

"You  are  a  dear  good  soul,"  returned 
Louise,  "and  I  equally  feel  that  I  cannot 
but  love  you." 

Valentine  at  this  point  re-entered  tin 
room,  and  an  the  wi-low  thru  retired  t<> 
"put  on  her  things,"  Louise  be<jan  to  laud 
her  to  the  skies.  And  she  did  so  with 


most  unaffected  sincerity;  she  felt  what  she 
expressed:  she  did  love  her  with  the  purest 
affection. 

"  Now  my  dear  child;  1  am  quite  at  your 
service,"  said  the  widow,  on  her  return 
with  much  gaiety. 

The  bell  was  rung  and  Valentine  pre- 
pared to  go  with  them,  when  it  was  play- 
fully intimated  that  the  honour  of  his  com- 
pany was  not  then  desired. 

"  Well,  but  give  me  a  ride!"  cried  Va- 
lentine. "Let  me  see  you  home!  I  don't 
want  to  interfere  with  your  mystic  arrange- 
ments!" 

Nor  did  he.  All  he  wanted  was  to  be 
by  the  side  of  his  mother,  lest  on  getting 
into  the  carriage  she  should  feel  at  all  em- 
barrassed; but  as  he  found  that  they  both 
understood  each  other  perfectly,  he  just  saw 
her  introduced  to  Raven  and  left  them. 

During  his  absence  from  town  great 
progress  had  been  made.  The  carpenters, 
and  the  plasterers,  and  the  glaziers,  and  the 
paper-hangers,  under  the  active  surveillance 
of  Uncle  John,  had  prepared  the  house  for 
the  reception  of  the  furniture  which  had 
already  been  chosen,  and  which  certainly 
reflected  great  credit  upon  his  taste.  That 
only  had  to  come  in,  and  when  it  did  come 
in  it  was  interesting  to  notice  the  spirit  and. 
pride  with  which  he  superintended  the 
whole  of  the  arrangements.  In  his  view 
Raven  must  of  necessity  be  astonished. 
He  felt  perfectly  certain  of  that;  and  as  that 
was  one  of  the  greatest  immediate  objects 
he  had  in  view  he  was  happy. 

On  the  other  hand  Raven  had  not  been 
inactive.  Jewels,  which  had  not  lor  years 
seen  the  light,  had  been  drawn  from  their 
obscurity,  polished  and  reset  to  embellish 
Louise  on  the  bridal  morn. 

These  Louise  in  the  natural  pride  of  her 
heart  could  not  conceal  from  the  eyes  of  her 
dear  kind  friend.  To  her  all  were  displayed, 
and  the  widow  was  amazed  at  their  dazzling 
beauty;  but  when  Louise  placed  before  her 
a  watch  thickly  studded  with  brilliants, 
which  Raven  intended  to  present  actually 
to  her,  she  scarcely  knew  how  to  express, 
or  what  to  do  with  herself,  her  delight  was 
so  intense. 

And  thus  matters  proceeded;  each  taking 
the  greatest  pleasure  in  the  task  to  be  per- 
formed, and  all  feeling  in  the  highest  degrre 
happy.  Louise  got  on  amazingly  with  the 
assistance  of  her  friend,  whom  she  consid- 
ered the  most  clever  creature  breathing! 
Oh,  no  one  could  be  by  possibility  compa- 
rahlr  with  her!  The  Misses  Stevens— who 
to  be  the  bridemaids — were  nothing 
equal  to  IMT,  although  at  one  time  she  <//</ 
think  tin-in  clever  in  the  extreme. 

The  day  approached.     Louise  began  to 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


309 


count  the  hours,  and  Valentine's  heart  beat 
high.  Nothing  could  exceed  in  brightness 
the  prospect  before  them.  Not  a  cloud  was 
visible:  all  was  clear  to  the  horizon,  and 
below  it  they  had  not  the  smallest  doubt 
that  all  was  equally  beautiful  and  fair. 

Uncle  John  was  nearly  ready.  They  felt 
certain,  from  the  delight  which  his  features 
portrayed,  that  his  views  had  been  met; 
but  not  one  of  them  was  suffered  to  enter 
the  house!  No:  when  the  place  was  tidy, 
they  might  all  be  admitted:  he  should  in- 
deed be  most  happy  to  see  them  all  then: 
but  not  before!— Such  was  the  edict. 

The  task  which  Raven  had  proposed  to 
himself  had  already  been  performed,  with 
the  exception,  of  course,  of  that  which  was 
not  to  be  accomplished  until  the  very  day. 
He  had  therefore  more  time  on  his  hands 
than  the  rest:  which  time  he  spent  chiefly 
alone.  On  the  evening,  however,  before 
the  day  on  which  they  were  all  to  dine 
specially  with  him — which  was  the  day 
before  that  on  which  the  ceremony  was  ap- 
pointed to  take  place — he  took  occasion  to 
intimate  to  Valentine  that  he  wished  to 
have  a  word  with  him  in  private.  Valen- 
tine was  then  on  the  point  of  leaving  for 
the  night,  but  he  stopped  of  course  then, 
and  as  the  rest,  hearing  the  intimation 
given,  at  once  retired,  he  and  Raven  were 
left  alone. 

"My  dear  boy,"  said  Raven  after  a 
pause,  "  the  day  is  at  hand — the  day  on 
which  I  hope  that  you  and  Louise  will 
commence  a  long  and  uninterrupted  career 
of  happiness— and  as  I  shall  not  have 
another  opportunity  of  speaking  to  you  on 
the  subject  I  wish  now  to  say  a  few — but  a 
very  few  words,  before  you  take  my  girl 
from  me.  My  boy,"  he  continued,  with 
great  intensity  of  feeling — "All  the  confi- 
dence that  man  can  have  in  man  I  have  in 
you.  I  know  you  to  be  affectionate,  t  know 
you  to  be  firm:  I  know  that  you  possess  too 
the  spirit  of  a  man,  to  bear  up  boldly 
against  difficulties  whatever  shape  they 
may  assume;  but  I  am  getting  old,  and 
weak,  and  apprehensive,  my  boy,  and  that 
weakness — in  spite  of  my  conviction  of  its 
being  unnecessary — prompts  me  to  claim 
of  you  now  a  solemn  promise,  that  what- 
ever may  occur  to  me — God  knows  what 
may! — but  whatever  may  occur,  you  will 
be  firm,  still  firm,  to  Louise!" 

"Most  solemnly,"  said  Valentine,  "I  do 
promise  this;  and  every  feeling  of  affection, 
as  well  as  every  principle  of  honour,  binds 
me  to  the  faithful  performance  of  that 
promise." 

"You  will  never  desert  her,  let  what 
may  happen  to  me?" 

"NEVER!" 


"I  am  content.  I  never  doubted  your 
firmness,  I  never  doubted  your  sincerity: 
believe  me,  my  boy,  I  never  did;  but  I  felt 
it  my  duty  to  obtain  this  promise  from  you 
— although  it  was  previously  implied — be- 
ing sure  that  by  any  promise  directly  given, 
you  would  feel  bound  for  ever.  In  life,  my 
dear  boy,  a  variety  of  things  occur  to  us  of 
which  we  have  no  previous  conception, 
while  things  of  which  we  are  daily  nay 
hourly  in  dread  never  occur  to  us  at  all. 
None  of  us  can  tell  what  may  happen.  But 
I  am  happy  in  the  conviction,  that  what- 
ever may  happen  to  me,  you  will  still  be 
firm  to  poor  Louise." 

"  Heaven  forbid  that  anything  should 
happen  to  you  of  sufficient  importance  to 
bring  my  firmness  to  the  test." 

"To  that  I  say  Amen." 

"I  cannot  conceive,"  continued  Valen- 
tine, "the  possibility  of  anything  occurring 
to  you  which  could  do  so  much  as  that,  for 
were  you  even  to  be  lost  to  us,  the  effect 
upon  me  would  be  to  make  me  feel  that  1 
was  bound  to  Louise  by  an  additional  tie, 
being  the  only  one— as  I  should  be  then — 
to  whom  she  had  to  look  for  protection. 
Fear  not  then:  under  any  circumstances  I 
will  be  firm:  I  cannot  be  a  traitor  to  my 
heart!" 

"You  are  a  noble  boy!  I  hope  nothing 
may  occur;  still  the  brain  of  an  old  man 
teems  with  strange  fears.  But  away  now 
with  all  'apprehensions.  May  you  be  for 
ever  happy!  Were  anything  to  happen  to 
that  poor  girl,  I  should  never  survive  it. 
She  has  been  to  me  all  that  a  child  should 
be  to  a  father,  and  I  feel  in  my  heart  that 
to  her  I  have  been  all  that  a  father  should 
be  to  a  child.  God  bless  her! — bless  you 
both!  You  will  not  mention  what  I  have 
said  to  a  soul;  for  others  might  imagine  that 
1  should  not  have  said  what  I  have  if  I  did 
in  reality — as  I  do  in  reality — place  implicit 
confidence  in  your  honour!" 

Valentine  promised  that  not  a  syllable  on 
the  subject  should  be  mentioned,  and  when 
Raven  had  again  assured  him  that  he  held 
him  in  the  highest  admiration  he  took  his 
leave.  Still  he  could  not  but  think  all  this 
strange.  He  could  well  understand  how  a 
father,  on  the  eve  of  the  marriage  of  his 
child,  should  feel  anxious — deeply  anxious 
— for  her  welfare;  but  he  could  not  at  all 
understand  why  troubles  of  which  no  pros- 
pect appeared  should  at  such  a  time  as  that 
be,  without  the  slightest  reason,  appre- 
hended. He  would  not,  however,  dwell 
upon  that  then.  Raven  he  knew  was  an 
eccentric  creature,  and  to  that  he  attributed 
all. 

In  the  morning  Uncle  John,  having  com- 
pleted his  task,  gave  notice  that  at  one 

27* 


310 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


o'clock  precisely  he  should  do  himself  the  ! 
pleasure  of  calling  at  the  residence  of  Mr.  ' 
Raven,   to   take    him,    Louise,    Valentine, 
Llewellen,  and  the  widow  to  see  the  house;  ! 
and  accordingly  at  the  hour  appointed  he 
did  call,  and  found  them  all  prepared,  and 
very  anxious  to  see  it. 

"I  have  the  honour  to  announce  to  you, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  observed,  with 
all    possible    pomp,    as     his    little    eyes  j 
twinkled  with  pleasure,  "I  have  the  hon- | 
our  to  announce  that  the  future  residence  of 
certain    parties — one   of   whom    shall    be 
especially  nameless,  for  her  name  is  now 
scarcely  worth  twenty  hours'  purchase — is 
perfectly  ready  for  inspection;  and  I  have 
also  the  honour  to  announce  that  the  hum- 
ble individual  who  now  stands  before  you  | 
will,  be  happy  to  conduct  you  thereto  with- 
out delay!" 

This  announcement  was  hailed  with  de- 
light, and    they  were   all    most   happy  to  j 
shake  hands  with  the  herald,  and  to  place  j 
themselves  under  his  guidance.     The  car-  i 
riage — which  had  been  ordered  at  one  on 
the  strength  of  his  reputation  for  punctu- 
ality— was  then  at  the  door;  and  therefore; 
all  but  Llewellen  and  Valentine  entered  it j 
at  once — Uncle  John  having  given  instruc-  j 
tions  to  the  two  outcasts  to  take  a  cab  and 
keep   behind    them;  and  thus  in  due  time 
they  arrived  at  the  theatre  of  his  glory. 

What  pleasure  they  all  expressed  when 
they  entered  the  house;  what  raptures  they 
were  all  in  as  they  passed  through  the 
rooms;  what  delight  in  short  every  arrange- 
ment inspired,  may  be  conceived.  Under 
less  auspicious  circumstances  probably 
they  would  have  felt,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
bound  to  express  themselves  with  some 
considerable  warmth;  but  here  was  ample 
reason  for  their  rapture.  Uncle  John  had 
not  realized  his  sanguine  anticipations 
alone;  he  had  surpassed  them! — he  had 
indeed  made  it  "a  residence  fit  for  any 
prince!" 

Such  being  the  case  then,  Valentine, 
knowing  that  the  cellars  had  been  also  well 
furnished,  proposed  with  great  eloquence, 
Uncle  John's  health,  a  proposition  to 


which  all  responded,  and  the  wine  was 
produced,  when  his  health  was  drank,  and 
then,  "Health  10  the  bride!"  and  then  that 
of  the  bridegroom,  and  then  Mr.  Raven's, 
and  then  the  widow's,  and  then  Llewellen's 
— the  whole  of  which  were  honoured  with 
the  utmost  cordiality,  and  every  heart 
seemed  filled  with  joy. 

All  but  Uncle  John  then  returned.  He 
had  to  go  home  to  dress  for  dinner,  and 
to  give  an  impetus  to  the  movements  of 
Whitely — who,  on  this  particular  occasion 
had  been  especially  invited— which  he  did, 
and  that  with  so  much  success,  that  pre- 
cisely at  half  past  six,  they  left  home  to 
join  the  happy  people  at  the  house  of  Mr. 
Raven. 

On  their  arrival  Louise,  Valentine,  Ra- 
ven, Llewellen,  and  the  widow,  were  as- 
sembled in  the  drawing-room,  chattino  so 
gaily,  and  looking  so  joyous,  that  they 
seemed  quite  resolved  that  the  cares  of  the 
world  should  be  shut  out  at  least  for  the 
night. 

At  this  happy  moment  Uncle  John  and 
Whitely  entered,  and  Louise  ran  to  meet 
Mr.  Whitely  and  to  give  him  a  smiling 
welcome,  which  he  gracefully  acknow- 
ledged; but  the  instant  the  eye  of  Raven 
met  his,  he  started  as  if  struck  with  para- 
lysis. In  Raven  he  beheld  the  seducer  of 
his  wife!  and  he  stood  for  a  momcrrtr  strug- 
gling with  those  feelings  which  the  sight 
of  him  had  aroused;  but  as  the  vivid  recol- 
lection of  his  wrongs  rushed  at  once  with 
overwhelming  impetuosity  upon  him,  he 
sprang  at  Raven's  throat  with  maniacal 
fury. 

"  Villain!"  he  exclaimed  fiercely.  "Cruel, 
heartless,  monstrous  villain!  My  children! 
— where,  where  are  my  children?" 

"  Stand  off!"  cried  Llewellen. 

"  Are  you  mad?"  exclaimed  Valentine. 
"Let  go  your  hold!"  and  he  instantly 
forced  him  bark  and  held  him. 

Raven  uttered  not  a  word,  He  sank  at 
once  upon  the  breast  of  Llewellen,  by 
whom  he  was  borne  senseless  from  the 


CHAPTER  LVH. 

EXPLAINING  VARIOUS  MATTERS  TOUCHING  THE  ILL-TIMED  RECOGNITION. 


FOR  some  time  after  Raven — who  was  in- 
stantly followed  by  the  fainting  Louise, 
and  her  doar  trembling  friend — had  loft  the 
room,  Whitely,  Uncle  John,  and  Valentine, 


stood  in  mute  amazement.  The  expres- 
sion of  Whitely's  countenance,  however, 
amounted  almost  to  that  of  madness;  his 
eyes  rolled  frightfully,  and  he  ground  Ins 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


311 


teeth  fiercely,  while  his  hands  were  ti^ 
clenched,  as   if   indeed    he  had   had    still 
Raven's  throat  in  his  grasp. 

At  length  a  word  from  Uncle  John  broke 
the  spell  which  thus  bound  him,  and  he  ex- 
claimed, "  Why,  why  do  I  stand  here,  when 
I  have  him  in  my  power!" 

44  Hold!"  cried  Valentine,  as  Whitely 
made  an  attempt  to  rush  from  the  room. 
44  Would  you  murder  the  man!" 

44  Murder  him!" 

44  This  is  neither  the  time  nor  the  place 
for  you  to  seek  redress  of  wrongs." 

44  What  are  time  and  place  to  me!"  ex- 
claimed Whitely.  4i  WThat  is  courtesy  to 
me,  when  I  have  that  monstrous  villain 
within  my  reach!" 

44  By  Heaven!"  cried  Valentine,  44  you 
shall  not  leave  this  room  except  with  the 
view  of  quitting  the  house.  If  he  be  the 
man  by  whom  you  have  been  injured,  you 
know  where  he  is  to  be  found:  proceed 
against  him  legally  as  you  please;  but  while 
7  have  strength  to  prevent  it,  you  shall 
touch  him  no  more." 

Whitely  stood  and  looked  wildly  at  Va- 
lentine; but  knowing  his  resolute  character, 
he  made  no  attempt  to  force  his  way. 

44  My  good  friend,  said  Uncle  John, 
soothingly,  "pray  be  advised;  pray,  pray 
do  not  let  passion  blind  you  to  reason.  I 
know  you  have  cause  for  being  thus;  1 
know  that  your  wrongs  have  been  dreadful; 
but  come,  let  us  talk  the  matter  over;  let  us 
see  what  is  best  to  be  done.  It  is  certainly 
a  melancholy  thing — a  very  melancholy 
thing:  but  my  dear  friend,  no  good  can 
arise"  from  any  frantic  desire  for  revenge! 
Come,  let  us  go  together:  be  guided  by 
me:  indeed  I  would  not  advise  you  to  pursue 
any  course  inconsistent  with  your  duty  as 
a  man.  There,  let  us  return:  there,  that's 
right;  I  knew  that  you  would  be  reasonable; 
I  knew  you'd  be  advised." 

Whitely  was  passive  as  Uncle  John  took 
his  arm,  and  permitted  himself  to  be  led 
from  the  house  without  uttering  another 
word. 

Valentine  now  was  alone;  but  although 
the  event  had  come  like  a  thunderbolt  upon 
him,  he  soon  recovered  his  self-possession 
44  This,  then,  is  what  Raven  so  much 
dreaded!"  thought  he:  44  this  is  the  dis 
covery  which  he  imagined  would  so  strong- 
ly test  my  firmness.  Well,  the  test  has 
been  applied.  Has  that  firmness  been 
shaken!  Why  should  it  be!  why  should 
I  lore  Louise  less  than  before!  Doubtless 
her  father  deserves  the  epithet  applied  to 
him  by  Whitely;  doubtless  he  has  been  a 
seducer,  a  villain;  but  ought  that  to  under- 
mine my  affection  for  Louise,  or  to  induce 
me  to  break  my  plighted  faith  to  her,  solely 


because  she  is  his  child!  Are  we  never  to 
admit  the  fact  when  we  behold 'it,  that  a 
"air  branch  may  spring  from  a  foul  stem! 
Is  every  beautiful  bud  to  be  blighted,  be- 
cause corruption  is  to  be  found  in  the  parent 
tree!  If  the  child  cannot  be  free  from  those 
vices  which  characterize  the  parent,  honour, 
innocence,  and  purity,  can  have  no  exist- 

H  but  in  name.  However  desperately 
wicked  a  father  may  be,  it  surely  does  not 
follow  that  he  must  of  necessity  contami- 
nate his  child.  In  this  case  I  am  sure  that 
it  is  not  so,  and  hence  were  he  even  loaded 
with  iniquities,  I  could  never  desert  her." 

Having  paced  the  room  for  some  time, 
deeply  engaged  in  suggesting,  with  the 
view  of  repudiating  every  objection  which 
could  by  possibility  be  urged,  he  rang  the 
bell,  for  all  in  the  house  appeared  to  be  in 
a  most  extraordinary  state  of  excitement. 
No  one  answered;  he  rang  again;  still  no 
one  appeared.  A  third  time  he  rang  with 
some  violence,  and  eventually  the  senti- 
mental porter  came  up,  and  with  tears  in 
his  eyes,  inquired  if  it  were  true  that  ha 
had  rung. 

4'I  want  Morgan,"  said  Valentine;  "tell 
her  to  come  here." 

44  She's  with  Missis,  sir:  poor  dear 
Missis!  which  is  very  ill,  sir.  I'm  afeared 
that  she  never  will  get  over  it." 

44  Get  over  what,  sir!  What  do  you 
mean!  Desire  one  of  the  girls  to  tell  my 
mother  I  wish  to  see  her." 

The  fellow  heaved  a  heavy  sigh,  and 
having  turned  his  eyes  upwards  so  dexter- 
ously that  the  pupils  became  completely 
invisible,  quitted  the  room  with  an  elabo- 
rately lengthened  visage. 

In  a  short  time  the  widow  appeared,  and 
having  thrown  her  arms  round  the  neck  of 
Valentine,  buried  her  face  in  his  bosom  and 
sobbed  aloud. 

44  Mother,  mother!"  said  he,  as  he  led  her 
to  the  sofa.  "  Come,  come,  come,  you  must 
not  go  on  thus." 

4'  Oh,  my  dear,  this  is  sad,  very  sad;  it  is 
indeed  very  shocking,  and  at  such  a  time 
too!" 

44  It  is  unfortunate,  most  unfortunate;  but 
how  is  Louise!" 

44  Poor  thing!  I  don't  know  how  in  the 
world  she  will  ever  survive  it.  She  has 
been  twice  in  the  most  violent  hysterics, 
and  she  is  now  crying  fit  to  break  her  heart. 
I  much  fear  that  it  will  prove  her  death- 
blow." 

44  Nonsense,  nonsense,  mother !  The 
thing  is  bad  enough,  it  is  true;  but  it  is 
not  so  dreadful  as  it  at  first  sight  appears." 

44  Oh,  but  it  is  a  very  terrible  shock  to 
the  feelings  of  a  poor  dear  girl  at  so  critical 
a  time  as  this." 


312 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"Well,  well:  can  I  see  Louise?" 

"  Bless  you,  my  dear,  not  on  any  account. 
She  is  in  bed,  and  we  have  sent  for  the 
physician,  and  I  expect  him  here  every 
instant:  I  am  sure  that  if  she  were  to  see 
you  now,  she  would  go  off  again  and  we 
should  never  bring  her  to." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  you  are  but  a  poor 
comforter,  mother;  but  return  to  her  and 
cheer  her,  and  give  her  this  kiss,  and  tell 
her  from  me  that  she  must  bear  up  against 
it;  that  the  effects  of  the  shock  will  very 
soon  pass  away;  that  it  really  is  nothing 
particularly  terrible,  and  that  notwithstand- 
ing what  has  occurred,  I  shall  be  ready  in 
the  morning  at  eleven  precisely." 

"Oh!  that,  my  love,  is  altogether  out  of 
the  question;  that  must  pe  postponed." 

"  Why  should  ill" 

"Hark!  that  is  the  physician;  yes,  there 
is  his  carriage.  I'll  come  again,  my  poor 
boy,  as  soon  as  I  can;  but  pray  keep  up 
your  spirits." 

"Keep  up  your's,  mother;  and  be  sure 
you  keep  up  those  of  Louise." 

The  widow  promised  to  do  so  if  possible, 
and  darted  from  the  room  to  receive  the 
physician. 

Valentine  could  not  feel  surprised  at 
Louise  having  been  shocked  at  this  ill- 
timed  discovery;  he  thought  it,  under  the 
circumstances,  but  natural;  and  as  he  did 
not  apprehend  that  anything  serious  would 
ensue,  he  resolved  not  to  give  way  at  all 
to  dejection.  He  therefore  rang  the  bell 
again,  and  when  the  same  puritanical  per- 
son, whom  Valentine  did  not  suppose  to  be 
more  virtuous  than  the  rest  of  his  caste,  re- 
appeared, he  desired  him  to  inform  Mr. 
Llewellen,  that  he  was  anxious  to  have  a 
word  with  him  there. 

The  porter,  who  appeared  to  be  some- 
what more  dreadfully  afflicted  than  before, 
vanished  gradually  to  accomplish  the  ob- 
ject of  his  mission,  and  in  a  short  time 
Llewellen  came  into  the  room. 

"My  tear  poy,"  said  he,  "phot's  all  this 
treatful  pusiness?  Inteet  hur  can  make 
neither  het  nor  tail  of  it  at  all,  look  you!" 

"  How  is  your  uncle?"  inquired  Valen- 
tine. 

"  Inteet,  now,  he  seems  very  poorly. 
Put  phot  tit  Whitely  mean  by  his  chiltren?" 

"He  was  enraged,"  replied  Valentine, 
who  perceived  that  Llewellen  had  not  been 
much  enlightened  on  the  subject.  "It  ap- 
pears to  be  an  unhappy  affair  altogether." 

"  So  it  is;  put  hur  tont  unterstant  it!  hur 
fear  there's  something  treatful  at  the  pot- 
torn  of  it,  look  you!  Inteet  t'cootness  hur 
to." 

"I  wish  you  would  do  me  a  favour," 
said  Valentine,  who  felt  that  as  Llewellen 


knew  nothing  about  the  matter,  he  might 
just  as  well  be  kept  still  in  ignorance  as 
not.  "  I  wish  you  would  tell  Mr.  Raven 
that  I  should  be  happy  to  speak  with  him 
for  one  moment." 

"  By  all  means.  Hur  wish  you  coot  kit 
to  the  pottom  of  it;  for  although  hur've  pin 
sitting  with  him  all  this  time,  hur  havn't 
pin  aple  to  kit  him  to  explain  a  single 
wort." 

"Tell  him  I'll  not  detain  him  long." 

"  Very  coot,"  said  Llewellen,  who  left 
the  room  at  once;  and  after  a  lapse  of  three 
minutes,  which  were  occupied  by  Valen- 
tine in  rehearsing  the  part  he  had  to  per- 
form, he  returned  with  a  communication, 
the  substance  of  which  was,  that  Raven 
was  so  unwell,  that  he  felt  quite  unequal  to 
the  task  of  conversing  with  him  upon  the 
subject  then;  but  he  hoped,  that  in  a  few 
hours  he  should  be  sufficiently  recovered  to 
do  so.  "  Hur  tont  at  all  know  phot's  the 
matter,"  added  Llewellen.  "Inteet  it's 
all  a  mysterious  tream  to  me;  hur  only 
know,  that  hur  never  saw  tears  in  my 
uncle's  eyes  pefore.  Put  hur  say,  my  poy; 
how  apout  tinner?  Is  that  to  pe  totally 
knocked  on  the  het?" 

"  Unhappily,  the  dinner  which  we  were 
to  have  had,  has  been  completely  set  aside 
by  this  unfortunate  affair." 

"  Put  we  must  have  some  sort  of  a  tin- 
ner. We  can't  pe  starved  to  teth!  Hur 
wish  t'  cootness  that  Whitely  had  pin  at 
the  pottom  of  the  Tet  Sea,  insteat  of  coming 
here  to  kick  up  a  preeze  before  tinner.  Put 
let's  see  apout  it;  let's  co  town  at  once. 
Hur  know  there  are  some  peautiful  things, 
pecause  poor  Louey  tolt  me;  therefore  let's 
co  town  and  see  about  the  pusiness.  We 
shall  all  pecome  skeletons  upon  the  face  of 
the  earth!" 

Valentine  consented  to  accompany  him, 
not,  indeed,  because  he  had  the  slightest 
inclination  to  eat  then;  but  because,  having 
nothing  else  to  do,  it  was,  at  least  as  far  as 
he  was  concerned,  immaterial  whether  he 
sat  at  the  table  with  him  or  not.  Llewel- 
len, of  course,  did  not  suffer  much  time  to 
elapse  before  he  ordered  dinner  up,  and 
when  in  regular  course  it  was  produced,  he 
certainly  held  it  to  be  a  lamentable  thing 
that  the  rest  should  have  been  deprived  of 
the  enjoyment  thereof.  He  did  not,  how- 
ever, consider  himself  justified  in  permitting 
his  grief  on  that  account  to  interfere  with 
his  appetite.  It  would,  perhaps,  have  been 
unwise  if  he  had;  but  whether  such  would 
in  reality  have  been  the  case  or  not,  he 
thought  it  perfectly  unnecessary,  and  there- 
fore assailed  each  course  with  all  his  wont- 
ed zeal.  He  was,  notwithstanding,  much, 
annoyed  at  the  fact  of  Valentine  being  so 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


313 


delicate  on  that  occasion,  and  contended 
that  the  circumstance  of  a  man's  appetite 
having  the  faculty  of  being  destroyed  by 
other  means  than  those  of  eating-,  was  a 
phenomenon  which  had  never  been  suffi- 
ciently explained.  This  position  was  not 
impugned.  Valentine  had  no  disposition 
at  that  time  to  supply  the  desideratum,  for 
although  he  had  firmly  resolved  on  bearing 
up  against  any  disappointment  of  which 
the  ill-timed  event  might  be  productive,  he 
was  not  in  good  spirits,  nor  did  he  feel 
then  the  slightest  inclination  to  force  them. 

It  was  not  until  Llewellen  had  nearly 
finished  his  dinner,  that  the  physician  left 
the  house,  but  the  moment  he  had  left,  the 
widow  came  to  communicate  to  Valentine 
the  fact,  that  poor  Louise  was  in  a  high 
state  of  fever,  and  that  therefore  she  would 
have  to  he  kept  for  several  days  perfectly 
quiet.  "  I  explained  to  the  physician,11  she 
added,  "what  was  to  have  taken  place  in 
the  morning;  but  although  he  assured  me 
that  the  poor  dear  girl  was  in  no  absolute 
danger,  he  declared  that  every  idea  of  that 
kind  must  be  utterly  abandoned.11 

This  point,  then,  was  settled,  and  Valen- 
tine received  the  intelligence  with  firmness; 
and  having  begged  of  his  mother  to  return 
to  Louise  instantly,  and  to  let  him  know 
the  moment  the  slightest  change  took  place, 
he  buried  himself  in  his  own  thoughts, 
making  his  ardent  anxiety  for  Louise,  to 
some  extent,  counteract  the  bitterness  of 
that  feeling  of  disappointment,  which  he 
found  it  impossible  entirely  to  suppress. 

While  he  was  thus  occupied,  expecting 
every  moment  to  be  summoned  by  Raven, 
Whitely  and  Uncle  John  were  engaged  in 
a  warm  conversation,  touching  the  most 
correct  course  to  be  pursued.  Whitely,  as 
might  have  been  anticipated,  argued  the 
propriety  of  vengeance.  He  contended  that 
he  was  justified  in  inflicting  upon  his  enemy 
the  utmost  terrors  of  the  law:  and  declared 
that  if  he  succeeded  in  doing  nothing  else, 
he  would  have  him  denounced  in  a  court  of 
justice  to  the  world,  and  held  up  to  last- 
ing execration.  Uncle  John,  on  the  con- 
trary, suggested  a  compromise,  and  offered 
to  effect  it  on  the  most  brilliant  terms,  hav- 
ing resolved,  if  even  Raven  would  not 
accede  to  his  proposal,  to  make  up  the 
amount  himself.  But  Whitely  spurned  the 
idea  at  once.  "  What!"  he  exclaimed  in- 
dignantly, "  compromise  in  a  case  of  this 
description  with  so  consummate,  so  rnon- 
etrous  a  villain!  Never!  I'll  pursue  him 
with  the  utmost  rigour:  it  shall  never  be 
said  that  I  compromised  my  honour,  which 
in  reality  I  should  do,  by  consenting  to 
compromise  with  him." 

*'J3ut  let  us  look  at  this  matter  more 


calmly,  ray  friend."  said  Uncle  John;  "let 
us  look  at  it  solely  as  men  of  the  world. 
You  have  been  wronged,  deeply  wronged: 
of  that  1  cannot  entertain  the  smallest  doubt, 
and  you  are  justified  in  bringing  him  who 
has  wronged  you  to  justice,  nay,  you  are  in 
a  social  sense  bound  to  do  so  if  it  be  possi- 
ble; but  although  I  can  have  no  moral 
doubt  whatever  of  the  fact,  allow  me  to 
As-k,  what  leqal  proof  have  you  that  you 
have  been  wronged  by  this  man1?" 

"Oh!  I  can  produce  a  chdin  of  circum- 
stances, sufficiently  strong  to  bring  it  homd 
to  him  legally.  I'll  fix  him!  Oh,  he  shall 
not  escape!" 

"  Very  well,  in  that  case  I  still  say  that 
you  are  bound  to  act  precisely  as  you  pro- 
pose; but  for  yonr  owti  sake,  be  sure  that 
ample  means  are  available  before  you  pro- 
ceed too  far." 

It  was  perfectly  clear  to  Uncle  John  that 
Whitely  had  no  such  means;  and  being, 
therefore,  more  anxious  to  effect  a  compro- 
mise than  ever,  he  left  him  to  call  upon 
Raven  with  the  view  of  suggesting  to  him 
the  expediency  of  some  private  arrange- 
ment. 

On  arriving  at  the  house,  he  was  imme- 
diately shown  into  the  dining  room,  which 
was  occupied  still  by  Valentine  and  Llew- 
ellen;  and  although  he  expected  that,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  the  sudden  shock  would 
be  sufficient  to  induce  a  postponement  of 
the  marriage,  it  affected  him  deeply  when 
he  heard  of  the  serious  illness  of  Louise. 

Having  expressed  his  concern  very  feel- 
ingly, and  endeavoured  to  console  Valen- 
tine by  all  the  means  in  his  power— know- 
ing well  that  he  felt  much  more  than  he 
appeared  to  feel— he  inquired  for  Raven, 
and  on  learning  that  he  was  still  in  his 
room,  he  begged  Llewellen  to  inform  him 
that  he  wished  to  have  five  minutes'  con- 
versation with  him  alone.  "Tell  him,"  he 
added,  "that  it  is  on  a  subject  of  immedi- 
ate importance,  and  that  although  it  may  be 
settled  in  five  minutes,  there  is  now  not  a 
moment  to  be  lost  " 

Llewellen  accordingly  went  to  deliver 
this  message,  and  shortly  returned  with  an 
answer  to  the  effect,  that  although  Raven 
still  felt  exceedingly  ill,  he  had  consented 
to  see  him.  Uncle  John,  therefore,  imme- 
diately followed  his  guide,  by  whom  he 
was  ushered  at  once  into  the  room. 

As  he  entered,  Raven  was  sitting  at  the 
table  in  a  state  of  extreme  dejection,  but  he 
rose  on  the  instant,  and  said  with  a  falter- 
ing voice,  "  My  friend — for  a  friend  I  must 
still  consider  you,  however  much  you  may 
loathe  the  sight  of  me — this,  indeed,  is  a 
terrible  affair." 

Uncle  John  took  his  hand,  and  then  sat 


314 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


down  beside  him,  and  then  said,  "It  is  a 
sad  business.  But,"  he  added,  after  a 
pause,  "it  is  a  thing  which  must  be  met! 
It  is  useless  now  to  mourn  the  event  or  to 
dwell  upon  that  which  induced  it.  What 
has  happened  has  happened.  I  wish  not  to 
refer  to  it  now,  but  as  a  thing  which  having 
been  done  cannot  be  undone.  But  here  is 
an  immediate  difficulty,  one  which  must  he 
faced:  the  only  question,  therefore  is,  how 
is  it  to  he  surmounted?" 

"That,  indeed,  is  the  question.  How 
can  it  be?  What  can  be  proposed?  How 
am  I  to  act?" 

"Can  it  not  be  in  some  way  arranged? 
Can  it  not  be  done  privately  without  having 
recourse  to  law?" 

"  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  most  will- 
ingly would  I  do  anything  to  settle  it.  I'll 
give  him  ten  thousand  pounds,  or  if  that 
will  not  satisfy  him,  I'll  give  him  fifteen  or 
even  twenty,  provided  he  will  undertake  to 
annoy  me  no  more." 

"  It  was  in  order  to  suggest  something  of 
that  kind  that  I  came  here  this  evening.  I 
have  named  the  subject  to  him  already,  and 
although  he  was  naturally  indignant,  and 
spurned  the  idea  of  a  compromise,  declar- 
ing that  he  would  have  law  and  nothing  but 
law,  I  think  that  eventually  he  might  be 
induced  to  consent  to  some  arrangement, 
•which  I  am  sure  would,  be  better  for  all 
parties  concerned." 

"  Let  him  but  consent  to  any  arrange- 
ment, and  I  am  willing  to  agree  to  it  at 
once.  I'll  give  him  anything  to  settle  it: 
any  sum  he  thinks  proper  to  demand:  and  I 
could  suggest  something  which  would  ren- 
der the  expediency  of  such  a  settlement 
apparent  in  his  calmer  moments,  even  to 
him." 

"  What  is  it?  Let  me  know  that  I  may 
urge  it,  for  I  am  really  most  anxious  to 
prevail  upon  him  to  adopt,  as  a  matter  of 
expediency,  the  course  now  proposed." 

"  My  friend,"  said  Raven,  with  delibe- 
rate intensity,  "I  am  perfectly  well  aware 
that  you  abhor  the  crime  of  which  I  at  once 
acknowledge  to  you  that  I  am  guilty,  as 
much  as  any  man  can;  but  as,  before  me, 
you  have  suppressed  what  you  feel,  and 
have  come  to  me  in  the  character  of  a  man 
of  the  world  to  argue  the  matter  upon 
worldly  grounds  alone,  I  will  meet  you 
upon  those  grounds,  with  the  view  of  stat- 
ing what  I  conceive  to  be  sufficient  to  con- 
vince Mr.  Whitely — or  Whitbread,  as  I 
always  understood  his  name  to  be — of  the 
expediency  at  least  of  consenting  to  settle 
the  matter,  as  I  am  anxious  it  should  be 
settled,  and  that  without  delay.  In  the 
first  place,  then,  let  us  look  at  the  course 
which  he  proposes  to  pursue;  I  would  not 


injure  that  man  more  deeply  than  he  has 
already  been  injured;  I  would  not  have  him 
incur  legal  expenses,  which  must,  of  neces- 
sity, fall  upon  him;  nor  ami  willing  to  take 
advantage  of  his  position,  as  I  sufficiently 
prove,  by  offering  him  any  sum  of  money 
he  thinks*proper  to  claim.  But  he  proposes 
to  go  to  law;  and  he  can  do  so,  doubtless: 
there  is  nothing  more  easy  than  for  a  man 
to  go  to  law;  but  I  am  anxious  to  have  him 
understand,  at  once,  that  no  law  can  touch 
me!  He  has,  of  course,  told  you  all.  He 
charges  me,  in  the  first  place,  with  the 
seduction  of  his  wife.  How  can  he,  legally, 
substantiate  that  charge?  How  is  he  to 
prove  it?  What  witnesses  can  he  produce? 
He  can  produce  no  witnesses;  and,  if  he 
could,  as  the  thing  happened  nearly  fifteen 
years  ago,  he  could  not  bring  an  action 
against  me  now;  while,  even,  if  we  assume 
that  he  could  bring  his  action,  the  amount 
of  damages  he  could  obtain  would  be  as 
nothing  when  compared  with  the  sum  I 
now  offer  to  give  him.  As  far  as  that  is 
concerned  then,  it  is  manifest  that  he  would 
in  any  case  be  a  loser  by  going  to  law;  and 
when  we  come  to  the  other  charge,  which 
refers  to  his  confinement  as  a  lunatic,  it 
cannot  be  shown  that  I  had  anything  to  do 
with  that  transaction;  and,  if  even  it  could, 
he  must  know  it  to  be  perfectly  ridiculous 
to  suppose  that  I  am  legally  responsible 
for  the  acts  of  the  two  physicians,  by  whom 
the  certificate  was  signed,  and  whose  sig- 
natures alone  would  indemnify  me  if  I  had 
even  been  directly  instrumental  in  obtaining 
them;  but  I  had  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  the  certificate;  my  name  does  not  in 
any  way  appear;  so  that  he  can  have  no 
possible  grounds  for  proceeding  against  me 
as  the  person  who  caused  him  to  'be  con- 
fined. If,  therefore,  he  will  but  reflect 
upon  this;  if  he  can  but  be  brought  to  un- 
derstand his  position,  which  is  in  reality 
one  of  utter  helplessness,  as  far  as  the  law 
is  concerned,  he  cannot  fail  to  perceive  the 
expediency  of  consenting  to  some  such 
arrangement  as  that  now  proposed.  I 
should  not  have  spoken  thus  on  a  subject 
of  this  kind,  had  you  not  appeared  here 
with  the  view,  not  of  denouncing  the  crime 
of  which  I  have  been  guilty,  but  of  suggest- 
ing the  best  means  of  meeting  the  difficulty 
which  that  crime  has  induced.  I  should 
have  been,  under  any  other  circumstances, 
ashamed  to  argue  the  matter  as  I  have  done 
in  this  cool  calculating  strain;  for,  however 
hateful  I  may  appear,  I  still  hope  that  I  am 
not  dead  to  every  proper  feeling;  hut  as  you 
wished  to  know  what  I  could  urgr,  at  all 
calculated  to  promote  a  private  settlement 
of  this  most  unhappy  affair,  I  felt  myself 
justified  in  stating  the  case  as  if  the  point 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


315 


to  foe  considered  were  one  of  a  pecuniary 
character  solely." 

To  every  word  of  this  Uncle  John  listened 
with  deep  attention.  He  weighed  every 
sentence  as  Raven  deliberately  proceeded, 
and  could  not  but  feel,  that  in  a  worldly 
point  of  view,  nothing  could  be  more  con- 
clusive. He  had,  indeed,  formed  an  ex- 
ceedingly bad  opinion  of  his  character  as  a 
man,  but  he  looked  upon  him  then  but  as  an 
advocate;  and  being  firmly  convinced  that 
the  course  proposed  was  the  only  one  which 
Whitely  could  pursue  with  any  chance  of 
success,  he  at  once  expressed  his  determi- 
nation to  employ  all  the  means  in  his  power, 
with  the  view  of  inducing  him  to  adopt  it. 

44  Pray,  do  so,"  said  Raven;  "  not  for  me, 
but  for  the  sake  of  my  child.  For  her  sake 
I  am  anxious  that  this  matter  should  not  be 
exposed  in  a  court  of  law;  for  although  I 
know  that  no  law  can  reach  me,  the  public 
disgrace  of  which  the  fact  of  its  being- 
brought  into  court,  might  be  productive, 
would  render  my  poor  girl  wretched  for  life. 
He  is  justified,  of  course,  in  doing  all  he 
can  against  me;  but  by  going  to  law,  he 
will  but  injure  himself,  not  me;  except,  in- 
deed, in  so  far  as  the  expose  may  be  con- 
cerned; and  I  question  much,  whether  he 
can  bring  sufficient  evidence  to  induce  even 
the  public  to  believe  him,  anxious  as  they 
invariably  are  to  believe  everything  which 
happens  to  be  charged  against  a  man.  Urge 
him — pray,  urge  him!  to  look  at  the  thing 
in  this  light.  He  cannot,  in  any  way, 
benefit  himself:  he  will,  on  the  contrary, 
have  to  pay  ruinously  for  any  attempt  to 
obtain  legal  revenge.  Use  your  utmost  in- 
fluence: prevail  upon  him,  if  possible,  to 
consent  to  an  arrangement.  I  think,  that  if 
he  can  bring  himself  to  look  at  the  case  as 
it  stands,  with  reference  solely  to  his  power 
to  injure  me,  he  will  eventually  yield." 

"  I  think  so,  too,"  said  Uncle  John;  "  I'll 
return  to  him  at  once,  and  put  each  point  as 
strongly  as  possible." 

"But,  my  friend,  independently  of  this, 
what  is  to  be  done?" 

"  We  had  better  enter  into  no  other  sub- 
ject at  present.  Let  this  be  settled  first. 
That  to  which  we  have  looked  forward  with 
so  much  pleasure,  must  now,  of  course,  be 
postponed." 

44  That,"  said  Raven,  "  is  inevitable.  But, 
Valentine,  he  has  been  waiting  to  see  me 
all  the  evening,  and  1  know  that  he  bears 
up  against  it  like  a  man;  but  I  really  have 
not  nerve  enough  to  meet  him,  my  friend!" 

44  It  is  unnecessary  that  you  should  do  so 
now.  I'll  take  him  home  with  me.  He 
has  been  waiting,  I  apprehend,  more  with 
the  view  of  being  near  poor  Louise." 

44  Thank  Heaven!  she  is  now  much  more 


aim.  If  anything  were  to  happen  to  her, 
the  little  time  I  have  to  live  would  be  passed 
in  constant  torture." 

44  Let  us  hope  for  the  best.  I  have  not 
the  smallest  doubt  that  with  care  she  will 
soon  be  restored.  But,  good  night.  This 
task  must,  if  possible,  be  accomplished  be- 
fore I  sleep." 

44 1  leave  it  with  confidence  entirely  in 
your  hands.  Whatever  you  propose  I  will 
gladly  accede  to." 

Uncle  John  then  left  him,  and  looked  in 
upon  Valentine,  who,  having  just  heard 
from  his  mother  that  Louise  was  going  on 
extremely  well,  and  that,  moreover,  she 
was  then  calmly  sleeping,  consented  to  ac- 
company him  home;  and  on  their  way  he 
applauded  the  anxiety  of  his  uncle  to  effect 
a  private  settlement  of  the  affair;  and  his 
uncle,  in  return  applauded  his  declaration, 
that,  notwithstanding  what  had  occurred,  or 
what  might  occur  hereafter,  prejudicial  to 
the  character  of  Raven,  he  felt,  and  should 
continue  to  feel,  bound  to  keep  faith  with 
Louise. 

On  reaching  home,  they  were  informed 
by  Mrs.  Smugman,  who  appeared  at  the 
door  much  perturbed,  that  Horace  was  in 
the  house  in  a  state  of  intoxication,  as  she 
strongly  suspected;  that  he  had  forced  his 
way  into  Goodman's  chamber;  and  that, 
after  having  acted  with  much  violence  there, 
he  went  into  the  drawing-room,  from  which 
he  declared  that  he  never  would  stir  till  they 
returned.  They  were  both,  of  course,  highly 
indignant  at  this,  and  proceeded  at  once  to 
the  drawing-room,  where  they  found  Horace 
stretched  fast  asleep  upon  the  sofa.  It  was 
not  long  before  they  aroused  him,  although 
he  slept  soundly,  for  they  were  not  at  the 
moment  extremely  choice  of  the  means  by 
which  persons  are,  under  peculiar  circum- 
stances, awakened:  they  had  him  up  in  the 
shortest  possible  period  of  time,  and  the 
moment  their  efforts  had  been  crowned  with 
success,  he  exclaimed,  "Ah!  my  two  trumps! 
Well,  how  are  you]" 

44  VVhat  is  your  business  with  us1?"  stern- 
ly demanded  Uncle  John. 

44  Now,  is  that  the  way  to  address  an  old 
friend!"  returned  Horace  with  an  extra- 
ordinary look,  and  in  an  equally  extraordi- 
nary tone  of  remonstrance.  "Is  it  regular? 
does  it  sound  at  all  pretty?" 

44  Whatever  you  have  to  say,  young  man, 
say  at  once.  We  cannot  have  our  time 
wasted  now." 

4t  There  you  go  again — young  man!  Why 
do  you  cut  away  in  that  nasty  manner? 
Can't  you  address  me  with  a  little  more 
elegance?" 

44  Why  are  you  here?" 

"  That's  the  point!     I  am   here  in  the 


316 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


responsible  capacity  of  plenipo-extraordi- 
nary  from  the  governor,  and  when  1  pro- 
duce my  credentials,  1  do  expect  to  be 
treated  with  all  the  courtesy  that's  regular. 
1  have  got  a  whole  lot  of  dirty  documents 
here,  which  I  am  authorized  to  give  up  on 
a  certain  condition.  But  come,  Ain't  be 
crusty;  sit  down  and  look  pleasant,  and 
then  I'll  let  you  into  the  whole  business." 

"I  wish,"  said  Uncle  John,  "that  you 
had  come  at  a  more  seasonable  hour." 

"  Well,  how  could  I  help  it]  I  started 
off  this  morning  to  come  early  enough,  and 
I  should  have  been  here  at  a  more  season- 
able hour,  only  I  happened  on  my  way  to 
meet  with  a  few  out-and-outers,  who  couldn't 
at  all  do  without  me!" 

Conceiving  that  his  object  was  to  restore 
Goodman's  papers,  Uncle  John  then  grave- 
ly took  his  seat. 

*•  Now  then,"  said  Horace,  "  here  we 
have,  you  see,  a  lot  of  rummy  pieces  of 
parchment,  which  the  governor  wished  me 
to  deliver  into  the  hands  of  his  brother; 
but  as  that  old  fool,  who  never  was  known 
to  listen  to  reason  when  it  proceeded  from 
my  lips,  has  referred  me  to  you,  I  have 
waited  here  all  this  time,  and  would  have 
continued  to  wait,  if  you  hadn't  come  home 
till  the  week  after  next." 

•'  Well,  sir,  what  do  you  propose?" 

"  Why,  assuming  that  you  have  full 
powers  to  act.  I  propose  to  deliver  them  to 
you,  on  condition  that,  as  the  governor  is 
not  very  flush,  he  is  never  to  be  railed  upon 
to  pay  the  little  bill  of  those  dirty  scamps 
of  lawyers." 

"Are  these  all  the  papers  which  belonged 
to  rny  friend!" 

*'  Why,  of  course!  Do  you  think  that  1 
would  bring  less  than  all!" 

"  Very  well,  sir;  I  am  willing  to  receive 
them." 

"And  to  give  me  an  acknowledgment  of 
your  having  received  them,  and  to  name  the 
condition  of  course!  Then  you  know  it 
will  be  all  right  and  regular." 

"  Well,  sir,  I'll  even  take  it  upon  myself 
to  do  that,"  said  Uncle  John,  who  accord- 
ingly wrote  an  acknowledgment  to  the 
effect  that  he  had  received  the  documents 
on  the  condition  named,  the  terms  of  which 
he  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Goodman,  had  agreed 
to." 

"  Well,"  said  Horace,  on  taking  the  re- 
ceipt. "And  now,  what  are  you  going  to 
stand!  You  never  bring  out  the  ghost  of 
a  glass  of  wine  to  give  a  fellow." 

"  We  are  busy,  very  busy,"  said  Uncle 
John;  "  I  beg  that  you  will  detain  us  no 
longer." 

"  Oh!  very  well!  Why  don't  you  say  at 
once,  *  There's  the  door;  you'd  better  cut 


it!'  You  want  to  offend  me,  I  suppose, 
but  you  won't;  although  it's  rnouoh  to 
make  a  man  go  slap  into  hysterics,  to  see 
the  base  ingratitude  of  this  blessed  world. 
But  never  mind.  Ta,  ta!  You  don't  sup- 
pose that  I  want  your  eighteen-penny  port. 
It's  only  the  look  of  the  thing  that,  stuns 
me!  But  adieu!  It'll  be  all 'one  in  the. 
grave.  We  never  know  the  value  of  a 
friend  till  we've  lost  him." 

Having  calmly  delivered  himself  to  this 
effect,  he  stuck  his  hat  on  one  side  of  his 
head  so  ingeniously,  that  his  right  eye  and 
ear  were  completely  concealed,  and  walked 
with  an  air  of  magnanimity  from  the  house, 
when  Uncle  John  at  once  proceeded  to 
Goodman's  chamber  with  the  documents, 
conceiving  that  the  property  of  his  friend 
was  now  secure. 

It  will,  however,  be  proper  to  mention 
here,  that  these  documents  were  utterly 
valueless.  Walter,  yielding  to  his  wife, 
who  was  warmly  backed  by  Horace,  had 
disposed  of  every  available  species  of  pro- 
perty, and  had  sent  these  worthless  pieces 
of  parchment  back,  in  the  full  conviction 
that  his  brother,  being  then  much  too  weak 
to  examine  them,  would  give  instructions 
for  all  legal  proceedings  to  be  stayed,  if 
indeed  he  did  not  undertake  to  defray  the 
expenses  already  incurred. 

All  this  had  been  effectually  accomplish- 
ed; Uncle  John  had  undertaken,  in  his 
friend's  name,  to  settle  with  the  attorney, 
and  wtien  the  documents  were  carried  to 
Goodman,  he  felt  so  exhausted,  that  they 
were  at  once  set  aside  without  even  being 
looked  at.  The  fact  of  Horace  having 
burst  into  the  room,  had  thrown  him  into  a 
state  of  excitement  which  nearly  proved 
fatal.  It  was  evident  to  Uncle  John  when 
when  he  entered,  that  another  such  a  shock 
would  be  the  last  he  would  ever  experience. 
He  trembled  violently  even  then,  and  gasp- 
ed for  breath  as  he  pressed  his  friend's 
hand,  and  begged  of  him  not  to  leave  him 
until  he  had  become  more  composed. 

"  Valentine,  that  good  boy,"  said  he, 
after  a  pause,  in  a  voice  so  faint  that  it 
verged  upon  a  whisper,  "is  going  to  be 
married  in  the  morning.  I  pray  that  he 
may  be  happy!" 

"The  marriage,"  said  Uncle  John,  "has 
been  postponed.  The  young  lady  has  been 
taken  very  suddenly  ill  " 

"  I  >un  very  sorry  for  it.  Young  or  old— • 
young  or  old,  my  dear  friend — all  have 
their  afflictions." 

Goodman,  with  a  sigh,  relapsed  ng;n'n 
into  silence,  which  Uncle  John  did  IK  i  dis- 
turb, but  s;it  patiently  with  him  until  he 
conceived  that  he  had  fallen  into  ;i  slumber, 
when  he  stealthily  quitted  the  room.  It 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


317 


was  then  that  he  ascertained  that  while  he 
was  with  Goodman,  Whitely,  who  had 
been,  contrary  to  his  usual  custom,  from 
home,  the  whole  of  the  evening,  had  re- 
turned; and  that,  having  learned  that  Va- 
lentine, by  whom  he  had  been  spoken  to 
somewhat  harshly  at  Raven's,  was  in  the 
drawing-room,  he  had  retired  at  once  to  his 


chamber.  Uncle  John  was,  therefore,  com- 
pelled to  defer  the  performance  of  the  task 
he  had  proposed,  but  sat  up  till  midnight 
conversing  with  Valentine,  who  was  still 
sustained  by  that  profound  firmness  which 
enables  a  man  to  regard  difficulties  but  as 
evils  to  be  surmounted,  no  matter  what 
shape  they  may  assume. 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 


THE  INTERVIEW  OF  UNCLE  JOHN  AND  WHITELY  WITH  MR.  WRITALL,    AN  ATTORNEY- AT-LAW. 


IMMEDIATELY  after  breakfast  the  following 
morning,  Valentine  left  with  the  lively  hope 
of  hearing  that  Louise  had  made  some  pro- 
gress towards  restoration;  and  the  moment 
he  had  done  so,  Uncle  John  very  cautiously 
re-opened  the  subject  of  the  compromise 
he  so  anxiously  desired  to  effect  between 
Whitely  and  Raven. 

"  I  saw  Raven  last  evening,"  said  he, 
"  and  I  do  not  believe  that  I  ever  beheld 
any  one  so  conscience-stricken  in  the  whole 
course  of  my  life." 

"The  scoundrel!"  exclaimed  Whitely, 
"  I  wonder  he  is  not  ashamed  to  show  his 
face  to  you  or  any  other  honourable  man." 

"  He  is  ashamed:  he  was  ashamed  to  see 
me  last  evening.  I  had  the  utmost  difficulty 
in  obtaining  an  interview  with  him,  and 
when  I  did,  1  found  him  frightfully  dejected. 
Of  course,  our  conversation  touched  solely 
upon  this  unhappy  subject,  and  he  urged  me 
most  earnestly  lo  exert  whatever  influence 
I  might  have,  with  the  view  of  prevailing 
upon  you  to  consent  to  some  private  arrange- 
ment, not  for  his  sake  indeed,  but  for  the 
sake  of  his  child,  who  is  now  lying  serious- 
ly iH. 

"For  her,  poor  girl,  I  am  sorry — very 
sorry;  I  feel  that  I  could  not  be  more  so 
were  she  even  my  own;  for  Valentine,  also, 
am  I  sorry;  for,  although  he  spoke  unkindly 
to  me,  I  cannot  but  believe  that  he  did  it 
solely  to  check  a  species  of  perhaps  unjusti- 
fiable rashness:  I  am  sorry  for  them  both, 
and  would  do  much  to  save  them  from  an- 
noyance; but  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  be- 
lieve that  I  should  be  acting,  as  a  man  under 
the  circumstances  ought  to  act,  if,  even  for 
them,  I  permitted  that  villain  to  escape." 

**  It  was  for  them — only  for  them,  that  he 
pleaded.  As  far  as  he  was  concerned  he 
acknowledged  that  you  were  bound  as  a  man 
to  pursue  him  by  all  the  means  in  your 
power." 

"And  pursue  him  I  will!" 
28 


"  Of  course,  knowing  him  as  I  do,  and 
being  in  some  degree  connected  with  him 
through  Valentine,  as  I  am,  it  will  be  but 
natural  for  you  to  imagine  that  I  lean  some- 
what towards  him  without  sufficiently  con- 
sidering you." 

"  Indeed,  my  dear  friend,  I  do  not.  Your 
honesty  of  purpose,  your  integrity,  the  pure 
principles  by  which  I  k'now  you  to  be  guided, 
tend  to  strengthen  my  conviction  that  you 
are  incapable  of  advising  me  to  adopt  any 
course  which  you  deem  inconsistent  with, 
my  honour." 

"  I  acknowledge  at  once,  that  I  lean  so 
far  towards  him  as  to  be  anxious  to  have 
this  melancholy  affair  settled,  as  far  as  it 
can  be  settled,  privately:  not  for  him — for 
his  conduct  admits  of  no  extenuation — but 
for  his  poor  child,  whose  heart  any  public 
exposure  would  go  far  towards  breaking. 
But  if  even  I  had  no  knowledge  whatever 
of  him  or  of  any  one  with  whom  he  is  con- 
nected, as  your  friend,  I  should  advise  you 
for  your  ov/n  sake  alone,  not  to  plunge  into 
the  uncertain  depths  of  the  law,  being  afraid 
— as  I  should  be  in  such  a  case  as  this — 
that  although  in  reputation  you  might  seri- 
ously injure  him,  you  would  in  doing  so 
more  seriously  injure  yourself.  You  know- 
more  of  the  law  which  bears  upon  this  point 
—doubtless,  much  more  than  I  do:  but  even, 
in  the  event  of  my  having  no  knowledge 
whatever  of  the  party  on  the  other  side,  I 
should  argue  with  you  thus:  You  are 
anxious  to  go  to  law:  very  well.  You  can- 
not proceed  criminally:  you  must  bring  a 
civil  action;  you  may  even  bring  two:  you. 
bring  two  actions:  you  succeed  in  both:  and 
the  punishment  awarded  is  of  a  pecuniary 
character.  Now,  what  amount  of  damages, 
I  ask,  would  you  be  likely  to  get?  anything 
like  five  thousand  pounds'?" 

"  In  all  probability,  not  half  that  amount." 

"  Well,  assuming  that  there  was  a  pros- 
pect of  obtaining  that  amount,  what  would 
you  say  if,  instead  of  the  trouble,  the  anxie- 


318 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


ty,  the  risk  of  a  trial,  you  were  offered  ten 
thousand  pounds  down]" 

*'  My  answer  would  be  this:  I  cannot  feel 
justified  in  entering  into  anything  like  a 
compromise  with  a  villain.' 

"  Are  you  justified  in  utterly  ruining  your- 
self to  be  revenged  on  a  villain1?  And  would 
you  not  be  utterly  ruined  in  the  event  of  a 
failure?" 

"  I  am  poor,  very  poor:  that  cannot  be 
disguised." 

"Avoid  then,  going  to  law  with  a  rich 
man." 

"  But  if  that  doctrine  were  to  obtain,  the 
poor  would  be  crushed  by  the  rich  with  im- 
punity!" 

"  Not  in  a  case  of  this  description,  in 
which  the  rich  man  proposes  to  pay,  per- 
haps ten  times  the  amount  that  could  be 
gained  by  resorting  to  law.  This  is  not 
like  a  case  in  which  a  man  offers  to  give  a 
certain  sum  to  escape  corporeal  punishment: 
If  it  were  possible  to  punish  him  in  any 
other  way  than  that  of  attacking  his  purse, 
there  might  perhaps  be  some  grounds  for 
hesitation;  but  he  can  only  be  thus  punish- 
ed, and  he  offers  to  punish  himself  ten  times 
more:  he  offers  to  pay  at  once  ten  thousand 
pounds,  and  thus  to  relieve  you  from  all 
anxiety  about  the  issue  of  a  trial,  and  I 
must  say  that  the  issue  in  this  case,  to  say 
the  least  of  it,  is  of  an  extremely  doubtful 
character." 

"  I  do  not  think  so.     From  all  that  I  can 
learn,  I  am  induced  to  believe  that  I  ought 
not  to  entertain  the  smallest  doubt  about 
the  matter.     Last  night  I  was  introduced  to 
"  an  exceedingly  clever  lawyer — with  whom  1 
have  an  appointment  this  morning  attwelve, 
who  assured  me  distinctly,  when  I  had  ex- 
plaiived  the  chief  features,  that  in  such  a  case 
as  mine,  which  exhibits   so   monstrous  a 
combination  of  wrongs,  the  law  would  fal 
upon  the  wronger  with  terrible  vengeance 
Now,  as  I  am  anxious  to  remove  the  im- 
pression you  entertain,  that  the  law  is  in- 
operative in  a  case  of  this  description,  ] 
shall  be  glad  if  you  will  accompany  me  this 
morning  as  my  friend,  that  you  may  heai 
how  the  law  stands,  and  judge  for  yourself.' 
"1  shall  indeed  be  most  happy  to  do  so 
feeling  perfectly  assured  of  your  belief,  tha 
although  I  am  still  in  communication  with 
Raven,  I  shall  take  no  advantage  of  any 
thing  I  may  hear,  which,  if  known  on  th 
other  side,  might  tend   to  prejudice  you 
case." 

"  You  may  be  assured  that  that  is  m 
belief.  For  were  it  not  so,  I  certainl 
should  not  have  been  so  anxious  for  you  t 
go  with  me.  You  can  appear  in  the  sol 
character  of  my  friend;  your  knowledge  . 
the  other  party  need  not  at  all  transpire." 


It  was  at  once  then  arranged  that  they 

hould  wait  upon  this  gentleman  together, 

nd  accordingly,  at  the  hour  appointed,  they 

roceeded  to  the  office  of  Mr.  Wriiall. 

On  ringing  the  office-bell,  their  ears  were 

ddressed    by  a   slight  consumptive  tick, 

hen,  as  that  caused  the  door  to  fly  open, 

icy  entered,  and  beheld  an  emaciated  little 

eing,  who  was  then  in  the  act  of  enjoying 

pinch  of  snuff,  which  appeared  to  be  the 

nly  luxury  within  his  reach,  and  who,  in 

nswer  to  Whitely's  question,  which  had 

eference  to  the  fact  of  Mr.  Writall  being 

vithin,  said  he  didn't  know  exactly,  but  he'd 

ee,  when,  in  order  to  enable  himself  to  see 

vith  distinctness,  he  inquired  the  name  of 

Whitely,   and    disappeared.     He  was   not 

bsent  long.     He  soon  became  enlightened 

n  the   subject,    and    on    his    return,   an- 

ounced  that  Mr.  Writall  ivas  within,  and 

mmediately  ushered  them  into  the  sanctum. 

As  they  entered,  Mr.  Writall,  who  was  a 

man  of  immense  personal  importance,  and 

whose  cheeks  were  peculiarly  bloated,  was 

landing  with  his  right  thumb  in  the  arm 

lole  of  his  waistcoat,  and  his  left  foot  on  a 

hair,  looking  as  pompous  as  if  he  had  just 

efore  swallowed  a  pot  of  porter. 

"I  hope  you  are  well,  sir,"  said  he,  in  a 
ingularly  dignified  wobble,  swelling  each 
word  until  it  became  as  much  as  his  mouth 
could  hold. 

"A  friend,  I  presume1?" 

Whitely  answered  by  formally  intro- 
ducing Uncle  John,  and  they  sat  down  with 
>usiness-like  views. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,  sir,  of  this  im- 
mense case,  of  which  you  told  me.  1  have 
aeen  turning  it  deliberately  over  in  my 
mind,  and  having  deeply  consulted  the  best 
authorities  upon  the  subject,  I  have  no 
hesitation  in  saying  that  the  course  is  quite 
clear." 

14 1  have,"  said  Whitely,  "an  absolute 
hold  upon  him,  thenl" 

"Undoubtedly;  beyond  all  dispute;  an 
immense  hold." 

"That  is  the  grand  point,"  returned 
Whitely,  for  the  satisfaction  of  Uncle  John; 
— "  that  is  tlir  grand  point  that  I  am  anxious 
to  have  explained." 

"Than  which  explanation,  sir,  nothing 
can  be  more  easy.  The  defendant  seduced 
your  wife.  He  cohabited  with  her.  She 
was  under  his  protection.  Of  course  an 
action  for  craw.  con.  will  lie  there." 

"  Notwithstanding  it  occurred  nearly 
fifteen  years  since1?" 

"  Notwithstanding  it  occurred  nearly 
fifteen  years  since.  All  we  shall  have  to 
do  will  be  to  show,  that  by  maliciously 
causing  you  to  be  confined  in  an  asylum  for 
lunatics,  he  placed  it  completely  out  of  your 


c 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


319 


power  to  bring  your  action  within  the  period 
prescribed  by  the  statute." 

44  Exactly;  I  understand;  and  this  of 
course,  can  be  shown1?" 

•«  Of  course." 

44  Will  you  allow  me,"  said  Uncle  John, 
44  to  ask  how?" 

44  By  the  production  of  witnesses." 

44  But  unfortunately  my  friend  Mr.  White- 
ly  has  no  witnesses." 

44  No  witnesses!  Where  is  the  proprietor 
of  the  asylum1? — where  are  the  keepers'? 
Subpoena  them  all;  bring  them  all  up!" 

44  Can  they  prove  that  the  defendant, 
Raven,  compassed,  or  was  in  any  way  con- 
nected with  the  incarceration  of  my  friend?" 

44 That  remains  to  be  seen." 

44  But,  like  all  prudent  men,  Mr.  Whitely 
is  anxious  to  see  his  way  clearly  before  he 
proceeds." 

44  It  is  impossible  for  him  not,  sir,  to  see 
his  way  clearly." 

44  Upon  my  word,"  observed  Whitely, 
44 1  confess  that  I  cannot  at  present." 

44  Have  you,  yourself,  the  slightest  doubt 
that  these  persons  can  prove  the  defendant 
to  have,  directly  or  indirectly,  caused  you 
to  be  confined1?" 

44 1  am  afraid  they  know  nothing  of  him. 
His  name  did  not  in  any  way  appear." 

44  Well,  that  is  a  difficulty  very  soon  got 
over.  If  they  cannot  prove  it,  other  wit- 
nesses can." 

44  What  other  witnesses,"  inquired 
Whitely. 

44  Oh,  I'll  undertake  to  produce  witness- 
es," replied  Mr.  Writall,  nodding  very 
mysteriously. 

44 1  really  cannot  see  where  we  shall  find 
them." 

44  Oh,  that  is  a  difficulty  soon  overcome. 
I'll  stake  my  reputation  on  finding  sufficient 
witnesses." 

44  Then  of  course,"  said  Uncle  John,  who 
looked  at  Whitely  as  if  he  did  not  under- 
stand it,  "we  may  assume  that  point  to  be 
settled?" 

44  Of  course." 

"And  that  the  settlement  of  that  point 
will  be  sufficient?" 

"And  that  the  settlement  of  that  point 
will  be  sufficient." 

44  But,  on  what  authority  was  my  friend 
here  received  and  detained  by  the  proprie- 
tor of  the  asylum  in  question?  Was  not 
his  authority  the  certificate  of  the  two 
physicians?" 

44  Undoubtedly;  the  certificate  of  the  two 
physicians." 

44  How  then  can  we  impugn  this,  their 
evidence  of  my  friend's  insanity  at  the 
time?" 

44  I'll  manage  it.    Leave  that  to  me." 


44  But,"  urged  Whitely,  "  how  is  it  to  be 
done?" 

44  If  it  cannot  be  done  in  one  way,  it  can 
in  another.  We  can  even  indict  all  con- 
cerned for  a  conspiracy." 

44  But  what  witnesses  have  we  to  sustain 
such  an  indictment?" 

44  Witnesses  are  to  be  found:  affidavits 
are  to  be  had.  Leave  the  whole  thing  to 
me,  and  it  shall  be  done.  If  the  worst 
comes  to  the  worst,  we  can  harass  him  so, 
that  he  will  be  but  too  happy  to  compro- 
mise the  matter,  by  coming  down  hand- 
somely." 

44  And  what,  may  I  ask,"  said  Uncle 
John,  "  would  you  consider  a  handsome 
sum  in  such  a  case?" 

44  Why,  as  he  is  a  rich  man,  I'd  make 
him  come  down  with  a  couple  of  thousand 
pounds.  I'd  let  him  off  for  ve»y  little  less." 

44  But  were  he  to  offer  to  put  down  at 
once  such  a  sum  as — say  ten  thousand 
pounds — " 

44  Oh,  such  a  sum  as  that  is  altogether 
out  of  the  question.  It's  a  large  sum,  sir, 
recollect,  is  that  of  ten  thousand — a  sum 
which  is  not  to  be  picked  up  every  day! 
But  whatever  sum  he  might  offer,  however 
large,  I'd  take  care  to  harass  him  well  be- 
fore I  consented  to  receive  it." 

44  But  if,  after  having  discovered  that 
your  object  was  to  harass  him,  he  were  to 
defy  you,  and  refuse  then  to  compromise  at 
all,  what  sort  of  position  would  my  friend 
be  in  then?" 

44 Money,"  said  Whitely,  "is  not  the 
primary  object.  I  want  to  punish  him,  it 
is  true,  and  he  deserves  to  be  punished 
severely;  but  my  chief  aim  is  to  compel 
him  to  produce,  or  at  least  to  give  me  some 
sufficient  clue  to  the  discovery  of  my 
children." 

44  Punish  him  first,"  said  Mr.  Writall, 
"  settle  that  matter  first,  and  then  make  him 
produce  the  children." 

44  But,"  suggested  Uncle  John,  "were 
he  to  propose  now  not  only  to  put  down  at 
once — say  ten  thousand  pounds — but  to 
give,  with  respect  to  the  children,  all  the 
information  in  his  power,  would  it  not, 
under  the  circumstances,  be  advisable  to 
accede  at  once  to  such  a  proposition?" 

44  Why,  as  I  said  before,  ten  thousand 
pounds,  you  know,  is  an  amount  which  is 
out  of  all  reason;  but  if  a  good  round  sum 
were  to  be  offered,  together  with  the  re- 
quired information,  I  have  no  hesitation  in 
saying,  that  it  would  be  advisable  to  do  so, 
but  not  before  proceedings  had  been  com- 
menced, in  order  that  he  might  know  that 
we  are  really  in  earnest." 

44 1,  of  course,  can  compel  him  to  produce 
my  children?" 


320 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"Of  course.  And  yet  there  is  some 
slight  difficulty  there.  I  should  advise — 
nay,  now  I  come  to  reflect  on  the  matter,  if 
he  be  obstinate,  he  might  be  taken  on  sus- 
picion of  having1  murdered  those  children!" 

"Murdered  them!"  cried  Whitely,  with 
a  shudder. 

"  But,"  said  Uncle  John,  "  how  can  we 
prove  that  he  ever  saw  them?" 

•*  Oh,  that  could  be  proved;  but  as  far  as 
the  murder  is  concerned — why,  I  confess, 
that  it  is  somewhat  difficult  to  secure  wit- 
nesses as  to  murder;  but  even  they  are  to 
be  had." 

"  What  may  you  mean  by  securing  wit- 
nesses?" 

"  It  is  a  practice,  sir,  well  understood  in 
the  profession.  At  all  events,  assuming 
that  we  should  fail  in  this,  the  threat  alone  j 
of  charging  him  with  murder  would  be 
sufficient  to  induce  him  to  come  down  with 
a  little  more." 

Again,  Whitely  and  Uncle  John  looked 
earnestly  at  each  other,  and  after  a  pause  of: 
some  seconds  they  rose. 

"I  will  reflect,  sir,"  said  Whitely,! 
"upon  all  you  have  explained,  and  let  you  ; 
know  my  decision  in  the  morning. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Writall, 
•who  was  evidently  surprised  at  the  fact  of  i 
the  consultation  being  so  abruptly  put  an  | 
end  to.  "  Very  well,  sir.  If  the  case,  sir,  j 
be  placed  in  my  hands,  it  shall  be  properly  j 
managed.  It  is  my  pride,  sir,  that  I  never  I 
yet  suffered  a  client  of  mine  to  be  de-  i 
feated." 

Uncle  John  and  Wliitely  then  took  leave 


of  Mr.  Writall,  with  whom  they  were  not 
highly  pleased.  He  had,  indeed,  supplied 
them  both  with  food  for  reflection;  but 
while  one  of  them  looked  upon  him  merely 
with  contempt,  the  other  regarded  him  with 
ineffable  disgust. 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  am  even  yet  con- 
vinced of  the  incorrectness  of  my  view," 
said  Uncle  John,  after  having  walked  for 
|  some  time  in  silence.  "  But  where  could 
he  get  all  those  witnesses  from?" 

"  My  friend,"  replied  Whitely,  "  that  is 
a  legal  scoundrel.  Those  witnesses  are 
villains  who  can  be  got  to  swear  to  any- 
thing in  any  case,  to  the  ruin  of  any  man." 

"Is  it  possible?" 

"Quite.  They  are  to  be  had  at  all 
prices,  from  ten  shillings  up  to  ten  pounds, 
either  to  appear  and  give  evidence,  or  to 
make  affidavits.  Such  witnesses  he  pro- 
posed to  secure  in  my  case,  for  clearly  none 
others  exist." 

Uncle  John  was  amazed.  He  could 
scarcely  believe  it,  and  thousands,  who 
possess  far  more  knowledge  of  the  profes- 
sion than  he  did,  would  have  been  quite  as 
incredulous,  on  being  told  that  the  practice 
of  "hard  swearing,"  more  especially  that 
branch  ycleped  "  affidavit  making,"  had 
become  quite  a  trade. 

This,  however,  did  not  shake  the  purpose 
of  Whitely;  he  still  was  for  law;  but,  as 
during  the  consultation  with  Writall,  cer- 
tain doubts  had  arisen,  he  resolved  on  hav- 
ing the  opinion  of  some  eminent  counsel, 
upon  whose  judgment  and  integrity  he 
might  safely  depend. 


CHAPTER  LIX. 


IN  WHICH  VALENTINE  PROVES  A  GOOD  MORAL  PHYSICIAN. 


THAT,  under  any  conceivable  circumstances, 
Louise  would  have  felt  the  postponement  of 
her  marriage  severely,  is  a  fact  which  must 
not  be  concealed,  but  under  such  serious  cir- 
cumstances as  those  by  which  the  postpone- 
ment had  been  induced,  she  naturally  held 
it  to  be  indeed  terrible.  It  was  not,  how- 
ever, the  mere  disappointment  which  re- 
tarded her  recovery  from  the  shock  she  had 
received;  when  the  physical  effects  of  that 
shock  had  been  subdued,  its  moral  effects 
continued  in  painful  operation;  for  she  could 
not  but  feel  that  the  disgrace  of  her  father 
would  inevitably,  to  some  extent,  reflect 
upon  her. 

For  three  weary  days  she  had  not  bf-hHd 
him  whom  she  had  taught  herself  to  adore; 


but  although  she  had  felt  this  to  be  of  itself 
very  sad,  and  had  panted  for  the  time  when 
she  might  again  see  him,  when  that  time 
arrived  her  spirit  shrank  from  the  interview, 
as  if  she  feared  that  he  could  not  be  faithful 
to  her  then  without  dishonour. 

Eventually,  however,  at  the  earnest 
solicitation  of  her  dear  kind  friend,  whom 
she  regarded  as  her  mother,  she  tremblingly 
1  consented  to  see  him;  and  when  he  entered 
the  room  in  which  she  was  sitting,  pale  as 
death,  she  rose  and  flew  to  him,  as  if  all 
cause  for  sorrow  had  vanished;  but  after 
having  embraced  him,  and  passed  her  Ir.uid 
fondly  over  his  brow,  and  gazed  upon  him 
with  an  expression  of  rapture  for  an  instant, 
the  sudden  flash  of  joy  was  extinguished, 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


321 


tears  gushed  from  her  eyes,  and  she  sobbed 
like  a  child. 

"  My  own  Louise!"  exclaimed  Valentine, 
pressing  her  fervently  to  his  heart.  "  Look 
up,  my  sweet  girl!  You  see  /  am  firm, 
Louise! — you  see  /  am  firm!"  But,  as  he 
spoke,  his  voice  faltered,  while  the  tears 
were  fast  rolling  down  his  cheeks.  He 
could  not  bear  to  see  her  thus  afflicted.  He 
could  firmly  endure  anything  but  that;  that 
alone  had  the  power  to  unman  him. 

A  pause  ensued,  during  which  he  endea- 
voured to  conceal  his  emotion,  and  led 
Louise  to  a  chair,  while  his  mother,  whom 
the  interview  had  deeply  affected,  was  sob- 
bing as  if  her  heart  were  about  to  break. 

At  length,  however,  they  all  became 
comparatively  calm;  and  while  Valentine 
was  standing  with  the  hand  of  Louise  in 
his,  pouring  eloquent  balm  into  her  deeply 
wounded  heart,  the  widow  sat  down  beside 
her,  with  the  view  of  imparting  that  solace 
which  she  deemed  most  effectual,  and  soon 
after  quitted  the  room. 

"My  dear  girl,"  said  Valentine,  the  mo- 
ment they  were  alone,  "come,  you  must 
not  be  so  sad;  you  must  not,  my  love, 
indeed." 

"  Valentine,"  said  Louise,  with  the  most 
impressive  earnestness,  "  I  love  you — dear- 
ly, fondly — you  know  how  I  love  you;  but 
this  unhappy  interview  must  be  our  last!" 

"Why,  you  silly  girl:  what  do  you 
mean?" 

"That  I  never  will  consent  to  bring  dis- 
honour upon  you." 

44 1  believe  it;  I  am  sure  of  it:  I  know  you 
never  will." 

"  But  this  I  should  be  doing,  if,  after  this 
hour,  I  consented  to  receive  you  as  before." 

"Louise,  knowing  the  purity  of  your 
mind,  and  the  beautiful  delicacy  of  your 
feelings,  I  cannot  but  be  conscious  that  this 
lamentable  affair  appears  to  you  in  the 
darkest  colours  in  which  it  can  appear  to 
innocence:  thus  let  it  appear  still,  my  good 
girl:  thus  may  it  ever  appear!  I  would  not 
have  those  colours  brighter  in  the  eyes  of 
one  so  pure.  But,  my  love,  even  assuming 
all  we  have  heard  to  be  true,  and  looking  at 
it  without  the  most  remote  reference  to  any 
extenuating  circumstances,  how  can  my 
alliance  with  you  bring  dishonour  upon  me? 
I  will  not  affect,  for  one  moment,  to  be  in- 
capable of  perceiving  your  views;  and  that 
they  spring  from  an  amiable  source  is  quite 
manifest.  But  how  can  this  act  affect  me? 
It  is  not  an  act  of  yours:  nor  is  it  one  over 
which  it  is  possible  for  you  to  have  had 
even  the  slightest  control.  It  is  one  of 
which  you  possessed  no  knowledge  until 
now! — How  then  can  you  or  I  be  disgraced 
or  dishonoured1?" 


"  Disgrace  will  attach  to  the  name,"  said 
Louise. 

"That  name  will  no  longer  be  yours!" 

"  But  will  it  not  be  said,  and  with  truth, 
by  the  malicious,  that  you  married  into  a 
family  whose  character  was  tainted!" 

"This,  indeed,  by  the  malicious  might 
be  said;  but  not  with  truth.  If  the  character 
of  a  family  could  be  said  to  be  tainted, 
because  the  acts  of  any  one  of  its  members 
are  impure,  few  families  indeed  would  be 
in  a  position  to  boast  of  their  characters 
being  without  a  stain.  But  let  the  mali- 
cious say  what  they  will:  they  must  be 
ingenious  indeed,  if  they  show  that  any 
disgrace  that  may  attach  to  the  name  you 
now  bear  can  reflect  in  the  slightest  degree 
upon  me.  But,  my  sweetest  girl,  no  such 
disgrace  will  attach  even  to  the  name.  The 
thing  will  not  be  known.  I  have  the  most 
perfect  confidence  in  the  success  of  those 
efforts  which  my  uncle  is  now  making, 
with  the  view  of  prevailing  upon  Whitely 
to  consent  to  some  private  arrangement.  If 
it  be  thus  arranged,  and  I  have  not  the 
smallest  doubt  that  eventually  it  will  be, 
unless  we  ourselves  publish  the  matter  to 
the  malicious,  their  ingenuity  cannot  be 
brought  to  the  test." 

"Still  I  fear,"  urged  Louise,  "that  you 
may  be  annoyed;  and  that  such  an  annoy- 
ance as  that  would  interfere  with  your  hap- 
piness, and  cause  you  to  regret — " 

"Louise!  if  you  did  not  at  this  moment 
look  so  delicately  beautiful,  I  really  do 
think  that  I  should  scold  you.  Why,  you 
little  trembling  creature! — who  is  to  annoy 
me  if  the  thing  be  not  known?" 

"  But  we  are  by  no  means  sure  that  it 
will  not  be  known!" 

"  Well,  even  if  it  be:  I  am  sorry  to  say 
that  the  world  does  not  attach  so  much  im- 
portance to  an  affair  of  this  description  as 
you  do.  But  if  this  be  the  case,  the  thing 
must  not  be  known!  I'll  go  and  tell 
Whitely  all  about  it.  I  will  give  your 
compliments  to  him,  and  tell  him  that  if  he 
will  consent  to  an  arrangement  you  will 
have  me:  but  that  if  he  will  not,  it's  all 
over." 

Louise  slightly,  but  very  slightly,  smiled. 

"You  will  think,"  continued  Valentine, 
"that  I  view  this  matter  with  levity,  al- 
though indeed,  I  do  not;  but  it  really  is 
useless  to  grieve  and  mourn  and  be  miser- 
able about  it.  Were  we  to  run  about  the 
streets,  and  fill  the  air  with  our  lamenta- 
tions, we  might  astonish  the  people  cer- 
tainly, and  perhaps  we  might  amuse  them; 
but  we  could  not  alter  the  case  as  it  stands. 
The  thing  has  been  done,  and  we  are  bound 
to  make  the  best  of  it;  but  I  question  if 
even  Llewellen  himself  can  instance  a  case 

28* 


322 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


in  which  any  disagreeable  position  was 
rendered  more  pleasant  by  an  indulgence  in 
excessive  grief.1' 

"  You  are  a  dear  good  soul,"  said  Louise, 
arranging  his  hair  as  he  sat  on  a  stool  besf3e 
her. 

"  I'm  glad  yon  think  so,"  said  Valentine; 
"  [  ought  to  terminate  my  engagement  with 
eclat.  I  ought  to  make  a  decent  impression 
on  this  my  last  appearance,  as  it  must  be 
the  last!" ' 

"I  would  not  lose  you  for  the  world!" 
cried  Louise,  as  she  kissed  his  fine  brow 
and  appeared  to  forget  all  her  troubles; 
"yet,"  she  added,  with  intensity  of  feeling 
and  expression,  "  I  would  rather  lose  you, 
the  world  and  all,  tlian  render  you  unhappy! 
But,"  my  love,  this  sad  affair:  you  say  that 
there  is  a  prospect  of  its  being  settled 
privately?" 

"  A  very  fair  prospect.  In  fact  1  have  no 
doubt  whatever  of  its  being  thus  arranged. 
Whitely  holds  out  at  present  it  is  true;  but 
I'm  convinced  that  we  shall  eventually  in- 
duce him  to  consent." 

*'  Poor  man!  I  had  no  thought  of  my  dear 
father  having  acted  as  he  has.  1  could  not 
have  believed  it  if  he  had  not  himself  told 
me  that  it  was  true.  Poor  Mr.  Whitely! 
how  dreadful  his  feelings  must  have  been! 
But  she  must  have  been  a  very  wicked 
creature!  I  am  sure  that  she  must  have 
given  my  father  great  encouragement,  or  he 
never  would  have  forgotten  himself  so  far. 
Of  course  that  was  the  cause  of  Mr. 
Whitely's  insanity]" 

By  this  question  Valentine  perceived 
that  she  did  not  know  all,  and,  therefore, 
being  most  anxious  not  to  throw  any  addi- 
tional light  upon  a  subject  which  would 
tend  to  sink  Raven  in  her  estimation,  he 
replied  that  Whitely  had  never  been  in- 
sane, and  that  he  had  been  confined  in  a 
lunatic  asylum  by  some  person,  who  wished 
to  get  him  out  of  the  way:  which  was  the 
fact. 

"Then  it  is  not  so  dreadful,"  observed 
Louise,  "as  it  would  have  been  had  he 
been  driven  to  madness  by  that." 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Valentine;  "that 
would  have  been  a  different  thing  alto- 
gether." 

"  But  oh!  you  gentlemen,  you  gentlemen! 
— you  are  terrible  people!  But  did  Mr. 
Whitely  treat  her  kindly]" 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  don't  know." 

**  Perhaps  not:  he  might  have  been  very 
unkind  to  her;  perhaps  very  harsh;  and  yet 
nothing  could  justify  her  conduct.  She 
must  have  been  bad.  I  am  convinced  that 
if  she  had  not  been,  she  never  could  have 


induced  my  father  to  bring  upon  us  this 
dreadful  calamity.  But  what  became  of 
her?  It  is  a  delicate  question  perhaps  for 
me  to  put,  but  did  you  ever  happen  to  hear 
what  became  of  her?" 

"Indeed  I  never  did." 

"Perhaps  she  went  over  to  America, 
taking  the  poor  children  with  her." 

"Perhaps  she  did:  but  let  us  dismiss 
this  painful  subject.  I  have  been  thinking, 
Louise,  of  a  certain  matter  to  which  it 
strikes  me  I  never  alluded  before,  but  in 
deciding  upon  which  you  can  render  me 
very  material  assistance." 

"  Indeed!  Then,  I  am  sure  that  I  shall  be 
most  happy  to  do  so." 

"Your  politeness  is  proverbial.  Well, 
then;  when  do  you  think — I  will  put  it  in 
that  form  as  being  the  least  unintelligible — 
when  do  you  think  that  that  ought  to  be 
done  which  was  to  have  been  done  on  the 
first  of  the  month?" 

"The  first  of  the  month?— Oh,  indeed 
my  dear  Valentine,  we  must  riot  think  of 
that." 

"But  that  happens  to  be  the  very  thing 
of  which  I  cannot  help  thinking!" 

"But— I— I  don't— really  I  don't— we 
must  wait  till  this  sad  affair  is  settled." 

"Why  should  we,  my  dearest?  Why 
should  we  wait  for  that?  We  have  nothing 
to  do  with  the  settlement  of  it?" 

"  My  dearest  love,  pray  do  me  the  favour 
to1  say  no  more  about  it  at  present.  It  is 
useless,  I  find,  to  oppose  you  on  any  sub- 
ject. You  cheat  me  of  every  purpose.  I 
really  don't  know  how  it  is;  but  no  one  else 
could  ever  do  so!" 

The  widow  at  this  moment  entered  the 
room,  and  was  agreeably  surprised  to  see 
Valentine  smiling. 

"  1  beg  pardon,  my  dears,"  she  observed, 
"I  only  came  for  my  bag.  Well,  come!" 
she  added,  gazing  with  pleasure  at  Louise. 
"Dear  me,  how  much  better  you  look! 
Well,  really  now,  what  an  extraordinary 
change!" 

And  it  is  a  fact  well  worthy  of  being 
placed  on  record,  that  the  change  thus 
noticed  was  particularly  striking.  Louise 
looked  herself  again;  sadness  disappeared; 
her  eyes  sparkled  with  all  their  wonted 
brilliancy,  and  she  felt  that  a  heavy  load  of 
sorrow  had  been  removed  from  her  heart. 
And  thus  for  hours  she  continued  to  feel 
cheered  by  the  affectionate  eloquence  of 
Valentine,  who  sat  with  her  until  the 
widow  turned  him  out  of  the  room,  deem- 
ing it  quite  inconsistent  with  her  duty  as  a 
nurse  to  allow  him  to  remain  with  her 
patient  any  longer. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


323 


CHAPTER  LX. 


VALENTINE   VISITS   ASCOT    RACES. 


VALENTINE  was  now  unremitting  in  his  at- 
tention to  Louise,  whose  spirits,  by  virtue 
of  his  enlivening  influence,  were,  in  a  great 
degree,  restored;  but  nothing  could  shake 
the  resolution  she  had  formed,  not  to  fix 
another  day  for  the  celebration  of  their 
marriage  until  her  father's  unhappy  affair 
had  been  privately  arranged,  although, 
when  a  fortnight  from  the  day  of  the  dis- 
covery had  elapsed,  Whitely's  consent  to 
such  an  arrangement  had  not  been  obtained. 
Uncle  John,  day  by  day,  had  endeavoured 
to  induce  him  to  adopt  the  mode  proposed, 
but  in  vain:  he  could  not  be,  by  any  means, 
prevailed  upon  to  yield:  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  take  the  opinion  of  a  certain 
distinguished  member  of  the  bar,  who  hap- 
pened to  be* then  out  of  town,  but  had 
promised,  that  the  moment  he  had  obtained 
that  opinion  he  would  one  way  or  the  other 
decide. 

Now  it  may  not  perhaps  be  improper  to 
mention,  that  Llewellen,  during  the  whole 
of  this  time,  was  a  singularly  miserable 
man.  He  felt  wretched.  His  appetite  was 
falling  off  frightfully;  and  although  he  was 
utterly  unable  to  explain  what  was  physio- 
logically the  matter,  his  feelings  convinced 
him,  that  internally  there  was  something 
uncommonly  wrong.  He  applied  to  the 
physician  who  attended  Louise,  but  the 
physician,  instead  of  prescribing,  looked  at 
him  and  smiled.  He  applied  again:  he 
drew  him  aside  the  very  next  time  he  called, 
and  put  out  his  tongue  and  held  out  his 
wrist,  and  described  the  diagnosis  of  his 
complaint  very  pointedly,  and  then  indeed 
he  had  a  prescription;  to  take  a  run  round 
his  hat  fifty  times  without  stopping,  and  to 
repeat  the  dose  five  times  a-day,  keeping 
his  fore-finger  all  the  time  strictly  upon  the 
crown.  And  an  excellent  prescription  it 
was.  It  was,  however,  one  which  he 
thought  might  be  dispensed  with,  although 
it  did  induce  him  to  believe  that  a  little 
exercise  of  some  sort  might  not  prove  per- 
nicious. But  then  what  was  he  to  do?  He 
had  no  one  to  go  out  with!  Valentine  was 
constantly  engaged  with  Louise.  He  could 
not  go  out  alone!  he  would  not  go  out  alone; 
and  the  consequence  was,  that  his  case  was 
getting  daily  worse  and  worse. 

At  length  Louise,  conceiving  that  a  day's 
relaxation  would  be  of  service  to  Valentine, 
suggested  the  propriety  of  his  having  a 
rural  stroll;  and  as  it  happened,  %  strange 
and  inscrutable  coincidence,  to  be  the  Ascot 


race  week,  he  hinted  to  Llewellen  that  he 
did  think  it  possible,  that  he  might  go  and 
see  the  Cup  run  for,  in  which  case  he  hoped 
to  have  the  honour  of  his  company. 

For  some  few  seconds  Llewellen  could 
not  believe  that  Valentine  really  meant 
this;  but  when,  as  with  a  vivid  flash  of 
lightning,  he  was  struck  with  the  convic- 
tion that  the  thing  in  reality  was  as  it  was, 
he  was  in  ecstasies,  and  ran  about  the  room, 
and  performed  a  variety  of  extraordinary 
evolutions;  some  of  which  were  of  a  charac- 
ter strikingly  original. 

"  Is  Luey  coing  tool"  he  inquired. 

"No,  I  cannot  persuade  her  to  do  so." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Llewellen,  who  was 
not  at  all  sorry  on  his  account,  «'  phen  to  we 
co,  my  poy,  phen  are  we  to  start?" 

"  In  the  morning;  but  as  we  have  no 
conveyance  of  our  own,  we  must  be  off 
rather  early." 

"  As  early  as  you  please!  Well  now  t' 
coolness  knows  it,  look  you,  this  will  pe 
peautiful!  Put  howapout  preakfast?  Shall 
hur  corne  as  hur  tit  pefore?" 

"That  will  be  the  better  way." 

"Very  well.  And^phot  coat  shall  hur 
put  on?  Must  hur  co  in  sporting  style? 
Hur've  cot  top  poots  and  preeches." 

"  No,  no;  go  as  you  are." 

"  Very  coot,"  said  Llewellen,  to  whom 
Valentine's  every  word  was  law.  "  Very 
coot,  hur?ll  pe  retty.  Inteet  t'cootness  now 
this  is  a  plessing."  And  he  absolutely  felt 
it  to  be  one,  and  that  feeling  prompted  him 
to  run  about  so  much,  that  he  ate  that  day 
a  respectable  dinner. 

In  the  morning  he  awoke  about  four,  and 
fearing  that  he  might  over-sleep  himself 
somewhat,  as  he  had  to  be  with  Valentine 
at  half  past  eight,  if  he  suffered  his  head  to 
remain  upon  the  pillow,  he  rose,  and  em- 
bellished himself  deliberately,  and  whistled 
like  a  lark,  and  sung  several  new  songs, 
and  then  wended  his  way  into  the  pantry, 
to  see  if  any  little  article  therein  had  the 
power  to  tempt  him;  and  having  discovered 
a  variety  of  things  rather  delicious,  he  had 
a  substantial  foundation  fora  breakfast, and 
took  his  departure  for  the  day. 

It  was  then  nearly  six;  and  as  he  walked 
from  street  to  street,  he  really  couldn't  tell 
exactly  what  to  make  of  the  silence  that 
prevailed.  It  struck  him  as  being  rather 
awful.  He  looked  acutely  up  and  down: 
not  a  soul  could  be  seen:  there  he  was 
walking  about  with  his  hands  in  his  coat 


324 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


pockets,  a  solitary  individual  in  a  wilder- 
ness of  houses.  He  didn't  like  it.  His 
intellects  were,  in  some  degree,  confused. 
Was  it  a  dream?  Had  all  the  people  emi- 
grated during  the  night?  Was  he  in  some 
deserted  city?  It  all  at  once  struck  him 
that  the  people  were  not  up  yet;  and  when 
he  looked  round,  he  really  didn't  wonder  at 
it.  Presently  he  heard  a  few  human  heings 
singing,  and  the  chorus  he  discovered  to  be 
strictly  to  this  effect. 

u  For  we're  all  jolly  good  fellows, 
iollv  s 


Yor  we're  all  jolly  good  fellows, 
jolly  good  fellows! 
so  say  all  of  us." 


For  we're  all  jolly  good  fellows! — 
And  so  si 


But  although  he  could  hear  them  with  a 
distinctness,  which  to  him,  at  that  time, 
was  peculiarly  refreshing,  he  was  unable  to 
see  them  until  he  arrived  at  the  corner  of 
the  next  street,  when  he  beheld  four  gentle- 
men coming  towards  him,  arm  in  arm,  with 
a  striking  irregularity  of  step,  appearing  to 
be  very  happy,  but  looking  indeed  very  pale. 

"  Ah!  old  fellow!"  exclaimed  one  of 
these  gentlemen.  "  How  are  you!" 

"  How  to  you  too,"  said  Llewellen  in 
return. 

"  Come  tip  us  your  fin,  old  fellow!  you're 
one  of  the  right  sort!"  Hereupon  the 
whole  party  shook  him  cordially  by  the 
hand,  which  was  very  affectionate.  "  I  say, 
is  there  any  house  open  about  here?" 

"  Well,  inteet  now,  I  think  all  the  people 
are  in  pet,  look  you!" 

A  loud  burst  of  laughter  immediately 
followed  the  announcement  of  this  thought, 
which  was  very  remarkable;  but,  as  Llewel- 
len inferred,  from  sundry  vague  observations, 
which  had  reference  to  leeks  and  toasted 
cheese,  and  other  purely  unintelligible  mat- 
ters, that  the  gentlemen  were,  to  some 
extent,  tipsy,  he  passed  on,  and  the  last  he 
heard  of  them  was  an  exceedingly  loud 
declaration  in  song,  that  they  wouldn't  go 
home  till  morning. 

The  fact  of  his  having  met  with  this  in- 
teresting party,  notwithstanding,  relieved 
his  mind  a  little;  and  as  he  walked  on,  a 
few  sober  persons  appeared,  some  with 
baskets  of  tools,  some  with  hods,  rules,  and 
spades;  but  the  whole  of  them  carried  cotton 
handkerchiefs,  containing  something  des- 
tined for  the  stomach;  still  time  seemed  to 
move  as  if  engaged  in  some  political  con- 
versation, while  walking  arm  in  arm  with 
a  tortoise. 

At  length  Llewellen, — which  is  really 
very  singular, — found  himself  standing  be- 
fore the  house  in  which  Valentine  dwelt; 
but  the  blinds  were  all  down,  no  sign  of  life 
appeared:  the  house  could  not  have  been  in 
less  of  a  bustle,  had  all  the  occupants  been 


dead.  He  would  not,  however,  then  leave 
the  street;  he  walked  up  and  down  whist- 
ling, until  he  saw  the  girl  open  the  parlour 
shutters,  when  he  knocked  at  the  door,  got 
into  the  house,  went  at  once  up  to  Valentine's 
room,  was  admitted,  and  was  happy. 

Valentine  was  not  long  dressing;  nor 
was  it  long  when  he  had  dressed,  before 
they  had  breakfast;  and  when  that  had  been 
disposed  of  satisfactorily,  they  started  for 
the  Railway  terminus  at  Paddington,  with  / 
the  view  of  going  by  one  of  the  early  trains.  L 
On  reaching  this  place,  a  train  was  just 
about  to  start,  and  immediately  after  they 
had  entered  one  of  the  carriages,  they  were 
off  at  the  rate  of  some  considerable  number 
of  miles  an  hour. 

"Time,"  observed  Llewellen,  "must  put 
his  best  foot  forward,  to  keep  up  with  us 
now." 

"  He'll  not  allow  himself  to  be  beaten," 
returned  Valentine.  "  Let  us  go  at  what- 
ever rate  we  may,  he'll  be  there  as  soon  as 
we  are." 

"  T'cootness  knows  now  that's  very  ex- 
traortinary  inteet,  phen  you  come  to  reflect 
upon  it,  look  you." 

"  It  is  extraordinary,  that  while  he  goes 
at  all  paces,  he  should  preserve,  with  per- 
fect steadiness,  his  own  pace  still." 

"Ant  will  wait  for  nopotty." 

"Nor  will  he  be  hurried!" 

Llrwellen  was  done.  He  tried  very  hard 
to  come  again,  but  failed,  although  he  did 
not  entirely  give  the  thing  up  until  they 
had  arrived  at  Slough.  Here  they  alighted; 
but  they  had  no  sooner  done  so,  than  down 
came  a  pelting  shower  of  rain. 

"  Hascot,  sir! — course,  yer  honour! — take 
yer  there  in  no  time! — slap  wehicle! — 
hex'lent  'oss! — ride,  sir — ride!" — exclaim- 
ed a  number  of  extremely  anxious  persons, 
placing  themselves  before  each  other  alter- 
nately, as  if  among  them  no  question  of 
precedence  had  been  settled. 

"  What's  the  fare?"  inquired  Valentine, 
of  one  of  the  most  forward. 

"A  guinea  an  edd,  sir;  ad  no  bistake  at 
all  about  the  haddibal." 

Valentine  looked  to  windward;  and  as  he 
saw  at  a  glance  the  black  cloud  corning  up, 
leaving  all  fair  behind,  he  decided  upon 
standing  under  shelter  for  a  time,  during 
which  the  individual,  whom  he  had  ad- 
dressed, came  up  and  stated,  confidentially, 
that  he  would  take  them  both  for  a  pound. 
This  offer  was  not  accepted.  The  cloud 
passed  over  and  the  sun  again  shone  bright- 
ly, when  the  fellow  again  approached  and 
offered  to  take  them  for  half  a-crown  a  head! 
conceiving,  however,  that  the  walk  would 
do  them  much  more  good,  they  declined 
even  this,  and  passed  on. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


325 


In  due  time  they  reached  Windsor,  where 
they  stopped  to  have  some  slight  refresh- 
ment, and  then  started  again;  and  having 
enjoyed  their  walk  exceedingly,  up  that 
delightful  avenue,  called  Queen  Anne's 
Drive,  the  course  opened  before  them,  and 
a  brilliant  scene  it  was.  Llewellen's  rapture 
was  unbounded  when  he  beheld  it;  while 
Valentine  had  never  seen  anything  to  equal 
it  in  splendour. 

Having  sufficiently  dwelt  upon  the  spec- 
tacle at  a  distance,  they  drew  near  the 
course  and  viewed  each  attractive  feature 
with  admiration.  For  some  time  Llewellen 
was  dumb  with  enthusiasm,  but  when  they 
approached  the  Grand  Stand,  he  let  his 
tongue  loose  at  once,  and  it  rattled  away  in 
Welsh  with  amazing  rapidity.  It  did,  how- 
ever, after  the  first  eloquent  burst,  happen 
to  strike  him,  that  although  the  Welsh 
language  was  beautifully  flowing,  and, 
moreover,  comprehensively  expressive,  it 
was  rather  unintelligible  to  those  who 
knew  nothing  at  all  about  it;  and  this  idea 
had  the  effect  of  inducing  him  to  descend 
into  that  which  he  was  unable  to  speak 
with  equal  force  and  purity. 

For  some  considerable  time  they  pro- 
menaded the  course,  studying;  and  it  was, 
indeed,  amusing,  as  well  as  instructive,  to 
study — the  distinguishing  points  which 
mark  those  who  move  in  each  social 
sphere,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest — 
from  that  of  royalty  to  that  of  beggary. 

"  Well,  inteet,"  observed  Llewellen, 
"phot  a  horse-racing  nation  this  is,  look 
you1?" 

"It  is  the  first  in  the  world,  certainly; 
but  we  must  not  suppose  that  the  whole  of 
these  persons  are  here  with  the  view  of 
seeing  the  races  solely." 

"  No,  inteet]  Phot  pesites  too  they  come 
fort" 

"  The  great  majority  to  see  and  to  be  seen 
by  each  other.  They  themselves  form  the 
principal  attraction." 

"Then,  look  you,  it  must  pe  py  their 
own  attraction  they  are  attracted!" 

"  Very  good,  I  don't  know  that  we  shall 
make  any  thing  better  of  it." 

"All  the  worlt  comes  pecause  all  the 
worlt  comes,"  added  Llewellen,  who  then 
really  did  think  that  he  had  done  very  well. 

The  horses  entered  for  the  first  race  now 
appeared,  and  Valentine  and  Llewellen  at 
once  made  their  way  towards  them,  for  the 
purpose  of  seeing  them  saddled.  They 
experienced,  however,  some  slight  difficulty 
here,  for  hundreds  were  rushing  at  the  same 
moment  with  the  view  of  seeing  the  same 
ceremony  performed.  They  did, 'however, 
eventually,  by  dint  of  perseverance,  manage 
to  get  to  the  point  proposed;  and  the  sight 


of  the  highly-trained  beautiful  creatures, 
that  seemed  to  be  anxious  to  exhibit  their 
symmetry  and  action  to  the  best  possible 
advantage,  well  repaid  them  for  the  tempo- 
rary inconvenience  of  a  rush. 

At  various  points  groups  of  sharp-fea- 
tured, hard-mouthed,  sporting  individuals, 
were  engaged  in  giving  and  taking  the 
odds,  with  as  much  profound  earnestness 
as  if,  indeed,  betting  not  only  formed  the 
principal  business  of  their  lives,  but  the 
only  great  object  for  which  they  had  been 
born.  It  was  pleasant  to  behold  the  sensa- 
tion created  by  the  appearance  of  a  rich 
and  inexperienced  young  fellow,  as  he  ap- 
proached these  acute  old  characters.  They 
eyed  him,  and  wriggled  round  and  round 
him,  apparently  bent  upon  searching  his 
very  soul  to  ascertain  in  what  way  it  was 
possible  to  take  him  fairly  in.  It  was 
evident  that  they  viewed  it  as  a  general 
commercial  matter,  and  as  they  all  seemed 
most  anxious  to  do  business,  Valentine, 
making  his  voice  appear  to  proceed  from 
the  lips  of  a  likely  looking  personage,  cried 
"fifty  to  one  against  the  saint!" 

"Done,  my  lord,  in  thousands!"  cried 
one  of  the  sharpest,  producing  his  book 
on  the  instant. 

"  ril  take  you,  my  lord,"  said  another. 

"  I'll  take  you  over  again,"  cried  a  third; 
and  his  lordship,  on  being  thus  suddenly 
beset,  looked  at  them  as  mysteriously  as 
possible. 

"Is  it  to  be  in  thousands,  my  lord?" 
inquired  the  person  who  had  first  addressed 
him,  and  who  had  already  half  entered  the 
bet. 

"  Is  what  to  be  in  thousands?"  demanded 
his  lordship. 

"  Why  the  fifty  to  one  your  lordship 
offered." 

"  I  never  offered  fifty  to  one." 

"Beg  pardon,  my  lord,  but  really  I 
fancied — indeed  I— some  gentleman  offered 
that  bet!"  when,  as  they  certainly  were, 
under  the  circumstances,  wonderful  odds, 
he  looked  round  with  extraordinary  sharp- 
ness for  him  who  had  offered  to  give  them. 

By  this  time  one  horse  only  remained  to 
be  saddled  for  the  Castle  stakes,  and  he  was 
indeed  a  noble  animal,  and  seemed  actually 
to  know  it.  His  owner  was  standing  by 
his  side,  apparently  lost  in  admiration  of 
his  beauty,  while  the  little  old  jockey,  who 
had  adjusted  the  saddle  upon  his  own  back, 
as  if  he  intended  to  mount  himself,  was 
twisting  about,  and  looking  knowingly  at 
every  point,  as  if  powerfully  struck  with  an 
idea  that  he  should  win. 

"  I'll  bet  a  hundred  to  one  against  that 
horse,"  cried  Valentine.  "  He's  sure  to  be 
last." 


326 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"  What,  my  oss!  I'll  take  you!"  cried 
the  little  old  jockey,  turning  round  with 
astonishing  promptitude  and  spirit,  while 
the  owner  of  the  animal  looked  at  him 
from  whom  the  voice  seemed  to  proceed 
with  an  expression  of  ineffable  contempt. 

This  person  was  a  farmer,  and  one  who 
would  not  have  offered  any  such  odds;  and 
he  said  so  distinctly,  and  with  consummate 
point,  as  the  jockey  observed,  that  if  he 
meant  anything,  he  had  better  then  put  his 
money  down.  This  threw  the  innocent 
farmer  into  a  state  of  perspiration,  which 
poured  upon  a  gentleman  who  sat  under  the 
rail,  bobbing  at  a  cherry,  with  unspeakable 
delight. 

The  horse  was  now  saddled;  and  when 
the  jockey  had  mounted,  they  all  repaired 
to  the  starting  post  at  once.  Although  it 
was  not  the  grand  race,  great  anxiety  pre- 
vailed: it  was  manifest  that  thousands  upon 
thousands  of  pounds  had  been  staked  upon 
the  issue  even  of  that. 

"  Hur  say,  my  poy,  every  potty's  pet- 
ting," said  Llewellen;  "can't  we  have  a 
pet?" 

"  Why,  I  think  we  might  manage  even 
that,"  replied  Valentine. 

"  Well,  phot  shall  it  pe?" 

"  Oh,  anything  you  please;  1  am  not  at 
all  particular." 

"  Very  coot.  Hur'll  pet  you  the  pest 
tinner  to  pe  hat,  that  the  horse  that  was 
last  sattled  wins." 

"Very  well,"  returned  Valentine,  "let 
it  be  so.  He  ought  to  win;  that  seems 
quite  clear:  but  a  race  is  not  invariably  won 
by  the  best  horse." 

"Phot,  tont  you  think  the  jockeys  will 
win,  if  they  can"?" 

"  Undoubtedly  they  will,  if  they  can  get 
more  by  winning  than  by  losing." 

"  Tear  now,  t'cootness,  are  they  not  to  pe 
trusted]" 

"There  are  but  few  of  them  whom  / 
should  feel  at  all  inclined  to  trust.  Human 
nature,  as  we  find  it  developed  in  jockeyism, 
certainly  is  not  quite  perfect. 

"  Put,  look  you,  if  one  of  those  fellows 
were  to  keep  a  horse  pack,  wouldn't  he 
therepy  lose  his  character?" 

"Oh,  not  at  all;  he  may  struggle  with 
desperation;  he  may  apparently  do  his  ut- 
most to  urge  the  horse  on,  and  get  applauded 
for  doing  his  utmost,  without  allowing  him 
to  win." 

"  Phy  then  it  all  depends  upon  the 
jockey!" 

"Entirely,  if  he  be  on  the  best  horse;  he 
has  the  power  in  his  own  hands;  and  prizes 
are  sometimes  afloat,  too  brilliant  to  be 
resisted  by  even  the  honour  of  a  jockey." 

"Then  look  you,  when  we  pet  upon  a 


race,  we  in  reality  pet  upon  the  honour  cf 
the  fellow  who  happens  to  rite  the  pest 
horse!" 

"  Precisely.     It  amounts  but  to  that." 

All  was  now  ready;  the  course  was  clear; 
the  signal  was  given,  and  the  horses  were 
off.  "  Here  they  come;  here  they  come!" 
shouted  the  mass.  "  Hats  off  there,  hats 
«$7— Hurrah! — Go  along! — Cut  away! — 
Now!  now!  now!  Blue  for  a  million! — 
Stripe! — Fly! — There's  a  pace! — Now  then! 
— Beautiful!—  In  to  him! — Out  and  out!— 
BRAVO!" 

The  race  was  decided,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment all  on  the  course  knew  which  had  won. 
The  excitement  was  no  sooner  raised  than 
subdued.  The  thing  was  over  in  a  minute. 
No  species  of  pleasure  can  be  of  itself  more 
fleeting,  than  that  of  a  race.  The  horses 
are  off;  they  pass,  they  are  in! — the  eye  can 
scarcely  rest  upon  them  before  the  issue  is 
known. 

"Well,  my  poy,"  said  Llewellen,  "Hur've 
cot  to  stand  the  tinner.  To  you  think  that 
little  wretch  tit  his  pest?" 

"  He  appeared  to  do  all  in  his  power." 

"  Well,  perhaps  he  tit,  look  you;  put 
t'cootness  knows  it  now — hur  tit  think  that 
he  titn't.  But  come  along;  shall  we  have 
tinner  now,  or  phen? 

"  Oh,  not  yet!  Let  us  wait  until  after 
the  Cup  race,  and  then  we  can  take  our  own 
time." 

"  Very  coot:  yes,  that  will  pe  petter. 
But  hur  say,  my  poy,  let's  co  into  one  of 
those  pooths,  and  win  some  money." 

"  Let  us  go  in  and  lose  some,  you  mean, 
of  course." 

"  Phot,  don't  they  play  fair?" 

"Upon  my  word,  I'd  not  undertake  to 
prove  that  they  do;  but  if  you  do  play,  you 
had  better,  at  once,  make  up  your  mind  to 
lose." 

"  Well,  it  won't  matter  much  if  hur  too 
lose  a  little." 

"  But  why  do  you  want  to  play  at  all? 
You  have  plenty  of  money;  quite  as  much 
as  you  want:  you  have  no  use  for  more. 
But  you  are  certain  to  lose." 

"  Well,  never  mind:  Hur'll  only  lose  a 
sovereign;  a  sovereign  is  nothing!" 

"Fred,"  said  Valentine,  pointing  to  a 
poor  withered  heartbroken  creature,  who 
seemed  to  have  travelled  far  to  beg,  but 
know  scarcely  how  to  do  it,  for  she  had 
evidently  seen  more  prosperous  days, 
"  would  a  sovereign  be  considered  nothing 
there?" 

Llewellen  drew  his  purse,  and  having 
taken  out  a  sovereign,  placed  it  in  the  hand 
of  the  poor  old  creature,  who  looked  at  it, 
and  then  looked  at  him,  and  then  burst  into 
tears.  From  her  soul  she  seemed  to  bless 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


327 


him,  but  she  had  not  the  power  of  utterance 
then. 

"  Will  not  that  do  more  good  than  if  you 
had  given  it  to  those  swindlers'?"  said  Va- 
lentine. 

"Hur  feel  it  will,"  replied  Llewellen, 
"  hur  feel  it  will.  Put  hur  say,  my  poy, 
let's  co  in  only  to  look." 

"Oh,  by  all  means!  All  I  object  to  is  the 
encouragement  given  to  such  pernicious 
scoundrels!" 

"  Phot,  are  they  all  scountrels,  look 
you?" 

"There's  not  a  commonly  honest  man 
amongst  them.  They  have  no  honour  to 
keep  them  honest:  in  fact,  they  know  no- 
thing of  the  feeling  of  honour!" 

"  Then  they  must  pe  pat  fellows,  pecause 
they  want  put  to  pe  poor,  to  pe  retty  for 
plunter." 

"  They  profess  to  be  as  honest  as  they 
can  afford  to  be,  Fred,  which  has  a  most 
comprehensive  meaning.  Well,  it  matters 
not,  I  suppose,  which  we  go  into:  let  us  go 
into  this." 

They  accordingly  entered,  and  found 
everything  arranged  in  brilliant  style:  the 
place  was  elegantly  festooned;  the  ground 
was  carpeted;  there  was  a  table  on  either 
side,  and  one  at  the  top,  while  a  temporary 
sideboard  stood  near  the  entrance,  on  which 
there  were  sherry,  champagne,  soda-water, 
and  brandy,  for  those  players  who  might 
descend  to  call  for  a  glass  of  either  gratis. 
On  each  table  an  immense  amount  of  money 
appeared:  piles  of  notes,  heaps  of  gold,  and 
imperial  pecks  of  silver:  but  as  the  upper 
appeared  to  be  the  principal  table,  they 
made  their  way  to  it  at  once. 

The  person  who  presided  at  this  table 
was  one  of  those  excessively  amiable 
creatures  who  appear  to  have  no  real  enemy 
but  the  law.  His  countenance  was  screwed 
into  an  inflexible  grin;  every  muscle  ap- 
peared to  be  at  its  utmost  stretch.  Men 
laughed  when  they  looked  at  him — laughed 
when  they  lost:  he  defied  them  to  help  it — 
he  would  make  them  laugh.  Had  he  picked 
their  pockets  in  the  most  literal  manner, 
they  could  scarcely  have  felt  offended  with 
the  man;  while,  if  even  they  had  given  him 
in  charge,  he  would  have  made  the  police 
laugh  too  heartily  to  hold  him. 

Valentine  watched  him  for  a  time  with 
some  interest,  for  he  found  him  to  possess 
— although  he  did  grin  perpetually — the 
keenest  eye  to  business  he  ever  beheld; 
and  as  he  could  not  help  wishing  to  ascer- 
tain if  it  were  possible  to  make  him  look 
serious,  he  made  up  his  mind,  having  no 
great  respect  for  the  profession,  to  try. 

44  Nora,  my  leetle  roley-poley,"  cried  the 
presiding  genius — his  custom  always  when 


he  sent  round  the  ball — "off  again,  my 
little  hinnocent! — there's  a  leetle  beauty! — 
make  yer  game,  genelmen's  sons! — make 
yer  game!" 

"  Hush!"  cried  Valentine,  with  a  des- 
perate hiss,  which  he  dexterously  sent 
beneath  the  table. 

"  Hul-lo!"  in  a  sweet  tone,  exclaimed 
the  laughing  creature.  "  Bless  yer  leetle 
heart!  Are  you  ony  there]— nothink  more? 
Veil,  come  now,  that's  werry  reasonable  at 
the  price.  I  say,  Bill,  my  affectionate! — 
here's  ony  a  hindiwidual  which  is  anxious 
for  you  to  take  him  by  the  scruff  off  the 
neck,  and  to  shy  him  bang  out  off  the 
booth." 

"Vare?"  cried  the  affectionate  Bill, 
whose  general  aspect  was  not  quite  so 
amiable  as  that  of  his  friend.  "  Vare  his  e?" 

"Oh,  ony  under  the  table  here!  and  no- 
think  less." 

"Hunder  the  table!"  cried  the  affec- 
tionate, darting  round  with  something  like 
ferocity. 

"  Don't  go  for  to  wring  the  blessed  neck 
of  the  genelman:  don't  mercycree  him,  not 
by  no  manner  off  means." 

"Hullo,  I  say!"  cried  the  affectionate, 
peering  beneath  the  table  with  remarkable 
acuteness:  "  now  hout  o'  that  will  yer? — 
vot  d'yer  vornt  there!" 

"  Hush!"  whispered  Valentine,  "  Hush!" 

"  Ony  a  kipple!"  exclaimed  the  laughing 
genius,  "  and  no  more!" 

"  Vort  d'yer  mean!"  cried  the  affectionate 
Bill,  who  now  got  completely  under  the 
table,  and  looked  about  him  with  praise- 
worthy zeal.  "  Vy,  there's  no  coves  here!" 
he  added,  addressing  his  friend. 

"  Jlint  there!  I  des  say  there  aint.  No, 
praps  I  didn't  hear  'em!  No,  it  aint  a  bit 
likely  I  did!  How  unfortunate  I'm  deaf!" 

"1  tell  yer,  it's  pickles!"  cried  the  affec- 
tionate Bill.  "There  aint  nobody  here. 
Can't  yer  believe  me?  Look  yerself." 

"  Not  if  I  know  it.  What,  don't  you  see 
the  dodge?  Don't  you  see,  if  I  was  for  to 
take  my  leetle  eyes  off  the  tin,  their  pals 
wouldn't  p'raps  borrow  a  trifle?  OA,  no! 
I  don't  s'pose  they  would." 

"  Carnt  yer  kiver  it  up?"  cried  the  affec- 
tionate. 

"  Keep  close! — keep  close!"  whispered 
Valentine. 

"There  aint  no  one  there,  you  think, 
don't  you?"  cried  the  genius,  and  in  an  in- 
stant his  affectionate  friend  resumed  his 
search,  while  he  himself  kept  rather  a  keen 
eye  upon  the  specie,  expecting  every  mo- 
ment an  attack  upon  the  bank.  But  the 
affectionate  certainly  could  see  no  one  there! 
— not  a  soul!— which  was  indeed  somewhat 
striking,  and  he  said  so  pointedly,  and 


328 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


without  the  slightest  fear  of  contradiction, 
and  he  felt  himself  in  consequence  justified 
in  declaring  that  there  was  no  one  there, 
which,  however,  failed  to  shake  the  convic- 
tion of  his  friend,  who  intimated  boldly  that 
he  wouldn't  believe  him  if  even  he  were  to 
swear  till  he  sweat. 

"  Do  you  think,"  he  added,  with  an  ironi- 
cal grin,  "  that  you'll  go  for  to  gammon  me 
into  that  air!  I'm  hinnocent,  I  know,  but  I 
wasn't  born  yesterday  exactly." 

Valentine  now  introduced  a  remarkably 
slight  chuckle,  which,  slight  as  it  was, 
caused  the  laughing  genius  to  come  at  once 
to  a  decision.  "  Ftt  see  after  you  now,  my 
leetle  darlings!"  said  he,  as  he  gathered  up 
the  cloth  with  which  the  table  was  covered, 
to  render  the  bank  more  secure.  "I'll  see 
what  you're  made  on,  and  no  mistake  in 
any  indiwidual  pint.  Now,"  he  added, 
after  having  made  all  safe,  "let's  see  the 
colour  off  your  compaction." 

He  stooped,  and  looked  round  the  interior, 
with  one  fist  duly  prepared  for  the  delivery 
of  an  extraordinary  blow,  and  one  foot  just 
as  ready  for  the  prompt  administration  of  an 
equally  extraordinary  kick.  But  where  were 
they  for  whom  these  favours  were  designed1? 
He  really  couldn't  see  them! — he  could'nt 
see  one  of  them, — not  even  one!  He  wished 
he  could;  and  if  he  had,  the  immediate 
consequences  to  that  one — let  him  have  been 
whomsoever  he  might — would  in  all  proba- 
bility have  been  unpleasant. 

"  Where  are  you,  my  darlings!"  he  en- 
quired, in  the  most  insinuating  manner. 
"  Ony  say!  I  shall,  indeed,  be  werry  happy 
to  see  you!  I'm  sorry  you  should  cut  your 
little  interesting  sticks." 

"  Vale,  can  you  see  'em]"  spitefully  de- 
manded the  affectionate. 

"Not  exact.  Praps  I  wouldn't  give  a 
small  trifle  if  I  could.  How  they  managed 
their  luckies  though,  cert'ny  gets  over  me  a 
leetle  above  a  bit." 

"They  couldn't  do  it!"  cried  the  affec- 
tionate. "  How  could  they  go  for  to  get 
out  if  they  was  in?" 

"That's  the  particular  dodge  as  walks 
over  me,  rayther.  Howsoever  the  hinno- 
cents  aint  here  now! — that's  about  as  clear 
as  mud!— still  the  go's  oncommon.  But 
never  mind:  I've  ony  lost  the  pleasure  off 
letting  'em  know  that  I  would'nt  have  given 
'em  nothink  by  no  means.  But*  to  busi- 
ness," he  added,  readjusting  the  cloth. 
"Now,  genelmen's  sons,  make  yer  game! 
— make  yer  game!  Here's  fortun  at  yer  feet, 
and  you've  ony  got/or  to  pick  it  up — make 
yer  game!" 

During  the  whole  of  this  time,  the  shining 
countenance  of  the  genius  presented  one 
immutable  grin.  A  frown  never  came  over 


it  for  an  instant:  not  a  cloud  even  approached 
it — a  fact  which  went  far  to  induce  Valen- 
tine to  suppose  that  his  face  was  incapable 
of  any  other  expression  than  that  of  unadul- 
terated glee.  He  was  not,  however,  quite 
convinced  of  this,  and  therefore,  in  order 
that  he  might  not,  on  a  point  of  much  im- 
portance, entertain  a  false  impression,  he 
resolved  to  bring  the  matter  once  more  to 
the  test. 

The  genius  was  still  actively  engaged 
with  the  ball,  lavishing  upon  it  the  most 
endearing  eulogia,  and  making  it  abundantly 
clear  to  all  around  that  he  appreciated  highly 
its  innocence  and  beauty.  Nor  was  this 
unnatural.  He  was  winning  very  fast,  and 
the  stakes  were  rather  heavy,  and  as  it, 
strangely  enough,  happened  that  the  more 
he  won,  the  more  rapturous  he  became,  he 
had  just  attained  the  highest  pitch  of  ecsta- 
sy, when  Valentine  sent  beneath  the  table 
an  extraordinary  laugh. 

"  Hullo!11  cried  the  genius,  who  kicked 
out  furiously',  and  by  virtue  of  doing  so 
injured  his  shin.  "  Bill,  come  here!  Here 
they  are  again!  Ony  let  me  jist  ketch  'em, 
the  warmint!" 

His  countenance  fell!— This  was  not  to 
be  borne.  He  was  reaping  a  harvest  of 
plunder,  and  his  time  might  be  valued  at 
ten  pounds  per  minute.  It  was  cutting. 
He  couldn't  bear  it;  and  as  the  laughter 
still  continued,  his  rage  rose  to  a  high  pitch 
of  frenzy.  No  endearing  terms  were  ap- 
plied to  the  invisibles  then:  they  were  no 
longer  darlings — no  longer  little  innocents: 
he  no  longer  blessed  their  little  hearts;  but 
on  the  contrary,  his  epithets  proved  to  all 
around  that,  like  the  rest  of  his  patronized 
caste,  he  was  a  most  depraved  ruffian; 
when  as  Valentine  was  more  especially 
satisfied  of  this,  he  and  Llewellen  left  the 
booth,  duly  impressed  with  the  conviction 
of  its  being  monstrous  that  the  practices  of 
these  degraded  wretches  should  be  so  ex- 
tensively encouraged. 

During  the  time  they  were  in  this  den  of 
"  honourable"  thieves,  the  second  race  had 
been  run;  they  therefore  established  them- 
selves in  a  commanding  position  to  see  the 
grand  race  of  the  day.  In  this  all  the 
interest  appeared  to  be  centered.  Thou- 
sands were  waiting  the  issue  with  an  anxiety 
the  most  intense;  and  although  thousands 
more  cared  but  little  about  which  might  be 
the  winner,  it  was  the  grand  race,  and  that 
was  sufficient  to  rivet  the  attention  of  all. 

"  Well,  my  poy!"  said  Llewellen,  "  let 
us  have  another  pet:  come,  hur'll  pet  you  a 
pottle  of  wine." 

"About  what?" 

"Oh,  anything  you  please.    Hur  tont 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


329 


know  one  of  the  horses.  Come,  how  is  it 
to  pe?" 

"  Why  one  of  us  had  better  take  the  two 
first  horses  against  the  field." 

"Very  well!  Which  shall  have  the 
first?" 

"  Oh,  it  matters  not!     You  take  them." 

"Very  coot!  Now  look  out:  the  two  first 
are  mine." 

The  horses  started.  It  was  an  excellent 
start.  They  were  all  off  together,  and 
seemed  to  fly.  It  was  a  long  and  most 
beautiful  race,  and  being  on  all  hands 
admirably  contested,  the  excitement  was 
well  kept  up  till  the  last.  The  favourite 
won  by  half  a  length,  and  when  the  result 
became  known,  it  was  interesting  to  dis- 
criminate between  the  winners  and  the 
losers.  Sunshine  on  the  one  hand,  and 
clouds  on  the  other,  marked  those  of  each 
class  with  unerring  distinctness.  It  seemed 
to  be  impossible  to  make  a  mistake.  No 
man  could  suppose  that  they  who  sported 
heavy  overhanging  brows  and  compressed 
lips,  were  the  winners;  or  that  they  were 
the  losers  who  looked  round  and  smiled. 
Some  it  is  true  can  bear  to  lose  better  than 
others;  for  there  are  men  who  cannot  lose 
to  the  extent  even  of  a  pound  without  feel- 
ing remarkably  wretched;  but  although 
there  are  many  who  make  a  point  of  kin- 
dling up  their  countenances,  in  order  to  make 
it  appear  when  they  lose  that  they  feel  just 
as  joyful  as  if  they  had  won;  the  amiable 
hypocrisy  is  perceptible  at  a  glance,  so  sure 
are  they  to  overdo  the  thing  with  a  smile 
which  is  truly  expressive  of  nothing  but 
pain. 

Valentine  lost  of  course,  but  his  loss  was 
so  inconsiderable  that  he  scarcely  gave  it  a 
thought;  yet  even  he  did  not  appear  to  be 
so  highly  pleased  quite  as  Llewellen:  for 
although  it  is  possible  for  a  man  to  avoid 
the  expression  of  pain  when  he  loses,  he 
cannot  avoid  expressing  pleasure  when  he 
wins. 

As  soon  as  the  excitement  produced  by 
the  race  had  subsided,  Llewellen  became 
impatient  for  dinner,  and  as  his  importuni- 
ties increased  in  earnestness  every  moment, 
they  entered  a  booth  in  which  various  kinds 
of  provisions  were  displayed  in  the  most 
tempting  manner  possible. 

"  Now,  my  poy,"  said  Llewellen,  "  pe- 
fore  we  pekin,  too  let's  have  a  pottle  of 
peer,  for  inteet  cootness  knows  it,  hur  feel 
fit  to  trop." 

A  bottle  of  stout  was  therefore  obtained, 
and  while  Llewellen  was  whetting  his 
appetite  with  that,  Valentine  ordered  the 
dinner  of  an  extremely  fat  fussy  attendant, 
who  obviously  prided  himself  much  upon 
his  agility.  It  appeared  that  he  had  never 
29 


learned  to  walk;  run  he  could  with  any  man 
in  England  of  his  size;  but  he  was  clearly 
afraid  to  trust  himself  out  of  a  trot.  His 
pace  was  about  eight  miles  an  hour,  and 
out  of  that  pace,  when  in  motion,  it  was 
manifestly  impossible  for  him  to  get. 
When  called,  he  seemed  startled:  his  legs 
were  shocked:  they  could  no  more  have 
kept  still  when  a  man  shouted  "  Waiter!" 
than  they  could  if  they  had  been  at  that 
moment  powerfully  galvanized.  He  was, 
in  short,  one  of  the  most  perfect  pieces  of 
mechanism  ever  produced  in  the  shape  of  a 
man;  while  the  state  of  excitement  in 
which  he  revelled  was,  in  the  abstract, 
distressing. 

While  dining,  Valentine  watched  the  ex- 
traordinary movements  of  this  automaton 
with  a  high  degree  of  pleasure.  It  was  the 
first  of  the  species  he  had  ever  seen,  for  a 
regular  waiter  is  a  different  thing  altogether. 
There  is  little  about  him  to  excite  admira- 
tion. He  is  all  starch  and  method.  When 
sober  he  seems  to  know  exactly  what  he  is 
about.  Nothing  can  get  him  into  a  run:  he 
wouldn't  do  it  to  save  the  soul  of  any  man 
upon  earth.  But  here  was  one  of  the  "oc- 
casional*' hands,  whose  assiduity  is  at  all 
times  striking.  They  can  no  more  be  got 
to  walk  than  the  "  regulars"  can  be  got  to 
run,  wherein  lies  the  difference  between 
the  two  classes. 

No  sooner  had  Valentine  brought  his 
mind  to  bear  upon  this  highly  impressive 
distinction,  than  an  over-dressed  personage 
marched  into  the  booth  with  a  rather  re- 
markable degree  of  pomposity,  and  having 
looked  very  severely  upon  all  around,  took 
his  seat  with  an  immense  air,  removed  his 
hat,  of  which  the  shape  was  rather  recherche, 
adjusted  his  curls,  raised  his  stock,  and 
called  "  Waiter!" 

The  occasional  on  the  instant  flew  to 
him,  as  if  a  flash  of  forked  lightning  had 
been  pricking  him  behind,  and  rather 
trembled  to  behold  the  immense  one  who, 
as  he  frowned,  said  with  much  regal  dig- 
nity, "Waiter!  or — er,  bring  me  some 
lunch." 

"  Weal  an  am  sir  chicken  sir  beef  roast 
an  biledl" 

"  Well-or-m!  bring  me  a  dish  of  ham  an 
beef.  And-or— "  he  added  with  great  de- 
liberation, waving  his  hand  with  theatrical 
elegance — "You  raay-or — "  He  was  about 
to  say  more,  but  the  occasional  was  out  of 
sight,  and  had  they  both  kept  on,  by  the 
time  the  one  had  finished,  the  other  might 
with  ease  have  got  a  mile  or  two  below  the 
horizon.  As  the  occasional  however  had 
not  so  far  to  go,  he  soon  shot  back  with  the 
dish  of  ham  and  beef  that  had  been  ordered, 
and  when  the  great  man  had  given  another 


330 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


order  for  some  stout,  he  set  to  work  with 
Considerable  spirit. 

It  was  then  five  o'clock — a  fact  which 
Would  not,  perhaps,  have  been  placed  upon 
record,  but  for  the  circumstance  of  the  in- 
dividual in  question  having  called  for  a 
"  lunch*' — and  as  Valentine  thought  that 
he  did  not  look  much  like  a  man  who  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  dining  at  eight,  he  felt 
curious  to  know  whether  that  dish  of  ham 
and  beef  was  or  was  not  to  be  in  reality  his 
dinner. 

But  then  the  question  was,  how  could 
this  knowledge  be  got  at:  how  could  the 
interesting  fact  be  ascertained1?  Valentine 
considered  for  a  moment,  and  having  con- 
ceived a  scheme  which  he  imagined  would 
be  effectual,  he  resolved  to  embrace  the  first 
opportunity  for  carrying  it  into  execution. 

By  this  time  the  immense  one  had  about 
half  emptied  the  dish,  and  as  the  occasional 
was  assiduously  hovering  near  him,  Valen- 
tine imitating  the  voice  of  the  pompous 
personage,  who  at  the  moment  was  raising 
a  glass  of  stout  to  his  lips,  cried,  "  Waitor! 
take  away  w.aitor! — cheese!" 

In  an  instant  the  occasional  seized  the 
dish  and  plate,  and  before  the  immense 
one,  who  was  drinking,  could  speak,  he 
had  reached  the  other  end  of  the  booth,  and 
shot  the  contents  of  both  into  a  bucket  of 
kitchen-stuff. 

"  Waitor!  waitor!"  shouted  the  immense 
one,  half  choked,  for  the  last  gulp  of  stout 
had  been  excessively  violent. — "  Waiter!"" 
"  Comln,  sir!— comin,  sir!"  cried  the  oc- 
casional, who  shot  back  at  once  with  a 
small  slice  of  cheese. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  waitor,  by  taking 
away  rny  dinner  before  Pm  half  done?" 

"I  beg  pardon,  sir,  reely  sir,  I  thought 
sir,  you  told  me." 

"Told  you!— Not  a  bit  of  it!— Bring  it 
back  instantly! — What  do  you  mean"?" 

Bring  it  back!  The  utterance  of  these 
awful  words  made  the  occasional  look  un- 
speakably blue.  Bring  it  back!  It  was  all 
very  well;  but  how  was  he  to  get  it?  He 
wasn't  going  to  pay  out  of  his  own  pocket 
for  half  a  dish  of  fresh!  A  thought  struck 
him! — He  glided  like  a  sound  substantial 
sylph  towards  the  bucket,  and  fished  the 
pieces  out,  and  having  scraped  them  into 
cleanliness,  he  placed  them  picturesquely 
upon  the  dish,  and  then  did  "  bring  it  back" 
with  great  presence  of  mind. 

"Another  time,  waiter,""  said  the  im- 
mense one,  "  remove  not  a  gentleman's 
plate  till  he  is  done;"  and  having  delivered 
himself  with  some  striking  dramatic  action 
to  this  effect,  he  recommenced  operations 
and  appeared  to  enjoy  it  much. 

Valentine  was  now  of  course  satisfied  on 


he  particular  point  proposed;  but  the  actor  , 
—for  an  actor  he  evidently  was— continued 
o  behave  in  so  ridiculous  a  fashion,  that 
lad  Valentine  met  with  him  in  any  other 
)lace,  he  would  doubtless  have  worked 
lim  into  a  high  state  of  frothy  excitement. 
"  Garshong!"  cried  the  great  one,  when 
the  ham  and  beef  had  wholly  disappeared. 
'Garshong!"  he  repeated, being  anxious  to 
make  a  hit,  as  there  were  several  persons 
near  him — u  Garshong!" 

The  occasional  heard  him,  but  conceiving 
very  naturally  that  some  other  gentleman 
>ad  been  called,  he  of  course  did  not  feel  it 
o  be  his  duty  to  interfere. 

"  WAITOR!"   at  length  shouted  the  im- 
mense one,  disgusted  with  the  fellow's  pro- 
bund  ignorance  of  the  French  language — 
'  Some  frummidge  here! — cheese!" 

"  Yes,  sir,  beg  pardon,  sir;  cheese,  sir, 
nd  what  else1?" 

"  Nothing,  you  unintellectual  individual," 
replied  the  great  man,  who  looked  round  for 
some  applause,  but  to  his  horror  he  "  hadn't 
a  hand."  When  therefore  the  cheese  had 
>een  produced,  he  set  to  work  upon  it  at 
once  in  a  somewhat  savage  manner,  which 
Valentine  no  sooner  perceived  than  assuming 
lis  voice,  and  making  it  appear  to  proceed 
from  his  lips,  he  cried  "  Waitor!  a  bottle  of 
the  best  champagne!" 

The  occasional  started  off  at  a  rate  which 
rather  exceeded  his  usual  eight  miles  an 
hour  to  execute  this  order,  and  on  his  re- 
turn very   naturally   placed   it  before   the 
reat  one,  who  seemed  somewhat  struck. 

"  Waiter,  what's  this1?"  he  demanded. 

"  Champagne,  sir." 

"  I  want  it  not;  why  bring  it  here?" 

"  You  ordered  it,  sir." 

"Fellow!  what  do  yoa  mean]  I  ordered 
it  not." 

"  I'd  be  sorry  to  say,  sir,  you  did-  if  you 
didn't." 

"Am  I  to  inform  your  master  of  your  in- 
solence? Away  with  it.  Do  you  hear?" 

"Beg  pardon,  sir,  but  I've  paid  for  it. 
I'm  obleeged  to  pay  for  everything  as  I  has 
'em." 

"And  what's  that  to  me?  Let  me  have 
no  more  of  it,  I  desire." 

"  Very  well,  sir;  only  you  ordered  it,  sir, 
that's  all.  I  shouldn't  have  brought  it  if 
you  hadn't." 

"  Waiter!"  cried  Valentine  in  his  natural 
voice. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  occasional,  who  ap- 
proached rather  gloomily. 

"What  have  you  there ?— gooseberry 
wine?" 

"  Champagne,  sir;  the  best  in  the  world." 

"It  is  good?" 

"  Excellent,  sir;  the  finest  ever  made." 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


331 


'« Then  open  it.'* 

With  all  the  alacrity  in  life,  the  occa- 
sional drew  the  cork,  and  as  he  evidently 
felt  much  better,  he  was  off  for  another 
glass  like  a  shot. 

The  immense  one  now  prepared  to  make 
his  exit.  He  did  not  appear  to  feel  happy. 
The  production  of  the  champagne  had  un- 
settled him  somewhat,  but  having  made  up 
his  noble  mind  to  leave  with  eclat^  he  cried, 
*'  Waitor!  now  then,  what's  the  damage!" 

"Am  an  beef  sir  cheese  sir  bread,  bottle 
stout — seven  an  six." 

"  What!"  exclaimed  the  great  one,  in- 
spired with  amazement. 

"  Seven  an  six,  sir,"  repeated  the  occa- 
sional, coolly. 

"Seven  and  sixpence!  Seven  and  six! 
What,  for  a  lunch?" 

"  That's  the  charge  for  what  you've  had." 

"Why,  they  never  charged  me  seven 
and  sixpence  for  a  lunch  at  the  Clarendon!" 

"  Werry  like,  sir,  some  stablishments 
cuts  werry  low;  but,  sir,  we  gives  the  best 
of  everythink  here." 

"Extortionate!  seven  shillings  and  six- 
pence for  a  lunch!  Why  I  never  in  my  life 
heard  of  so  gross  an  imposition." 

"  It  aint  a  imposition,  sir.  It's  nothink 
but  the  reg'lar  charge." 

"Silence,  sir!  don't  talk  to  me!  I  say  it 
is  an  imposition — a  vile  imposition!  The 
idea  of  seven  and  sixpence  for  a  lunch! 
There's  the  money.  I'll  post  you  all  over 
the  course." 

The  waiter  took  up  the  silver  which  had 
been  thrown  down  with  great  indignation, 
and  having  counted  it  slowly  three  times, 
looked  with  singular  significance  at  the 
victim. 
,"  Well,  why  look  at  me?  Is  it  right?" 

"  Seven  an  six,  sir.    Waitei,  sir,  please." 

"  Not  the  ghost  of  a  copper,  if  1  know 
it." 

"We  has  nothink  sir  ony  what  we  gets," 
urged  the  occasional;  but  the  immense  one 
contemning  this  powerful  Argument  in  fa- 
vour of  a  gratuity,  frowned  darkly,  and 
marched  from  the  booth. 

"He  is  some  creat  man, I  suppose,"  said 
Llewellen,  who  had  been  watching  his 
movements  for  some  time  with  interest. 

"  No  doubt,"  returned  Valentine,  "in  his 
own  estimation  he  is  the  greatest  man  of 
the  ajre." 

"  Putt  he  is  no  potty  inteet?  Tont  you 
think  he's  a  gentleman,  look  you?" 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  gentleman  act  like 
him? — But  come,  let  us  be  off,  or  we  shall 
lose  the  last  race." 

"  Very  coot,  hur'm  quite  ready." 

The  waiter  was  called,  and  when  they 
had  settled  with  him  to  his  entire  satisfac- 


tion, they  returned  to  the  course  full  of 
spirit.  All  but  the  last  race  had  been  de- 
cided, and  Valentine  began  to  amuse  him- 
self again  by  offering  the  most  extraordi- 
nary odds  upon  record.  The  betting  men 
were  perfectly  amazed.  They  perspired 
with  anxiety  to  take  the  odds  offered,  but 
their  utter  inability  to  discover  him  whom 
they  so  eagerly  panted  to  victimize,  was  a 
thing  which  they  could  not  at  all  under- 
stand, and  which  therefore  created  a  singu- 
lar sensation. 

To  Llewellen  all  this  was  uninteresting 
of  course.  Had  he  been  in  possession  of 
Valentine's  secret,  his  rapture  would  doubt- 
less have  been  rather  alarming;  but  being 
in  a  state  of  utter  ignorance  on  the  subject, 
he  naturally  held  it  to  be  extremely  dull 
work,  and  therefore  endeavoured  to  prevail 
upon  him  to  mingle  with  those  who  seemed 
somewhat  more  lively.  Valentine  consent- 
ed, and  as  there  were  yet  no  symptoms  of 
an  immediate  start,  he  proceeded  to  initiate 
him  into  the  various  systems  of  swindling 
which  characterize  race-courses  in  the  ag- 
gregate. Llewellen  was  absolutely  astound- 
ed when  practices,  of  which  he  had  never 
had  the  most  remote  conception,  were  ex- 
plained, and  when  Valentine  had  pointed 
out  to  him  divers  illustrations  of  the  truth 
of  what  he  had  stated,  he  began  to  look 
upon  all  those  who  thus  permitted  them- 
selves to  be  victimized  as  fools,  although 
on  many  occasions  he  found  it  difficult  to 
abstain  from  becoming  a  victim  himself. 
This  was  made  more  particularly  manifest 
while  they  were  standing  at  a  "  prick  in 
the  garter"  table,  at  which  a  gentleman  had 
a  long  piece  of  list,  which  he  wound  round 
and  offered  any  money  that  no  man  could 
prick  in  the  middle.  This  seemed  to  be 
simple,  very  simple,  very  simple,  indeed, 
and  the  gentleman  who  presided  laboured 
zealously  all  around  that  although  he  would 
bet  all  he  had  that  none  could  do  it,  his 
private  impression  was  that  nothing  on 
earth  could  more  easily  be  done.  Several 
gentlemen— who  were  perfectly  unknown 
to  him  of  course! — tried  and  won  divers 
sovereigns  off  hand,  which  had  the  effect 
of  inducing  Llewellen  to  believe  that  the 
conductor  was  most  intensely  stupid,  and 
ought  not  to  have  been  trusted  out  alone, 
and  so  firmly  did  he  entertain  this  belief, 
that  he  pitied  the  man,  and  was  about  to 
stake  a  sovereign  himself  solely  in  order  to 
convince  him,  that  as  he  had  not  the  most 
remote  chance  of  winning,  he  had  better 
shut  up  shop  and  go  quietly  home  to  his 
wife  and  family;  but  Valentine,  the  mo- 
ment he  perceived  Llewellen's  object,  did 
without  the  slightest  ceremony  drag  him 
away. 


332 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


The  next  respectable  group  they  met 
with,  had  been  attracted  by  a  thimble-rig- 
ging gentleman,  who  seemed  to  have  set 
his  soul  upon  losing  every  sovereign  he  had 
— and  he  displayed  about  forty — so  bun- 
gling and  awkward  he  appeared.  In  Lewel- 
Jen's  view  he  didn't  half  understand  his 
business.  It  was  perfectly  ridiculous  to 
suppose  a  man  incapable  of  discovering  the 
pea;  an  infant  might  have  told  where  it  was; 
the  only  thing  which  seemed  to  him  to  be 
extraordinary  was  that  a  man  with  eyes  in 
his  head  should  be  sufficiently  blind  to 
make  any  mistake  at  all  about  it.  The 
thing  was  so  palpable,  so  singularly  clear; 
the  impossibility  of  being  deceived  was 
manifest  even  to  the  meanest  capacity. 

"  Why,  my  poy !"  said  Llewellen,  "  can't 
you  tell  phere  it  is  every  time"?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Valentine,  "/can  tell, 
but  you  can't." 

"Pless  your  soul  ant  potty!  Hur'll  pe 
pount  to  tell  ninety-nine  times  out  of  a 
huntret." 

"  Where  do  you  suppose  it  to  be  now?" 

"Why,  under  the  mittle  thimple,  of 
course." 

"  It  is  not  under  either  of  the  thimbles; 
depend  upon  it,  Fred,  the  fellow  has  it  in 
his  hand." 

"Putt,  my  dear  poy,  hur  saw  him  place 
the  thimple  right  over  it." 

"  He  appeared  to  do  so;  but  as  he  placed 
the  thimble  down  he  took  the  pea  up:  he 
has  it  now  between  his  fingers,  and  were 
he  to  raise  the  one  nearest  to  us,  he  could 
make  it  appear  to  have  been  under  that." 

Llewellen  held  this  to  be  impossible,  and 
began  to  argue  the  matter  aside  with  great 
spirit.  He  contended  for  the  absurdity  of 
the  idea  of  a  fellow  like  that  being  able  to 
deceive  him,  and  expressed  himself  anxious 
to  have  one  trial  for  the  sole  purpose  of 
convincing  Valentine  of  his  error. 

"  How  strange  it  is,"  said  Valentine, 
"  that  men  will  not  be  guided  by  the  ex- 
perience of  others." 

"  Putt,  my  coot  fellow,  in  such  a  case  as 
this,  it  is  only  my  own  experience  that  can 
satisfy  me  that  what  you  conceive  to  be 
correct  really  is  so.  Shall  hur  try? — Just 
to  convince  you?" 

Valentine  smiled,  and  Llewellen  took  a 
sovereign  out  of  his  purse  and  went  close 
to  the  table.  It  was  in  an  instant  perceived 
that  he  had  been  caught,  and  the  thimbles 
were  adjusted,  when  with  the  most  perfect 
confidence  he  threw  down  his  sovereign, 
but  on  raising  the  thimble  beneath  whirh 
he  felt  quite  sure  the  pea  was,  he  dis- 
covered, as  a  mere  matter  of  course,  that 
beneath  that  thimble  the  pea  really  was 
not. 


On  this  highly  important  discovery  being 
made,  the  respectable  individuals  who  were 
standing  round  the  table  began  to  laugh 
very  loudly,  as  if  indeed  they  looked  upon 
it  as  an  extremely  good  joke,  but  Llewellen, 
after  having  made  a  series  of  mysterious 
faces,  while  he  yet  held  the  thimble  be- 
tween his  finger  and  thumb,  made  no  sort 
of  remark  upon  this  general  manifestation 
of  merriment,  but  left  the  spot  with  Valen- 
tine, wiser  than  before. 

"You  are  right,  my  poy,  quite  right," 
said  he,  "  t'  coolness  knows  it!  Putt  phy 
tit  they  laugh  so  particularly  phen  hur  lost? 
Phen  the  others  lost  they  titn't  laugh  at 
all!" 

"  No,  the  others  were  confederates;  each 
has  a  share  of  the  profits  of  the  speculation; 
they  have  nothing  to  laugh  at  when  they 
win  or  lose  among  themselves;  they  laugh 
only  when  they  happen  to  catch  a  gudgeon 
like  you,  Fred,  and  that  they  should  laugh 
at  such  a  time  is  not  amazing." 

"  Well,  inteet,  now  hur  never  was  pefore 
so  much  teceived.  Hur  was  as  sure  that 
that  little  fool  of  a  thing  was  there,  as  hur 
ever  was  of  anything  in  my  life.  Put,  how- 
ever, they  will  have  to  kit  up  very  early  in 
the  morning  inteet  to  kit  anything  like 
another  sovereign  out  of  me." 

"You  have  made  up  your  mind  then  not 
to  patronize  them  regularly?" 

"Never  more,  my  poy — never  more," 
said  Llewellen,  who  after  having  shaken 
his  head  with  sufficient  solemnity  to  convey 
an  idea  of  the  firmness  of  his  resolution, 
became  as  merry  on  the  subject  as  if  he  had 
merely  seen  the  process  performed  upon 
some  other  victim. 

The  horses  were  now  about  to  start  for 
the  last  race,  and  the  friends  took  their  sta- 
tion. They  had  another  bet  of  pourse; 
Llewellen  would  have  a  bet,  for  as  they 
had  made  up  their  minds  to  walk  back  to 
the  railway,  he  suggested  the  propriety  of 
stopping  to  have  one  more  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne at  Windsor,  and  coffee  at  Slough, 
which  suggestion  was  unopposed,  and  the 
race  commenced,  and  it  singularly  enough 
happened  to  be  as  much  like  all  other  races 
as  possible.  The  horses  started;  they  ran 
the  distance,  and  on  reaching  the  winning 
post  one  was  a-head.  It  is  inscrutable  per- 
haps, that  this  should  be  invariably  so;  but 
that  it  is  so  invariably,  is  a  fact  which  no 
man  may  dispute. 

Immediately  after  the  termination  of  this 
race  all  around  became  one  scene  of  bustle 
and  confusion.  Thousands  of  horses  were 
put  to  simultaneously,  and  every  crr.it'.iro 
seemed  anxious  to  quit  the  scene  as  soon  as 
possible.  Had  a  hostile  army  app»-;«rrd  in 
the  distance  they  could  not  have  been  in 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


333 


more  eager  haste  to  retreat,  while  each 
charioteer  seemed  to  have  made  up  his 
mind  to  break  the  necks  of  all  under  his 
immediate  protection. 

Valentine  and  Llewellen  walked  coolly 
from  the  course,  noticing  everything  worthy 


of  notice,  and,  accompanied  by  thousands, 
reached  Windsor,  where  they  stopped  as 
they  had  previously  proposed.  They  then 
went  on  to  Slough,  and  after  having  had 
coffee,  returned  to  town  by  one  of  the  trains 
highly  delighted  with  their  day's  recreation. 


CHAPTER  LXI. 


DESCRIBES  SEVERAL  INTERVIEWS,  BUT  MORE  PARTICULARLY  ONE  BETWEEN  WRITALL  AND 

RAVEN. 


ANOTHER  week  elapsed,  and  nothing  had 
been  decided.  Whitely,  who  had  resolved 
not  to  act  in  any  way  until  he  had  taken  the 
opinion  of  Serjeant  Talbot,  was  waiting  for 
the  Serjeant's  arrival  in  town,  although  Uncle 
John  urged  him  again  and  again  to  delay  the 
thing  no  longer,  but  to  take  the  best  advice 
he  could  immediately  procure.  In  the  mean 
time  Raven  confined  himself  almost  exclu- 
sively to  his  room.  His  spirits  continued 
to  be  dreadfully  depressed,  and  he  had  be- 
come so  excessively  peevish,  that  the  ser- 
vants absolutely  trembled  to  go  near  him. 
He  had  never  been  a  very  affectionate  mas- 
ter, and  they  knew  it,  but  the  way  in  which 
he  treated  them  then  was  in  their  view 
insufferable  beyond  all  precedent! — and  it 
was  very  harsh. 

There  was,  however,  one  of  them  to 
whom  he  was  particularly  mild,  and  that 
was  Joseph,  the  sentimental  porter,  whose 
comprehensive  faculties,  Valentine,  who 
viewed  him  as  a  most  superb  hypocrite  in 
his  way,  had  ever  gloried  in  distressing. 
Raven's  conspicuous  kindness  to  this  fel- 
low had  always  appeared  to  be  inexplica- 
ble. No  one  in  the  house  could  at  all 
understand  why  he  should  be  petted — for 
petted  he  had  ever  been,  albeit  he  was  a 
most  decided  wretch  in  appearance,  and 
remarkably  insolent  if  he  happened  to  be 
put  at  all  out  of  his  way.  His  fellow- 
servants  hated  him  heartily,  forasmuch  as 
theyMid  very  strongly  suspect  him  of  having 
on  sundry  occasions  told  divers  abominable 
tales  about  them,  with  the  view  of  deprecia- 
ting their  value  as  confidential  individuals 
in  their  master's  estimation;  but  they  never 
did  hate  him  so  intensely  as  then,  for 
while  Raven's  special  behaviour  to  him 
was  rendered  by  contrast  more  striking,  he 
had  become  a  great  man,  and  boasted  not 
only  of  the  money  he  possessed,  but  of  the 
fact  of  his  having  a  certain  person  under 
his  thumb!  which  they  held  to  be  very 
mysterious,  particularly  as  he  often  conde- 
scended to  explain  to  them,  that  he  might 


if  he  chose,  have  the  best  place  in  the 
house,  and  would,  but  that  the  one  he  then 
occupied  afforded  him  more  leisure  for  re- 
flection. All  this  was  intended  exclusively 
for  the  kitchen,  but  it  soon  reached  the  ears 
of  Louise  through  her  maid,  who  con- 
ceived it  to  be  her  duty  on  all  occasions  to 
be  as  communicative  as  possible,  and  the 
moment  she  heard  of  it,  it  became  known 
to  Valentine  of  course,  for  he  and  Louise 
were  now  as  one:  they  lived  in  each  other's 
hearts:  they  seemed  to  have  but  one  soul, 
and  while  in  him  she  found  a  perfect  realiza- 
tion of  her  dearest  hopes,  he  loved  her  so 
fondly  that 

"  If  heaven  had  made  him  such  another  world 
Of  one  entire  and  perfect  chrysolite, 
He'd  not  have  sold  her  for  it." 

"It  is  very  extraordinary,"  she  observed, 
after  explaining  the  whole  matter,  "  is  it  not? 
What  on  earth  can  he  mean  by  his  boast  of 
having  a  certain  person  under  his  thumb!" 

"Oh,  servants  will  talk,"  said  Valen- 
tine, who  was  anxious  for  Louise  to  think 
nothing  more  of  it.  "  We  ought  not  to 
examine  such  matters  too  closely;  it  were 
indeed  a  most  unprofitable  task  to  analyze 
everything  they  say." 

"But  whom  can  he  mean  by  a  certain 
person?  Surely  he  cannot  mean  papa?  And 
yet  the  way  in  which  papa  behaves  usually 
to  him,  has  frequently  struck  me  as  being 
most  strange.  1  cannot  endure  the  creature 
myself;  I  never  by  any  chance  speak  to  him; 
but  papa  is  continually  making  the  man  pre- 
sents. Upon  my  life  I  think  there  is  some- 
thing very  mysterious  about  it." 

"  Do  not  distress  yourself,  my  love,"  said 
Valentine.  "The  probability  is  that  the 
man  knew  the  secret  which  has  just  been 
disclosed,  and  presumed  upon  it  as  such 
fellows  will;  but  now  that  the  thing  is  no 
longer  a  secret,  his  power  is  of  course  at  an 
end." 

"That  was  it!— -no  doubt  of  it.    Well, 

29* 


334 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


now  it  never  struck  me.  I  have  always 
thought  it  singular  that  he  should  have 
been  treated  with  so  much  consideration; 
but  this  accounts  for  it  at  once." 

"If  I  were  your  father  I'd  kick  him  out 
of  the  house.  I'd  not  have  such  a  fellow 
about  the  premises." 

"  Nor  would  I;  for  he  is  a  very  idle  per- 
son, and  moves  like  a  sloth,  except  indeed 
it  be  to  promote  any  species  of  mischief. 
I'll  speak  to  papa  about  him.  I  should 
like  to  have  the  matter  cleared  up." 

"  You  had  better  not  mention  the  subject 
to  him  at  present.  It  will  but  annoy  him. 
Let  us  wait  till  things  are  settled." 

"Well,  perhaps  under  the  circumstances 
it  will  be  as  well  to  do  that.  But  I  do 
think  it  very  bad  conduct,  and  I  am  sure  it 
ought  not  to  be  concealed  from  papa." 

Valentine  now  changed  the  subject,  for 
although  he  affected  to  treat  the  thing 
lightly  before  Louise,  he  felt  that  the  mys- 
tery had  not  yet  been  solved,  and  that 
therefore  it  was  a  matter  upon  which  &he 
ought  not  to  be  permitted  to  dwell. 

A  few  days  after  this,  Serjeant  Talbot 
returned  to  town,  and  Whitely  lost  no  time 
in  going  to  consult  him.  He  explained  to 
him  how  the  case  stood  precisely;  every 
circumstance  was  mentioned;  he  kept  no- 
thing back,  and  the  result  was,  that  the 
Serjeant,  after  due  consideration,  declared 
.that  there  was  no  law  in  existence  by  which 
Raven  could  be  reached. 

"He  is  in  fact,"  said  he,  "shielded  by 
the  law.  It  is  his  panoply;  it  affords  him 
-  the  most  complete  protection.  It  is  of  course 
disgraceful  that  it  should  be  so;  but  the  law 
as  it  at  present  stands  allows  a  man  to  in- 
carcerate another,  however  sane,  under  the 
plea  of  insanity.  It  protects  him  in  the  act; 
no  malice  can  be  shown,  and  if  even  it 
could,  the  signatures  of  the  medical  men 
exonerate  him;  their  certificate  is  his  in- 
demnity, and  they  are  indemnified  in  turn 
by  the  law,  which  assumes  that  at  the  time 
such  certificate  was  signed,  the  victim  was, 
in  their  judgment,  insane.  For  this  then 
you  have  no  redress,  and  as  far  as  regards 
the  collateral  villanies— the  seduction  of 
your  wife,  the  disposition  of  your  property, 
and  so  on — you  are  not  in  a  position  to 
adduce  a  single  particle  of  proof;  you  have 
not  the  slightest  evidence  to  bring  forward; 
not  a  witness;  not  a  document  of  any  kind 
to  show.  My  advice  to  you,  therefore, 
under  the  circumstances,  is  to  come  to  an 
arrangement  with  this  person,  and  make  the 
best  terms  you  can." 

"  I3ut  is  it  not,"  said  Whitely,  "  a  duty  1 
owe  to  society  to  expose  such  a  villain!" 

"It  may  be;  but  have  you  the  power  to 
Jo  UT    And  if  you  have,  can  you  afford  to 


do  it!  These  are  two  highly  important 
questions  to  be  considered.  An  attempt  to 
xpose  him  effectually  would  in  all  proba- 
bility cost  five  hundred  pounds,  and  if  you, 
failed  in  that  attempt,  and  fail  you  most 
assuredly  would,  you  would  subject  your- 
self to  an  action  for  slander,  which  would 
cost  you  at  least  five  hundred  pounds 
more." 

"  But  can  I  not  compel  him  to  restore,  or 
at  least  to  give  me  some  information  re- 
specting my  children!" 

"  No.  What  if  he  were  to  say  that  he 
knows  nothing  of  them:  how  can  you  prove 
that  he  does!  Nay,  how  can  you  prove 
that  he  ever  saw  those  children!  You  have 
no  such  proof:  in  law,  his  word  of  course, 
would  be  held  to  be  equal  in  value  with 
your  own." 

"  But  do  you  not  think  that  if  I  were  to 
threaten  a  public  exposure  in  the  event  of 
his  withholding  this  information  from,  me, 
it  would  have  some  effect!" 

"  As  a  man  of  the  world  he  would  despise 
such  a  threat.  No;  as  he  appears  not  to  be 
quite  lost  to  every  sense  of  justice — for 
clearly  if  he  were  he  would  not  have  offered 
the  compromise  as  a  sort  of  reparation — 
you  can  stipulate  for  such  information  be- 
ing given:  that  is  to  say,  you  can  promise, 
provided  it  be  given,  to  consent  to  a  private 
arrangement.  But  let  me,  sir,  strongly  re- 
commend you  to  avoid  mistaking  perhaps 
a  natural  desire  for  revenge,  for  any  sense 
of  public  duty.  They  are  perfectly  distinct, 
but  often  confounded,  so  specious  an  excuse 
does  the  idea  of  such  public  duty  afford  for 
indulging  our  most  vindictive  passions. 
Men  frequently  inflict  upon  themselves 
irreparable  injury  by  falling  into  this  very 
error;  in  your  unhappy  case  this  mistake 
would  amount  to  utter  ruin." 

Whitely  was  convinced.  He  now  plainly 
perceived  that  Raven  was  beyond  the  reach 
of  law,  and  therefore  immediately  after 
his  consultation  with  Serjeant  Talbot,  he 
decided  upon  giving  his  answer  to  Uncle 
John,  who  had  been  anxiously  waiting  his 
return. 

"  Well,  my  friend,"  said  Uncle  John,  as 
Whitely  entered  the  room;  "  have  you  seen 
him!" 

"  Yes,"  replied  WThitely,  who  appeared 
to  be  unusually  depressed. 

"And  what  is  his  opinion!" 

"  He  has  proved  to  me,  my  friend,  that 
you  were  right — that  I  cannot  with  any 
degree  of  safety  proceed.  I  have  therefore 
no  alternative:  I  must  consent  to  an  arr.inm- 
ment,  provided  I  receive  from  him  such  in- 
formation as  may  lead  to  the  recovery  of 
my  children." 

"  All  the  information  he  can  give  respect- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


335 


ing  them  you  may  make  up  your  mind,  my 
friend,  to  have.  I'm  quite  sure  he'll  do  it. 
He  can  now  have  no  motive  for  withhold- 
ing it  from  you.  What  then  shall  I  pro- 
pose"? Shall  I  say  that  in  the  event  of  his 
giving  you  this  information,  you  will  accept 
the  sum  he  offered1? " 

"  No,"  replied  Whitely;  "  I  will  receive 
nothing1  from  him  but  that  which  is  my 
own.  I  cannot  of  course  tell  what  my 
property  realized;  but  as  he  can — for  I  have 
not  the  smallest  doubt  that  he  sold  it  and 
took  the  proceeds — let  him  return  to  me 
that  which  it  produced:  I  require  nothing 
more." 

•*  If  he  did  sell  it,  as  you  imagine,  he 
must  be  a  very  bad  man  indeed,  and  one 
with  whom  I  should  not  like  to  have  any 
dealings.  However,  as  I  have  gone  so  far 
I'll  not  retreat.  I'll  go  to  him  at  once,  and 
depend  upon  it  all  that  I  can  do  to  promote 
your  views  and  interests  shall  be  done." 

"Of  that  I  feel  convinced,  my  dear 
friend,"  replied  Whitely;  "I  leave  the 
whole  matter  with  the  most  perfect  confi- 
dence in  your  hands." 

Uncle  John  then  started;  and  at  about  the 
same  time  a  person  called  at  Raven's  house, 
and  having  ascertained  that  he  was  within, 
sent  up  his  card  with  an  intimation  that  he 
wished  to  speak  privately  with  him  on 
business  of  immediate  importance. 

"  Mr.  Writall!"  said  Raven,  on  looking 
at  the  card;  »*  I  don't  know  him.  Writall? 
— Well— let  him  walk  up." 

When  the  servant  had  departed  to  fetch 
Mr.  Writall,  Raven  endeavoured  not  only 
to  remember  the  name,  but  to  conceive  what 
this  business  of  importance  could  be.  In 
both  points,  however,  he  failed,  and  Mr. 
Writall  was  formally  ushered  into  the 
room. 

"Mr.  Raven,  I  presume,"  said  Mr. 
Writall,  with  all  his  characteristic  pom- 
posity, "  I  hope,  sir,  you  are  well." 

"Be  seated,  sir,"  said  Raven,  without 
replying  to  this  affectionate  interrogatory, 
and  Mr.  Writall  accordingly  took  a  seat, 
and  coughed  three  times  in  order  that  his 
throat  might  be  clear,  and  drew  out  his 
handkerchief  gracefully  and  wiped  his  no- 
ble brow,  and  then  said, 

"  Mr.  Raven,  my  object  in  calling  upon 
you,  requires  perhaps  some  little  prelimi- 
nary explanation  in  order  to  its  being  dis- 
tinctly understood.  I  am  a  solicitor,  sir, 
and  among  my  clients  I  have  the  honour  to 
number  Mr.  Whitely,  of  whom  I  believe 
you  have  some  slight  knowledge." 

Mr.  Writall  here  paused  to  watch  the 
effect  of  Whitely's  name  being  mentioned; 
but  Raven,  who  was  reposing  in  an  easy 


chair,  said,  "  Well,  sir?"  without  display- 
ing the  slightest  emotion. 

"My  client,  sir,"  continued  Mr.  Writ- 
all,  "  having  of  course  entered  into  that 
unfortunate  affair,  to  which  I  need  not  per- 
haps more  particularly  allude,  has  placed 
the  matter  entirely  in  my  hands;  but  as  I 
find  him  resolutely  bent  upon  vengeance, 
and  as  I  make  it  a  point  never  to  promote 
the  purely  vindictive  views  of  any  of  my 
clients,  I  have  called  upon  you,  conceiving 
you  to  be  a  man  of  the  world,  to  ascertain 
whether  the  thing  cannot  be  arranged,  you 
know,  privately  between  us." 

"  Has  Mr.  Whitely  authorized  you  to 
call?"  inquired  Raven. 

"  Decidedly  not.  No,  he  has  not  the  most 
remote  idea  of  my  calling." 

"Then  in  plain  terms,"  said  Raven, 
"your  object  is  to  sell  him1?" 

"  Why — er — not  exactly,"  replied  Mr. 
Writall,  who  at  the  moment  felt  somewhat 
confused  by  the  prompt  way  in  which  this 
matter-of-fact  question  was  put.  "  Most 
decidedly,  not  exactly." 

"Am  I  to  understand,"  said  Raven,  point- 
edly, "  that  you  regard  me  as  a  mere  man 
of  the  world?" 

"  Most  decidedly,"  replied  Mr.  Writall. 

"  Very  well,  then;  the  plainer  you  speak 
to  me  the  better.  Let  there  be  no  disguise; 
no  beating  about  the  bush;  let  everything 
be  perfectly  plain  and  straightforward. 
What  is  it  you  propose?"  \ 

"  Mr.  Raven,  you  have  saved  me  a  world 
of  trouble.  I'd  rather  do  business  with  one 
man  like  you,  than  with  fifty  who  have  no 
idea  of  the  nature  of  things,  and  who  are 
laden  with  scruples,  and  doubts,  and  appre- 
hensions. It  is  pleasurable  in  the  extreme 
to  transact — " 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Raven,  impatiently, 
"  let  us  come  to  the  point.  You  have,  you 
say,  the  management  of  this  affair  for 
Whitely]" 

"I  have;  and  he  certainly  has  been — " 

"  No  matter  what  he  has  been;  that  has 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it.  The  ques- 
tion is,  what  proposition  have  you  now  to 
make  to  me?" 

"  In  a  word,  then,  to  be  plain,  for  I  find 
that  we  perfectly  understand  each  other,  I 
am  prepared  to  undertake — of  course  for  a 
consideration — either  to  put  him  upon  the 
wrong  scent,  by  bringing  actions  which 
cannot  be  maintained,  or  to  induce  him  to 
agree  to  whatever  proposition  for  a  private 
arrangement  you  may  feel  disposed  to 
make." 

"  Is  it  your  impression  that  any  action 
which  may  be  brought  against  me  can  be 
maintained?" 

"Why,"  said  Writall,  with  an  air  of 


336 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


mystery,  "that  is  a  question  which  you 
cannot  at  present  expect  me  to  answer.  It 
would  hardly  be  honest  to—" 

"In  this  business,"  interrupted  Raven, 
"we  had  better  not  speak  about  honesty." 

"  Well,  I  agree  with  you;  perhaps  it 
would  be  better  to  put  that  altogether  out 
of  view;  but  you  see,  as  far  as  I  am  alone 
concerned,  it  would  not  be  quite  prudent  to 
explain  just  at  present  my  own  private  feel- 
ings upon  that  point." 

"I  understand  you.  Nor  is  it  essential 
that  you  should.  Your  disinclination  to 
answer  the  question  is  a  sufficient  proof  to 
me  that  you  do  not  think  that  any  action 
can  succeed." 

"  Why,  I  don't  know  that." 

"  As  a  lawyer,  you  must  know  that  no 
law  can  touch  me!" 

"  Well,  even  assuming  it  to  be  so,  of 
course  you  are  aware  that  you  are  in  a  posi- 
tion to  be  seriously  annoyed." 

"Now  you  speak  !  I  am  quite  aware  of 
that,  and  am  anxious  to  avoid  it.  I  wish  to 
take  no  advantage  of  your  client;  on  the 
contrary,  I  am  willing  to  give  him  the  sum 
I  proposed,  provided  he  will  give  me  an 
undertaking  that  he  will  let  the  unhappy 
affair  drop  for  ever.  If  you  can  induce  him 
to  do  this,  you  and  I  may  come  to  terms; 
if  not,  why  he  must  take  his  own  course, 
and  the  matter  as  between  you  and  me  will 
be  at  an  end." 

"  I  will  undertake  at  once  to  induce  him 
to  do  this." 

"  You  of  course  have  the  power?" 

"  Beyond  all  dispute." 

"  Very  well.  As  his  legal  adviser  you 
ought  to  possess  the  power  to  do  it;  and  in 
the  event  of  its  being  done,  what  would 
you  consider  a  fair  remuneration1?" 

"  Why — you  see — 1  can  scarcely  tell.  I'd 
much  rather  leave  it  to  your  liberality." 

"Leave  nothing  to  rny  liberality.  Let 
us  come  to  terms  at  once." 

•'  Well,  should  you — as  it's  rather  an  ir- 
regular thing — should  you  consider  now,  a 
hundred  pounds  too  much1?" 

"No;  I'll  give  you  a  hundred  pounds, 
and  the  sooner  you  earn  it  the  better." 

"Depend  upon  it,  sir,  it  shall  be  done." 

"Very  well;  then  set  to  work  immedi- 
ately, and  let  me  either  see  you  or  hear 
from  you  as  soon  »s  his  consent  has  been 
obtained." 

"That  I'll  do,"  said  Mr.  Writall,  and  a 
pause  ensued,  during  which  he  looked  mys- 
teriously at  Raven,  who  at  length  inquired 
if  anything  more  need  be  said? 

"Why,"  replied  Mr.  Writall,  with  great 
deliberation,  "  of  course  you  are  aware  that 
in  cases  of  this  kind — 1  can  speak  to  you 
because  you  are  quite  a  man  of  business, 


a  man  of  the  world,  and  perfectly  under- 
stand the  nature  of  things — I  therefore  say, 
that  of  course,  you  are  aware  that  in  all 
such  cases  it  is  usual,  you  understand,  to 
pay  in  advance." 

"Oh!  it  is  usual?  Well,  I'll  not  dispute 
the  matter  with  you.  I  take  it  for  granted 
that  it  is  so,  for  I  should  say  that  few  men 
know  better  than  you  whether  in  all  such 
cases  it  be  usual  or  not !  But  if  you  imagine 
that  1  shall  pay  you  in  advance  for  this  ser- 
vice, I  may  as  well  tell  you  at  once  that 
you  are  mistaken.  You  give  me  credit  for 
being  a  man  of  business,  a  man  of  the 
world,  and  yet  you  would  deal  with  me  as 
with  a  natural  fool.  Were  I  to  pay  you  in 
advance,  what  security  should  I  have  that 
this  service  will  be  performed?" 

"Oh!  I'll  undertake  to  do  it! — I  pledge 
you  my  honour  it  shall  be  done!" 

"Your  honour,  Mr.  Writall,  is  a  thing 
to  which  I  should  never  dream  of  trusting. 
You  are  a  great  rogue,  Writall;  you  know 
it,  and  you  evidently  hold  me  to  be  almost 
as  great  a  rogue  as  yourself."  Mr.  Writall 
smiled  at  this,  and  would  have  laughed 
heartily,  had  not  Raven  continued:  "  Let 
us,  therefore,  in  this  business,  deal  with 
each  other  as  rogue  deals  with  rogue. 
When  the  thing  has  been  done,  I'll  pay, 
but  not  before." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  like  every  man  to  be  candid; 
I  admire  him  who  tells  me  at  once  what  he 
means;  but  when  you  speak  of  security, 
what  security  have  /,  that  when  I  have 
effected  the  object  the  money  will  be  paid?" 

"I  am  always  to  be  found!" 

"And  so  am  I!  I  am  always  to  be  found, 
and  you  object  to  trust  me!  Besides,  what 
if  you  are  always  to  be  found?  You  well 
know  that  I  could  not  attempt  to  recover, 
were  you  inclined  to  be  dishonourable, 
without  compromising  my  reputation  as  a 
professional  man.  No;  I'll  tell  you  what, 
as  one  of  us  must  trust  the  other,  we  had 
better  split  the  difference  thus:  you  pay  me 
now  half  the  money  down,  and  I'll  trust  to 
your  honour  to  pay  me  the  rest  when  the 
work  has  been  accomplished.  You  under- 
stand?" 

"Oh,  perfectly!  I  understand!  But  it 
will  not  do,  Writall.  I  should  be  sorry  to 
mislead  you  on  any  point,  and  therefore  I 
tell  you  at  once,  that  it  will  not  do.  You 
are  as  honest,  1  have  no  doubt,  as  you  ap- 
pear to  be:  I  am  quite  disposed  to  go  so  far 
as  that,  although  I  am  bound  to  admit  that 
that  is  no  great  distance.  It  is,  however, 
as  well  that  you  should  know  this,  in  order 
that  you  may  be  well  assured  1  shall  not 
pay  you  until  you  have  accomplished  the 
object  proposed." 

"  Well,  sir;  that  is  certainly  as  it  should 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


337 


be — plain,  and  much  to  the  purpose.  But  as 
you  see,  I  am  entirely  in  your  hands,  or  as 
it  were,  at  your  mercy,  what  say  you  to 
advancing  five-and-twenty  pounds  or  so, 
just  to  go  on  with,  or  rather  as  an  earnest  of 
what  you  intend  to  do  when  I  have  per- 
formed rny  part  of  the  contract1?  Surely 
you  cannot  with  any  show  of  reason  object 
to  that?" 

"  Bring  me  in  writing  your  client's  con- 
sent to  my  proposal,  and  I'll  instantly  give 
you  a  cheque  for  the  amount;  but  before 
that  is  brought  to  me  I'll  not  advance  a 
shilling." 

"  But,"  urged  Writall,  who  seemed  de- 
termined not  to  give  the  thing  up,  "  do  you 
conceive  that  to  be  under  the  circumstances 
quite  fair!  You  will  not  trust  me  to  the 
extent  of  one  quarter  of  the  amount;  yet  I 
must  trust  you  to  the  extent  of  the  whole?" 

"  Why,  surely  I  am  safe  for  a  paltry 
hundred  pounds!" 

"Safe,  my  dear  sir!  You  are  safe,  I 
have  no  doubt,  for  a  hundred  thousand! 
But  that  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 
it!  I  would  trust  you  in  the  regular  way  to 
any  amount,  because  I  perfectly  well  know 
that  I  should  in  that  case  be  able  to  recover. 
But  you  see,  this  is  an  altogether  different 
thing!  It  is  not  like  a  regular  transaction. 
It  cannot  even  appear  in  my  books.  It 
depends  entirely  upon  your  honour,  and  if 
you  should — mark,  I  only  say  */ you  should 
— when  I  have  done  what  is  necessary,  be 
indisposed  to  pay  me,  I  should  be  utterly 
unable  to  compel  you  to  do  so,  without  ex- 
posing myself,  and  thus  destroying  my  repu- 
tation, which  of  course  I  would  not  do  fora 
hundred  times  the  amount.  So  that  you 
see  I  have  no  security  at  all!" 

At  this  moment  Uncle  John  knocked 
loudly  at  the  door,  when  Raven,  who  knew 
his  knock,  exclaimed,  "That's  fortunate!" 
and  rang  the  bell  to  desire  the  servant  to 
show  him  up.  "Here  is  a  friend,"  he 
continued,  "to  whom  the  whole  affair  is 
known.  He  will  be  my  surety." 

"  Is  he  a  man  upon  whom  you  can  de- 
pend?" inquired  Writall.  "  You  must  re- 
member, ray  character  is  at  stake  in  this 
business,  and  that  the  most  profound  secre- 
cy must  be  observed." 

"  Fear  nothing  from  him,"  replied  Raven; 
"  I  would  trust  him  with  my  life.  Your 
character  is  as  secure  in  his  hands  as  it  is 
in  mine." 

Mr.  Wrritall  did  not  much  approve  of  the 
idea  of  introducing  a  friend;  he  felt  fidgety 
for  the  moment,  but  on  being  reassured  that 
his  secret  would  be  safe,  he  had  just  suc- 
ceeded in  calming  his  apprehensions  as  Un- 
cle John  entered.  The  very  moment,  how- 
ever, he  saw  him,  the  expression  of  his  face 


was  at  all  points  peculiar.  He  recognised 
in  him  Whitely's  friend  at  a  glance;  but  as 
there  was  no  possibility  of  escape,  he  bri- 
dled himself  up,  and  facing  the  enemy  like 
a  rat  in  a  corner,  made  up  his  mind  to  the 
worst. 

Uncle  John  bowed  distantly  as  Raven 
introduced  him,  and  wondered  very  natural- 
ly what  had  brought  him  there.  He  had 
scarcely  however,  taken  his  seat  when  Ra- 
ven proceeded  to  enlighten  him  on  the  sub- 
ject with  all  possible  gravity  and  effect. 

"  This  gentleman,"  said  he,  "  who  is 
Mr.  Whitely's  legal  adviser,  has  called  to 
make  a  proposition  to  which  I  am  inclined 
to  accede:  not  because  I  am  desirous  of 
taking  the  slightest  advantage  of  Mr.  White- 
ly,  but  because  I  consider  that  man  to  be 
his  friend  who  will  induce  him  to  consent 
to  a  private  arrangement  instead  of  foolishly 
having  recourse  to  law.  Mr.  Writall  has 
offered  to  do  this,  and  I  am  disposed  to 
accept  his  offer,  conceiving  it  to  be  the  best 
possible  course  he  can  recommend  his  client 
to  pursue." 

Uncle  John  was  surprised.  He  scarcely 
knew  what  to  make  of  it.  He  looked  at 
Writall  and  Raven  alternately  for  some  few 
moments,  and  then  exclaimed,  "  Why,  what 
a  shameless  man  he  must  be  who,  while 
acting  as  the  solicitor  for  one  party,  betrays 
him  by  offering  to  meet  the  views  of  the 
other!" 

"We  are  aware,"  said  Mr.  Writall, 
"  that  this  is  not  a  regular  transaction." 

"  A  regular  transaction!  WThy  you  ought 
to  be  struck  off  the  rolls!" 

"  Strike  me  off!  W7ho's  to  do  it?  What 
can  you  prove?" 

"  Are  you  not  rather  hasty,  my  friend?" 
observed  Raven,  addressing  Uncle  John. 
"  This  proceeding  is  dishonourable;  Writall 
knows  it  to  be  dishonourable,  and  were  it 
calculated  to  injure  Mr.  Whitely,  it  should 
not  have  my  countenance;  but  as  it  must 
tend  to  his  good,  don't  you  think  that  it 
would  be  better  to  sanction  it  rather  than 
induce  him  to  resort  to  law,  in  which  he 
must  of  necessity  fail?" 

"You  don't  know  that  man,"  said  Uncle 
John,  "you  don't  know  what  he  is.  Of 
course  you  are  to  pay  him  for  this  service?" 

"  He  has  offered  to  do  it  for  a  hundred 
pounds,  which  sum  I  have  consented  to 
give  him." 

"  You  have  not  yet  done  so,  I  hope?" 

"No,  I  have  told  him  that  I  decidedly 
object  to  pay  in  advance." 

"Then  he  did  want  the  hundred  pounds 
down?  Of  course! — just  what  I  expected." 

"Did  you  indeed!"  said  Writall,  with  a 
sneer.  "Dear  me,  how  very  wonderful! 


338 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


So  it  was  what  you  expected — eh1?— was 
it?" 

"Why  what  a  disreputable  man  you 
must  be!"  said  Uncle  John.  "How  dis- 
graceful is  your  conduct!  You  have  had  the 
audacity  to  come  here  for  the  purpose  of 
robbing  this  gentleman,  when — " 

"Rob,  sir! — rob!  What  do  you  mean1?" 
cried  Writall,  who  finding  that  it  was  now 
all  over  with  him  there,  felt  that  the  best 
thing  he  could  do  was  to  brazen  it  out; 
"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  /  wish  to  rob 
any  man?" 

"I  do,  distinctly,"  returned  Uncle  John; 
"you  came  here  for  the  express  purpose  of 
getting  a  hundred  pounds  of  Mr.  Raven 
under  the  pretence  of  being  Whitely's 
solicitor,  when  you  perfectly  well  know 
that  you  are  not." 

"  You  are  "  (this  was  a  very  bad 

expression). 

"  You  infamous  man!"  cried  Uncle  John, 
very  indignantly,  "how  dare  you  apply 
such  an  epithet  to  me,  when  I  never,  to  my 
knowledge,  told  a  falsehood  in  rny  life!  I 
say  again  that  you  are  not  his  solicitor. 
He  never  called  upon  you  but  once,  and 
that  was  when  he  was  accompanied  by  me, 
and  when  you  disgusted  him  by  offering  to 
procure  false  witnesses  to  prop  up  the 
case!" 

Again  the  gross  epithet  was  applied  by 
Mr.  Writall,  which  made  Uncle  John  look 
remarkably  red. 

"  Did  you  go  with  Mr.  Whitely  to  the 
house  of  this  man?"  inquired  Raven. 

"  I  did;  at  his  request,  he  being  anxious 
to  prove  to  me  that  his  intentions  were  per- 
fectly honourable  and  straightforward." 

"  Leave  the  house!"  said  Raven,  point- 
ing to  the  door. 

"  Leave  the  house!"  echoed  Writall. 
"  That  is  rather  a  cool  way  of  addressing  a 
man." 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  have  you  thrown 
into  the  street?" 

"  That  is  still  more  cool!  Thrown  into 
the  street!  Very  rich!  I  should  like  to  see 
the  fellow  that  could  do  it!" 

"You  bad  man,"  said  Uncle  John,  ris- 
ing. "  Do  you  mean,  sir,  to  leave  the  house 
quietly?" 

"What  if  I  don't?" 

"  Why  in  that  case,  you  impudent  per- 
son, I  must  make  you." 

"  Make  me!  You  make  me!  Why  that's 
about  the  most  spicy  thing  I've  heard 
yet!" 

"  You  would  soon  be  glad  to  retreat,  sir, 
if  my  Valentine  were  here." 

"  Your  Valentine!  Who's  she?  Did  she 
send  you  anything  very  inflaming  on  the 
fourteenth  of  February,  eh?" 


"  My  friend,  ring  the  bell. — Now,  sir,  do 
you  mean  to  leave  the  room?" 

Writall  placed  himself  firmly  upon  the 
edge  of  the  table  and  cried  "  No!  — not  until 
I  think  proper.  What  do  you  mean  by 
telling  lies  about  me,  you  abominable  old 
slanderer?" 

Uncle  John  was  now  excessively  ruffled, 
and  approached  him  more  nearly. 

"Touch  me!"  cried  Writall,  "  only  touch 
me! — lay  so  much  as  a  finger  upon  me,  and 
I'll  give  you  a  little  law.  Do  it! — now 
here  I  am! — do  it! — you  can't  well  miss 
me! — I'm  big  enough  and  near  enough! — 
why  don't  you  do  it?  1  only  wish  you 
would." 

"  Now,  sir,  am  I  to  summon  the  whole 
of  my  servants!"  said  Raven,  as  one  of 
them  entered. 

"  Don't  distress  yourself,"  said  Writall, 
"I  beg.  I  should  be  sorry  to  give  a  gentle- 
man of  your  refined  feelings  the  slightest 
unnecessary  trouble;  but  if  you  think  to  in- 
timidate me,  sir,  you  are  mistaken.  I  go, 
because  and  solely  because  I  have  no  wish 
to  remain,  but  I  am  not,  sir,  a  man  to  be  in- 
timidated!— of  that  you  may  take  your  oath. 
Good  morning  to  you,  gentlemen!  Privacy 
is  your  object!  Oh,  everything  shall  be 
kept  strictly  private!  The  time  will  come, 
sir,  when  you  will  curse  the  day  on  which 
you  insulted  we.'" 

Mr.  Writall  then  screwed  his  thick  lips 
into  the  best  expression  of  superb  contempt 
of  which  they  were  capable,  and  having 
frowned  at  them  both  with  inimitable  dark- 
ness, stuck  his  thumbs  into  the  armholes  of 
his  waistcoat,  and  marched  with  a  series  of 
swings  from  the  room. 

Uncle  John  now  proceeded  to  describe 
the  interview  which  he  and  Whitely  had 
had  with  this  "limb"  of  the  law,  and  con- 
cluded by  stating  that  he  did  not  feel  justi- 
fied in  entering  before  into  this  explanation, 
nor  should  he  have  felt  justified  then,  had 
not  Whitely  at  length  consented  to  a  private 
arrangement. 

"Is  that  a  fact?"  exclaimed  Raven,  on 
hearing  this.  "  Is  it  a  fact?" 

"It  is.  I  have  just  left  him.  He  came 
to  a  decision  this  morning." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it!  My  friend,  I 
owe  you  much. — Well  how  is  it  to  be? 
What  does  he  propose?  What  will  he  con- 
sent to?" 

"  He  has  authorized  me  to  say  that  he 
will  consent  to  receive  the  sum  his  property 
realized,  provided  you  will  give  him  all 
such  information  as  may  lead  to  the  recove- 
ry of  his  children." 

Raven  paused,  but  as  it  immediately 
struck  him  that  he  might  betray  the  feeling 
by  which  that  pause  had  been  induced,  he 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


339 


said,  "Well,  my  friend,  and  what  did  his 
property  realize?" 

"  He  cannot  tell!  He  says  that  of  course 
you  know,  as  the  sales  were  effected  by 
you." 

"  Effected  by  me!— Why  who  could  have 
told  him  this  monstrous  falsehood?" 

"  He  received  his  information  from  a  man 
who  was  formerly  his  servant." 

**  And  where  is  that  scoundrel?  Where 
is  he  to  be  found?" 

"That  Whitely  is  unable  to  tell.  He 
saw  him  but  once  and  desired  him  to  call, 
but  he  has  not  yet  done  so.  He  told  him 
distinctly  that  you — that  is  to  say,  he  with 
whom  his  wife  eloped — sold  the  property 
and  took  the  proceeds." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  that  villain.  Be- 
lieve me,  my  friend,  it  is  a  most  groundless 
falsehood.  I  had  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  it:  I  knew  nothing  of  it,  as  I  hope  for 
mercy!  No,  no;  I'm  bad  enough,  it  is  true, 
but  not  quite  so  bad  as  that." 

"  Well,  I  thought  that  it  wasrather " 

"  Rather,  sir! — But  where  were  the  title 
deeds  at  the  time?" 

"  In  the  hands  of  his  solicitor." 

"  And  where  is  that  solicitor?" 

"He  is  dead." 

"  He  was  some  such  solicitor,  I  appre- 
hend, as  the  one  who  has  just  left  us.  Be- 
sides, look  at  the  absurdity  of  the  thing! 
Is  it  likely  that  he  or  any  other  solicitor 
would  have  given  those  title  deeds  to 
me?" 

"  Why,  when  I  come  to  look  at  it,  I  cer- 
tainly must  say  that  it  does  not  appear  to  be 
frobable.  It  never  struck  me  before,  and 
am  sure  that  it  never  struck  Whitely.  I'll 
name  the  point  to  him:  I  have  no  doubt 
he'll  see  it  at  once." 

"  I  hope  that  he  will,  for  I  declare  most 
solemnly  that  what  I  have  stated  is  true. 
But,  to  the  point.  What  does  he  consider 
this  property  to  have  been  worth?" 

"  About  six  thousand  pounds." 

"  Very  well.  The  sum  I  proposed  then 
will  cover  the  whole.  I  will  give  him  that 
sum." 

"He  will  not  consent  to  receive  more 
than  the  value  of  his  property,  I  know." 

"Then  let  it  be  thus  settled.  He  shall 
have  what  he  considers  its  value  to  have 
been." 

"  Well,  then,  the  thing  is  arranged  so 
far! — Now  about  the  children." 

"  On  that  subject,"  said  Raven,   "  he 


must  not  expect  that  I  can  give  him  the 
slightest  information." 

"  Ah!  That's  the  grand  point.  That  is 
the  very  thing  about  which  he  is  most  anx- 
ious. Can  you  give  him  no  clue?  The  man 
whom  he  saw  hinted  that  he  could  obtain 
information  which  might  lead  to  their  reco- 
very! If  he  can  do  so,  what  a  pity  it  is  he 
has  not  called,  is  it  not? — Although  I  must 
say  that  after  what  you  have  told  me,  I  am 
inclined  to  believe  that  he  knows  nothing 
of  them." 

"  What  sort  of  man  was  this?  Have  you 
any  idea?" 

"  Not  the  slightest.  Whitely  never  de- 
scribed him;  but  I'll  get  him  to  do  so." 

"  I  wish  you  would.  I  should  like  to 
know  much." 

"Then,"  said  Uncle  John,  "the  thing 
amounts  to  this:  that  you  will  send  him  a 
cheque  for  this  sum  on  his  giving  you  an 
undertaking  that  he  will  trouble  you  on  the 
subject  no  more,  and  that  unhappily  with 
respect  to  the  children,  you  cannot  give  him. 
the  slightest  information." 

"  You  see,  my  friend,"  said  Raven,  "  it 
may  be  supposed  that  I  ought  to  know  all 
about  them;  but  you  are  aware  that  the  wo- 
man who  proves  unfaithful  to  her  husband, 
seldom  prides  herself  much  upon  her  fide- 
lity to  another." 

"  Very  true,"  said  Uncle  John.  "  Very 
true." 

"The  subject,  of  course,  is  painful  for 
me  to  enter  into;  but  I  have  stated  enough 
for  you  to  understand  all." 

"  I  see,  I  see!  Well!  You  cannot  do  im- 
possibilities, and  therefore  this  must  be  no 
bar  to  an  arrangement.  I  should  have  been 
far  more  pleased  if  you  could  have  given 
this  information,  but  as  you  cannot,  why 
you  cannot,  and  nothing  more  can  be  said. 
I'll  go  back  to  him  at  once  and  explain  all 
you  have  stated,  for  the  sooner  the  thing  is 
settled  now  the  better,  and  as  he  is  not  an 
unreasonable  man,  I  hope  to  be  able  to 
bring  you  his  written  undertaking  in  the 
course  of  the  day." 

"  Do  so,  my  friend,  and  he  shall  at  once 
have  the  cheque.  I  cannot  sufficiently  ex- 
press to  you  how  much  I  feel  obliged — " 

"  Not  a  word,  not  a  word,"  said  Uncle 
John,  who  then  left  in  the  full  conviction 
that  Raven's  answers  had  been  ingenuous, 
although  a  man  more  prone  to  suspicion 
would  have  perceived  that,  as  far  as  the 
children  were  concerned,  those  answers 
evinced  studied  prevarication. 


340 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


CH AFTER  LXII. 

EXPLAINS  A  VARIETY  OF  MATTERS  OF  IMPORTANCE  TO  THE  PARTIES  CONCERNED. 


LLEWELLEN,  a  few  days  after  he  accompa- 
nied Valentine  to  Ascot,  relapsed  into 
wretchedness;  and  as  his  appetite  again 
most  signally  failed,  he  began  to  suspect 
that  he  was  somewhat  consumptive — a  sus- 
picion which  was  to  a  lamentable  extent 
confirmed,  on  reading  a  highly  popular 
work  upon  consumption,  which  induced 
him  to  feel  the  very  symptoms  described. 

Under  these  unhappy  circumstances  he 
took  to  writing  poetry,  and  in  the  short 
space  of  two  days  did  really  succeed  in 
composing  the  burden  of  a  soncr,  which  he 
sang  aloud  from  morning  till  night  for  in- 
spiration, thus — 

Peautiful  peer, 
Peautiful  peer, 
There's  no  trink  in  Nature  like  peautiful  peer! 

But  having  miraculously  accomplished 
the  burden,  he  was  utterly  unable  to  do  any 
more.  The  rhymes  puzzled  him  frightfully. 
They  wouldn't  come.  Let  him  drink  what 
he  might,  or  pull  his  shirt  collar  down  ever 
so  low,  he  couldn't  get  them;  and  hence, 
having  gone  through  a  whole  quire  of  pa- 
per without  any,  even  the  most  remote 
prospect  of  success,  he  gave  the  thing  up 
in  a  fit  of  despair,  and  took  to  beauing  out 
Valentine's  mother. 

Nor  was  this  at  all  amazing.  He  had  no 
one  else  to  go  out  with! — and  certain  it  is 
that  no  one  else  could  have  appreciated  his 
politeness  more  highly;  for  he  had  always 
been  a  most  especial  favourite  of  the  wi- 
dow: she  had  always  esteemed  him  a  well- 
behaved  good-hearted  creature,  and  there- 
fore did  not  at  all  disapprove  of  his  practice 
of  taking  her  about:  in  point  of  fact  she 
rather  liked  it  than  not!  And  so  did  Valen- 
tine; and  so  did  Louise;  for  although  Louise 
loved  the  widow  dearly,  while  Valentine 
possessed  a  strong  feeling  of  friendship  for 
Llewellen,  in  the  view  of  the  lovers  their 
presence  was  not  at  all  times  agreeable, 
and  more  particularly  now  that  Valentine, 
in  order  to  raise  the  spirits  of  Louise,  walk- 
ed out  with  her  daily. 

Now  it  happened  that  on  the  morning  on 
which  Writall  had  an  interview  with  Raven 
Llewellen  and  the  widow  went  to  see  the 
industrious  fleas,  and  they  had  no  sooner 
started  than  Louise  and  Valentine  left  the 
house  with  the  view  of  having  their  cus- 
tomary walk  in  the  Park.  On  their  way, 
however,  the  attention  of  Louise  was  at- 
tracted to  the  window  of  a  linen  draper's 


shop,  in  which  was  displayed  a  peculiar 
style  of  shawl  which  she  admired  very 
much. 

"Dear  me,"  she  exclaimed,  "how  ex- 
ceedingly elegant?  I  should  so  like  to 
look  at  it!  Would  you  mind  going  in  with 
me1?" 

«*  Oh!  not  at  all,"  replied  Valentine,  and 
they  accordingly  entered,  and  were  instant- 
ly addressed  in  the  most  obsequious  style 
by  an  extraordinary  individual,  the  business 
of  whose  valuable  life  seemed  to  consist  in 
walking  up  and  down  the  shop,  with  great 
presence  of  mind,  placing  chairs  for  those 
who  entered,  with  infinite  grace,  and  call- 
ing "Forward!"  in  a  highly  authoritative 
tone,  and  with  an  expression  which  obvi- 
ously signified  something. 

"  What  can  we  have  the  pleasure1?"  said 
this  remarkable  being,  addressing  Louise 
with  a  most  winning  smile. 

Louise  briefly  explained,  and  when  the 
elegant  creature  had  placed  her  a  chair  with 
all  the  tranquil  fascination  at  his  command, 
he  cried  "Forward!"  as  if  he  had  been  ad- 
dressing some  dog  that  had  had  the  unhap- 
piness  to  introduce  himself  clandestinely 
among  the  silks. 

In  an  instant  an  exquisitely  dressed 
young  man — who  had  clearly  been  used  to 
this  style  of  address,  for  he  did  not  throw 
anything  at  the  head  of  the  individual,  nor 
did  he  appear  to  think  a  very  great  deal 
about  it — approached  Louise  with  charac- 
teristic politeness,  and  having  ascertained 
what  it  was  she  wished  to  see,  he  produced 
it  with  all  imaginable  alacrity,  and  displayed 
it  to  the  best  advantage  possible. 

While  Louise  was  listening  to  the  voice 
of  the  charmer,  who  spake  eloquently, 
blandly,  and  with  much  poetic  feeling  of 
the  innumerable  beauties  which  peculiarly 
characterized  this  unparalleled  article,  Va- 
lentine was  watching  the  conduct  of  the 
individual  who  walked  the  shop,  with  some 
interest,  for  he  had  never  before  seen  the 
tyrant  and  the  slave  by  any  one  man  so 
conspicuously  developed.  To  those  who 
entered  he  was  the  cringing,  smirking  eel- 
backed  creature;  but  to  all  over  whom  he 
presided,  he  was  the  tyrannous,  scowling 
despotic  bully:  he  would  crawl  and  lick 
the  dust  from  the  feet  of  the  former,  and 
the  next  moment  frown  down  and  trample 
upon  the  latter. 

"Allow  me,"  said  he,  addressing  a  cus- 
tomer who  was  leaving,  "allow  me  to 


. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


341 


have  the  happiness  of  sending  that  small 
parcel1?  I  beg  that  you  will.  I  will  do  so 
with  infinite  pleasure!" 

The  customer  declined,  and  was  bowed 
out  with  the  utmost  humility  by  the  crea- 
ture, who  immediately  walked  up  to  him 
by  whom  she  had  been  attended,  and  de- 
manded to  know  why  he  had  not  sold  her  a 
dress. 

"The  lady  didn't  want  one,"  replied  the 
young  man,  and  Valentine  thought  this  a 
very  good  reason,  substantial,  conclusive, 
and  perfectly  sound,  but  diametrically  op- 
posed to  this  view  was  the  creature.  "  Not 
want  one!"  he  cried,  as  if  no  reason  could 
have  been  more  dead  and  rotten.  "  Do  I 
keep  you  to  sell  merely  what  people  want! 
Any  fool,  any  idiot,  can  do  that!  I  expect 
you  to  serve  them  with  what  they  don't 
want,  sir! — that,  sir,  is  what  I  keep  you 
for!"  and  he  scowled  with  great  ferocity  at 
the  delinquent,  who  never  raised  his,.eyes, 
but  having  rolled  up  some  material  that 
was  before  him,  walked  silently  away. 

"Why,"  what  kind  of  men  can  these 
be,"  thought  Valentine,  "who  thus  endure 
the  degrading  tyranny  of  so  pitiful  a  slave? 
Have  they  neither  soul  nor  sense?  What 
can  they  be  made  of?  They  seem  to  have 
been  decently  educated;  they  talk  very 
well,  although  they  dress  very  absurdly, 
and  have  some  of  the  most  remarkable 
heads  of  hair  tonsorial  art  ever  designed; 
but  they  cannot  possess  a  particle  of  manly 
spirit,  they  cannot  have  the  independent 
feelings  of  honest  men,  or  they  never  could 
bear  to  be  thus  tyrannized  over  and  treated 
like  convicts!" 

"  W7hy  don't  you  show  the  six  quarters, 
sir,  do  you  hear?"  cried  the  creature,  ad- 
dressing one  of  his  slaves,  for  he  clearly 
conceived  it  to  be  much  to  his  own  interest 
to  degrade  his  young  men  in  the  eyes  of 
those  whom  they  were  serving. 

"  It  strikes  me  that  I  must  have  a  word 
with  you,"  thought  Valentine,  who  was 
really  disgusted  with  the  fellow's  beha- 
viour; and  he  had  no  sooner  satisfied  him- 
self that  the  pursuit  of  such  a  course  would 
not  be  at  all  incorrect,  than  throwing  his 
voice  behind  him  some  distance,  he  said, 
"Who  is  that  ridiculous  person  in  the 
middle  of  the  shop?" 

The  person  alluded  to  turned  with  great 
promptitude  and  frowned.  Ridiculous  per- 
son above  all  things  in  the  world!  He 
didn't  like  it.  In  the  spot  from  which  the 
voice  appeared  to  proceed  there  happened 
not  to  be  a  soul,  which  puzzled  him  a  lit- 
tle, but  he  notwithstanding  walked  up  the 
shop  with  great  dignity,  and  glanced  at 
each  customer  as  he  passed  with  suspicion. 

"  Is  that  the  proprietor?"  inquired  Va- 
30 


lentine  of  the  young  man  who  was  waiting 
upon  Louise. 

"  Yes,  sir,  one  of  them:  that  is  Mr. 
Todd." 

Valentine  waited  the  return  of  Mr.  Todd, 
whose  nerves  seemed  seriously  unsettled, 
and  when  he  did  return,  he  occupied  hi3 
mind  with  the  adjustment  of  his  neckerchief 
and  hair,  during  the  progress  of  his  fingera 
through  which  latter  ornament  Valentine 
shouted  "  Here,  Todd!" 

"Mr.  Todd  looked  contemptuously  round. 
The  idea  of  being  addressed  as  "Todd" 
struck  him  as  being  extremely  vulgar. 
"Mr.  Todd"  would  have  commanded  his 
immediate  attention,  but  it  appeared  to  be  a 
settled  principle  with  him  that  plain  "Todd" 
should  riot. 

"I  say,  Toddy,  my  boy!  how  are  you?" 
cried  Valentine;  and  Mr.  Todd  looked  round 
again  with  an  aspect  of  intense  magnani- 
mity. Whom  could  it  possibly  be!  There 
were  but  two  gentlemen  in  the  shop! — 
Valentine,  whom  of  course  he  could  not 
suspect,  seeing  that  he  was  close  to  his  side, 
and  another,  who  was  perched  upon  a  stool 
at  the  end.  He  therefore  concluded  that  it 
must  have  been  the  gentleman  on  the  stool, 
and  conceiving  that  he  might  be  some  per- 
son of  importance,  he  approached  him.  But 
no:  that  gentleman  took  not  the  slightest 
notice  of  his  approach:  nor  did  he  appear  to 
be  a  person  at  all  likely  to  address  any  man 
with  any  undue  familarity.  Besides,  his 
voice  was  so  strikingly  different! — it  could 
not  have  been  him;  and  as  such  was  the 
case,  Mr.  Todd  at  once  conceived  the  horrid 
notion  that  it  must  have  been  one  of  the 
young  men. 

"  Who  was  that?"  he  demanded,  with  a 
withering  glance,  and  the  young  man  ad- 
dressed declared  promptly,  upon  his  honour, 
he  didn't  know. 

"  Don't  tell  me  you  don't  know,"  said  Mr. 
Todd,  "you  must  know — it  was  one  of  you!" 

Again  the  young  man,  with  considerable 
earnestness,  protested  his  ignorance  of  the 
matter,  but  Mr.  Todd  would  not  believe 
him,  he  was  sure  that  he  did  know,  and 
having  announced  that  be  the  delinquent 
whomsoever  he  might,  he  should  "start" 
on  conviction,  he  returned  to  his  station 
near  the  door. 

Valentine,  assuming  the  voice  of  a  female, 
now  made  a  dead  set  at  one  of  the  slaves. 
"How  dare  you!"  he  exclaimed,  "you 
insolent  fellow!  I'll  tell  Mr.  Todd,  sir,  I'll 
tell  Mr.  Todd!"  and  the  voice  was  so  loud 
and  so  shrill,  that  every  eye  was  directed 
at  once  towards  the  spot  from,  which  it 
appeared  to  proceed. 

Mr.  Todd  was  there  in  an  instant,  and 
looked  right  and  left  with  indefatigable 


342 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


zeal,  and  perspired  at  the  idea  of  being  able 
to  make  nothing  of  it.  He  could  perceive 
no  lady  in  a  rage!  They  all  appeared  to  be 
perfectly  tranquil.  What  could  be  the 
meaning  of  it!  It  was  quite  clear  to  him 
that  one  of  them  kad  been  insulted.  Could 
she  have  been  pacified  on  his  approach? 
In  his  view  nothing  could  be  more  probable, 
and  he  therefore  went  round  and  inquired 
of  them  if  anything  unpleasant  had  occurred, 
but  as  they  all  declared  that  nothing  of  the 
kind  had,  he  could  not  but  deem  it  remarka- 
bly strange. 

44  Did  you  not  hear  some  lady  complain 
of  insolence!"  he  inquired  of  one  of  the 
slaves,  who  having  nothing  else  to  do,  was 
endeavouring  to  ascertain  how  long  it  was 
possible  for  a  man  to  be  smoothing  a  piece 
of  coloured  muslin. 

"  Why,"  replied  the  individual  who  was 
engaged  in  this  experiment,  "  it  struck  me 
that  I  did." 

"  Just  give  a  look  out  then:  there's  some- 
thing wrong  somewhere." 

"  Mr,  Todd,"  said  Valentine,  in  an  as- 
sumed voice,  of  course. 

"  Well,  sir!"  cried  Todd,  with  great 
sharpness. 

"  Mr.  Todd,"  repeated  Valentine. 

"  Well!  what  do  you  want1?" 

"  Have  the  goodness  to  step  here  for  one 
moment." 

Mr.  Todd  marched  to  the  point  to  which 
the  voice  had  been  thrown,  and  said,  "  Now, 
sir!  what  is  it?"  to  the  first  whom  he  ap- 
proached, but  as  this  person  intimated  boldly 
that  he  had  not  called,  Mr.  Todd  very  na- 
turally wished  to  know  who  had. 

«  Mr.  Todd!— Mr.  Todd!— Mr.  Todd!" 
cried  Valentine,  in  three  distinct  voices, 
and  making  them  apparently  proceed  from 
three  different  points. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this?"  cried 
Todd,  on  looking  round,  for  he  began  to 
feel  very  indignant.  "  Who  called  me?" 

"  Mr.  Todd,"  repeated  Valentine,  in  a 
very  calm  tone. 

44  Come  here,  sir,  if  you  want  me!  come 
here,  I  desire!" 

Valentine  now  introduced  a  very  highly 
effective  laugh;  indeed,  so  effective  was  it, 
that  he  was  joined  by  almost  every  person 
present,  to  the  utter  annihilation  of  Mr. 
Todd's  tranquillity  of  spirit. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at,  sir?"  he  de- 
manded of  the  slave  who  stood  near  him. 

"  Nothing,  sir,  nothing,"  was  the  prompt 
reply. 

*'  Do  you  always  laugh  at  nothing?  I 
desire  to  know  instantly  why  you  were 
laughing?" 

44  I  don't  know,  sir.  I  laughed  because 
the  rest  laughed — for  no  other  cause." 


44  If  you  cannot  conduct  yourself  properly, 
sir,  you  had  better  make  out  your  account." 

Here  Valentine  burst  forth  again,  and 
was  again  joined  with  spirit.  The  custom- 
ers gave  full  swing  to  their  mirth,  having 
nothing  whatever  to  fear,  but  the  people 
behind  the  counter  laughed  only  at  inter- 
vals: when  the  awful  eye  of  Todd  was 
upon  them,  each  seemed  to  have  his  mouth 
quite  full  of  a  laugh,  which  was  struggling 
to  burst  his  lips  asunder. 

In  the  midst  of  this  general  joy,  Todd 
stood  with  a  dignified  frown.  Why  they 


were  laughing  he  could  not  pretend  to  tell, 
but  as  every  eye  seemed  to  be  upon  him,  he 
was  suddenly  struck  with  an  idea  that  they 
were  actually  laughing  at  him,  and  as  in 
his  judgment  this  could  be  possible  only  in 
the  event  of  something  being  very  wrong 
in  his  dress,  he  put  it  plainly  to  Mr.  Jub- 
bins,  his  partner,  whether  such  were  the  fact, 
and  although  Mr.  Jubbins  declared  solemnly 
that  he  could  see  nothing,  so  firmly  had  the 
idea  taken  possession  of  Todd's  soul  that 
there  must  be  of  necessity  something  incor- 
rect, that  he  quitted  the  shop  with  the  air 
of  a  man  quite  resolved  on  having  prompt 
satisfaction. 

Mr.  Jubbins  now  performed  Todd's  duty 
of  looking  as  fascinating  as  possible  in 
the  middle  of  the  shop.  He  was  a  better 
looking  fellow  altogether  than  Todd,  and  if 
possible  more  highly  dressed,  but  his  man- 
ners were  precisely  the  same. 

44  You  seem  to  be  merry  here,"  said  Va- 
lentine, as  Jubbins  approached  him. 

44  Yes,  very,  very,  very!"  replied  Mr. 
Jubbins.  44  It's  a  mystery  to  me:  it  passes 
my  comprehension  altogether.  I  cannot 
make  it  out.  It's  excessively  odd.  By  the 
by,  sir,  we  have  just  received  fifty  thou- 
sand pounds  worth  of  superb  cambric  hand- 
kerchiefs, the  immense  superiority  of  which 
over  the  French  is  universally  acknow- 
ledged, and  which  we  are  now  selling  at  a 
sacrifice  truly  alarming.  Allow  me  to  have 
the  pleasure  of  introducing  them  to  your 
notice. — Mr.  Higginbottom,  where  are  those 
handkerchiefs?" 

44  Which,  sir?" 

44  Which?  Have  you  lived  all  these  years 
and  ask  me  which?  Why  the  P'ses  Q's  of 
course,  sir! — Which  should  I  mean?" 

This  seemed  to  be  conclusive,  for  Mr. 
Higginbottom  immediately  produced  the 
P'ses  Q's,  which  Jubbins  submitted  to  Va- 
lentine's inspection. 

44  This,  sir,"  said  he,  44is  the  most  ele- 
gant lot  imaginable,  and  dirt  cheap,  sir! — 
two  and  eleven  pence  three  farthings." 

"They  appear  to  be  cheap,"  said  Valen- 
tine, ubut  I  am  ignorant  of  the  value  of 
these  things." 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


343 


"The  value,  sir,  is  seven  and  nine.  Had 
they  been  purchased  in  the  regular  way, 
sir,  I  couldn't  have  sold  one  for  less,  but 
having  picked  the  whole  from  a  bankrupt's 
stock,  we  are  enabled  to  put  them  in  fright- 
fully low.  The  size,  sir,  is  alarming  for 
the  price,  while  the  texture  is  magnificently 
delicate! — Allow  me  to  say  a  dozen?" 

"I  have  plenty  at  present,"  said  Valen- 
tine. 

"  Were  you  to  purchase  them  to  put  by, 
sir,  they  would  pay  you  good  interest  for 
your  money." 

"I  have  not  a  doubt  of  its  being  a 
splendid  investment,"  said  Valentine,  "  but 
unhappily  at  present  my  capital  is  tied  up." 

Mr.  Jubbins  smiled  sweetly,  and  said, 
44  But,  upon  honour,  I  hold  this  to  be  an 
opportunity  which  seldom  presents  itself: 
in  point  of  fact  I  don't  know  that  we  are 
not  running  counter  to  our  interest  in  push- 
ing them;  but  let  me  say  a  dozen?  Half  a 
dozen?  I  assure  you  they  are  an  article 
seldom  to  be  met  with.  It  is  a  sacrifice  of 
upwards  of  seventy  per  cent.,  which  is  very 
distressing." 

44  So  it  is:  so  it  is:"  said  Valentine. 
44  Did  the  person  of  whom  you  bought  them 
fail  for  much?" 

"  About  forty  thousand  pounds." 

"  That  is  rather  a  large  sum  for  a  man  to 
fail  for,  especially  as  he  had  about  fifty 
thousand  pounds  worth  of  cambric  hand- 
kerchiefs in  stock.  What  do  you  suppose 
the  value  of  the  entire  stock  to  have  been 
when  he  failed?" 

44  Why,"  replied  Mr.  Jubbins,  who  did 
feel  a  little  confused,  for  he  happened  to  re- 
member that  he  had  purchased  the  fifty 
thousand  pounds  worth,  44I  scarcely  can 
tell.  It  is  difficult  to  form  a  judgment, 
very  difficult,  very." 

44  Of  course  he  will  be  able  to  pay  a  very 
decent  dividend?" 

44  Yes,  a  very  fair  dividend,  I  should  say, 
I've  no  doubt  of  it,  very. — Then  you'll  not 
allow  me  to  tempt  you  with  a  dozen?" 

44  No,  I  think  not  to-day." 

44  Anything  in  Irish  linens  or  gloves  of 
any  kind?" 

44  No,  they  never  allow  me  to  purchase 
those  things:  they  imagine  I  am  not  to  be 
trusted." 

Again  Jubbins  smiled;  but  as  he  under- 
stood the  state  of  the  case  precisely,  he 
said  nothing  more  about  the  matter. 

44  Well,  now  1  have  indeed  tried  your 
patience,"  said  Louise.  "Dear  me,  what 
a  quantity  of  things  I  have  purchased! 
There  new,"  she  added,  addressing  the 
clever  creature  by  whom  she  had  been 
tempted  to  spend  twenty  pounds,  although 
she  had  no  idea  of  purchasing  anything  but 


the  shawl,  44you  must  show  me  nothing 
more:  you  really  must  not,  indeed." 

44  Has  the  lady  seen  those  satins,  sir?" 
inquired  Mr.  Jubbins,  with  a  scowl. 

44 1  connot  look  at  anything  else,"  said 
Louise;  44no!  let  me  have  my  bill  as  soon 
as  possible,  or  you  can  send  it  with  the 
parcel,  any  time  after  four." 

Louise  then  presented  her  card;  and  after 
observing  to  Valentine,  that  she  was  sure 
that  he  had  lost  all  patience,  they  were 
bowed  out  of  the  shop  most  gracefully  by 
Mr.  Jubbins,  who,  notwithstanding  all  the 
young  man  had  done,  was  exceedingly 
angry  with  him,  because  he  had  not  intro- 
duced 44  those  satins." 

44  What  singular  creatures  they  are!" 
observed  Valentine,  on  leaving  the  shop. 

44  They  are,  indeed,"  returned  Louise; 
44  and  their  politeness  is  so  excessive,  that 
you  positively  feel  yourself  in  a  measure 
bound  to  purchase  the  things  they  introduce 
to  you,  whether  you  really  want  them  or 
not." 

44  But  while  admiring  their  politeness, 
did  you  notice  the  brutal  conduct  of  those 
tyrannous,  slave-driving  dogs>  their  im- 
ployers?" 

44  Oh  yes!  that  is  generally  conspicuous. 
But  what  I  object  to  most  is,  their  interfer- 
ence with  him  who  is  serving  me.  That  is 
very  annoying,  and  whenever  it  occurs,  I 
have  done:  no  matter  how  many  articles  I 
may  want,  I  take  those  which  I  have  pur- 
chased, but  will  have  nothing  more." 

They  now  proceeded  to  the  park,  and  had 
a  most  delightful  walk;  and  while  sitting 
beneath  their  favourite  tree,  Llewellen  and 
the  widow  unexpectedly  approached  them. 

44Hur  knew  we  shoot  fint  them,"  cried 
Llewellen;  44  titn't  hur  tell  you  they  were 
sure  to  pe  here?  Oh,  Louey!  such  peautiful 
fleas!  Trest,  ant  armt,  ant  mountet  on 
horse-pack  like  Christians.  Oh!  too  co  ant 
see  'em  apove  all  things  in  the  worlt!" 

44  WThat  sort  of  horses  are  they?"  inquired 
Valentine.  4i  Fine  cattle,  Fred?" 

44  Horses?  Fleas! — every  horse  is  a  flea, 
look  you,  pritled  ant  sattled  ant  all!" 

44  We  must  go  and  see  these  warriors  on 
flea-back!"  said  Valentine  to  Louise. 

44  Do,  by  all  means,  my  love,"  said  the 
widow;  "they  are  wonderful  creatures! — 
such  active,  intelligent  little  dears.  I'm 
quite  in  love  with  them  really!  Do  go  there 
this  evening:  I  should  so  like  to  see  them 
again." 

44  This  evening!"  said  Llewellen, looking 
archly  at  the  widow;  44  have  you  forgotten 
your  engagement  this  evening?" 

44  The  promenade  concerts!"  cried  the 
widow;  44dear  me,  how  very  stupid!  Oh! 
is  not  that  kind  of  Mr.  Llewellen?  He  is 


344 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


going  to  take  me  to  the  promenade  con- 
certs!" 

•*  Upon  my  life!  Master  Fred,"  observed 
Valentine,  "  if  you  continue  to  go  on  in 
this  way  winning  the  heart  of  my  mother, 
1  shall  feel  myself  hound  to  demand  an  ex- 
planation of  your  intentions!" 

The  widow  blushed,  and  patted  Valen- 
tine playfully  on  the  cheek,  and  Llewellen 
informed  him  that  all  had  been  settled,  and 
that  he  was  therefore  quite  ready  to  explain, 
which  was  very  agreeable  and  highly  en- 
joyed. 

"At  all  events,"  said  Valentine,  address- 
\  ing  Louise,  "it  will  be  our  duty  to  accom- 
pany them  to  the  concert  this  evening." 

"Too  co,  pyall  means!"  said  Llewellen, 
and  as  this  invitation  was  backed  by  the 
xvidow  strongly,  it  was  decided  that  they 
should  all  go  together. 

While  they  were  thus  happily  engaged, 
Uncle  John  was  endeavouring  to  prevail 
upon  Whitely  to  allow  the  assumed  impos- 
sibility of  Raven  giving  the  required  in- 
formation about  the  children,  to  form  no 
barrier  to  an  immediate  settlement.  He  had 
already  succeeded  in  convincing  him  that 
Raven  had  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  pro- 
perty; but  he  found  it  extremely  difficult  to 
induce  him  to  believe  that  he  knew  nothing 
whatever  of  his  children. 

"  The  only  thing,1'  urged  Whitely, 
"  which  tends  to  justify  such  a  belief  is  the 
assumed  fact,  that  she  became  so  abandoned 
as  to  leave  even  him  for  another:  but  even 
in  that  case  it  seems  scarcely  probable  that 
being  lost,  as  she  must  have  been,  to  every 
sense  of  decency,  as  well  as  to  every  pro- 
per feeling,  that  she  would  have  taken  the 
children  with  her." 

"  Why,  I  don't  know  that,"  said  Uncle 
John.  "  It  is  very  clear  to  me  that  her  af- 
fection for  those  children  was  very  strong: 
my  firm  impression  is,  that  had  it  not  been, 
she  -would  not  have  clung  to  them  so  tena- 
ciously when  she  left  you;  and  as  it  is  but 
natural  to  suppose  that,  as  they  grew  older 
and  more  engaging,  the  strength  of  that  af- 
fection increased,  I  am  inclined  to  believe 
it  to  be  extremely  probable  that  she  did 
take  them  with  her;  for  clearly  if  her  affec- 
tion for  them  did  thus  increase,  she  would 
have  been  less  disposed  to  part  with  them 
then  than  before." 

"  Very  true;  very  true:  but  this  is  merely 
assumption." 

"  I  grant  it:  but  it  is  a  very  natural  as- 
sumption. Besides,  what  motive  could  he 
possibly  have  in  withholding  this  informa- 
tion, if  he  really  possessed  the  power  to 
give  it?  Upon  my  life!  I  cannot  conceive 
what  motive  he  could  have.  He  can  scarce- 
ly be  supposed  to  have  eared  much  about 


them,  and  if  he  had  provided  for  them,  he 
would  surely  be  proud  to  let  you  know  it, 
in  order  that  you  might  not  deem  him  quite 
so  depraved  as  you  do.  But  even  assuming 
that  he  could  give  you  such  information  as 
might  lead  to  their  recovery,  his  refusal  to 
do  so,  ought  not  to  prevent  an  immediate 
arrangement,  at  least  in  so  far  as  pecuniary 
matters  are  concerned;  but  feeling  as  I  do, 
quite  convinced  that  he  is  utterly  unable  to 
do  so,  I  cannot  see  why  you  should  hesi- 
tate for  a  moment." 

"  Well,  my  friend,  if  I  give  him  an  un- 
dertaking to  annoy  him,  as  he  terms  it,  no 
more,  it  must  be  with  this  proviso,  that  If 
I  should  at  any  time  discover  that  he  abso- 
lutely does  know  where  they  are  to  be 
found,  I  am  not  to  be  precluded  from  de- 
manding of  him  such  information  as  may 
be  essential  to  their  being  restored." 

"  Most  decidedly.  You  will  still  have 
the  right  to  do  so.  I  look  at  the  spirit  of 
this  arrangement.  You  agree  to  it  on  the 
assumption  that  he  does  not  know  where 
the  children  are:  should  you  at  any  time 
discover  that  he  does,  your  right,  with  refer- 
ence to  them  will,  of  course,  stand  the 
same  as  if  no  such  arrangement  had  been 
made." 

"Very  well.  Let  this  be,  on  all  hands, 
distinctly  understood,  and  I  am  ready  to 
sign  the  undertaking." 

Uncle  John  now  opened  his  desk,  and 
they  began  to  draw  out  an  agreement,  but 
how  to  introduce  the  proviso,  without  lead- 
ing Raven  to  suppose  that  they  believed 
him  to  have  told  a  direct  falsehood,  was  a 
task  which  puzzled  them  exceedingly.  In 
the  first  place  they  drew  up  a  "sketch" — 
which  of  itself  would  have  done  very  well 
— and  then  their  labour  commenced;  but 
they  stuck  to  it  zealously,  amending  and 
erasing,  until  their  interlineations  stood  per- 
fectly unincumbered  by  a  single  word  of 
the  original,  when,  on  being  summoned  to 
dinner,  they  left  it  thus,  to  be  tackled  again 
when  they  had  done. 

Whitely  was  by  no  means  scrupulous 
about  the  matter:  he  was  an  advocate  for 
its  being  done  as  plainly  as  possible;  but 
Uncle  John,  judging  from  the  sensitive 
character  of  his  own  feelings,  contended 
for  the  correctness  of  its  being  done  with 
so  much  delicacy,  that  while  it  had  the 
force  of  a  law,  not  a  word  should  be  intro- 
duced at  all  calculated  to  inflict  the  slight- 
est wound  upon  the  feelings  of  him  whom 
it  bound. 

On  this,  as  on  all  other  occasions,  White- 
ly wished  to  meet  the  views  of  Uncle  John, 
and  immediately  after  dinner  they  again  set 
to  work,  and  did  eventually  succeed  in  ac- 
complishing their  task  in  every  point  to 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


345 


their  entire  satisfaction.  Two  fair  copies 
were  then  drawn  up,  and  when  hoth  had 
been  signed  by  Whitely,  Uncle  John  left 
in  order  to  obtain  the  signature  of  Raven. 

The  party  which  had  been  formed  in  the 
morning  for  the  concert,  prepared  to  start 
soon  after  dinner,  and  Uncle  John  happen- 
ed to  arrive  in  great  spirits  at  the  moment 
they  were  about  to  leave  the  house. 

"  Any  news?"  inquired  Valentine. 

"  Yes,  my  boy;  good  news;  come  here,*' 
said  Uncle  John,  taking  his  arm  and  lead- 
ing him  into  the  parlour. 

"  Please  let  me  come,  too?"  said  Louise. 

"  May  she  come,  Val?  Well!  yes  you 
may.  But  I  mean  to  set  a  price  upon  the 
information  I  have  to  impart.  I  intend  to 
have  a  kiss  for  it." 

"Oh!  that  you  shall.  I  will  pay  you 
with  pleasure!  What  is  it?" 

"  All's  settled!"  exclaimed  Uncle  John; 
"All's  settled." 

"Bless  you!"  cried  Louise.  "You  de- 
serve two  for  that.  But  are  you  sure? — 
quite?" 

"I  have  the  agreement  now  in  my 
pocket,  with  Whitely's  signature  attached." 

"  Well  this  is  indeed  great  news.  Oh! 
I  feel  so  delighted!" 

"Of  course,"  said  Valentine,  "Mr.  Ra- 
van  knows  nothing  of  it  yet." 

"  He  expects  it,  and  I  have  come  as  soon 
£S  possible  to  put  an  end  to  his  suspense. 
But  where  are  you  all  going?" 

"To  the  promenade  concert." 

"  Very  well,  let  your  minds  be  at  ease. 
Now,  be  happy  both  of  you:  there,  run 
away.  I  must  be  detained  no  longer." 

Valentine  and  Louise  shook  him  warmly 
by  the  hand,  and  having  kissed  each  other 
fervently,  they  rejoined  the  widow  and 
Llewellen,  and  proceeded  to  the  theatre  in 
which  the  concerts  were  held. 

As  they  entered  one  of  the  boxes  the  first 
piece  was  being  performed,  and  the  action 
of  the  conductor  was  so  extremely  striking, 
that  he  riveted  their  attention  at  once.  He 
was  a  small  man  and  singularly  thin:  his 
cheeks  were  hollow,  but  his  eyes  were  full, 
and  while  at  certain  forte  passages  they 
appeared  to  be  anxious  to  start  from  their 
sockets,  he  closed  them  at  each  piano 
phrase,  with  the  view  of  conveying  to  the 
performers  an  idea  of  how  mild  were  the 
moon  beams  contrasted  with  thunder.  The 
performers,  however,  seemed  not  to  take  the 
slightest  notice  of  his  eloquent  gestures,  for 
they  worked  away  like  blacksmiths,  with 
their  eyes  fixed  firmly  upon  the  music,  with 
the  single  exception  of  the  individual  who 
did  the  drums;  and  even  he,  having  thirty 
or  forty  bars'  rest,  seemed  to  be  counting 
his  one  two  three  four,  two  two  three  four, 


three  two  three  four,  up,  with  extreme  depth 
of  thought. 

Having  sufficiently  admired  the  poetic 
action  of  the  conductor — who,  had  the 
whole  of  the  instruments  been  mute,  could 
have  rendered  the  thing,  by  virtue  of  his 
pantomime,  effective,,  so  distinctly  and  so 
delicately  was  each  phrase  expressed — the 
happy  party  left  their  box  for  the  prome- 
nade. 

The  place  was  crowded,  but  to  the  ma- 
jority the  music  was  but  a  secondary  con- 
sideration, which  indeed  is  invariably  the 
case  in  England,  and  speculators  generally 
would  do  well  to  understand  that  patronage 
here  is  extended,  not  in  proportion  to  the 
excellence  of  an  entertainment,  but  pre- 
cisely in  proportion  to  the  facilities  which 
it  affords  for  the  display  of  wealth,  fashion, 
and  beauty. 

On  this  occasion  the  display  of  these 
three  attractive  articles  was  in  a  measure 
magnificent,  but  if  any  one  could  be  said  to 
surpass  the  others,  it  was  fashion.  The 
dresses  both  of  the  ladies  and  of  the  gentle- 
men had  been  made  in  conformity  with  the 
most  extraordinary  conceptions,  while  the 
hair  was  so  arranged — if  an  arrangement, 
as  far  as  the  gentlemen  were  concerned,  it 
could  be  called — that  it  covered  the  ears  as 
completely  as  if,  at  that  particular  period 
of  British  history,  it  had  been  no  uncom- 
mon thing  for  those  useful  and  ornamental 
organs  to  be  nailed,  for  political  offences,  to 
posts. 

As  the  space  behind  the  orchestra  was 
the  only  spot  which  could  be  promenaded 
with  comfort,  thither  Valentine  and  Louise 
repaired,  and  walked  for  some  time  in 
silence,  but  with  feelings  of  pleasure,  lis- 
tening attentively  to  the  various  pieces 
which  were  admirably  performed,  and 
which  seemed  to  inspire  general  delight. 

"Valentine,"  said  Louise,  at  length, 
"why  are  you  so  silent?" 

"I  apprehend  it  is  because  I  am  so 
happy!" 

"Are  you  happy?  Well  so  am  I:  very, 
very  happy:  I  could  cry  I  am  so  happy. 
And  I  shall  cry,  I  am  sure  of  it,  unless  you 
make  me  laugh.  Now  do,  there's  a  dear, 
put  some  poor  unfortunate  person  in  a  fever. 
You  will,  to  please  me;  will  you  not?" 

"  Oh!  I  had  better  astonish  the  whole 
house  at  once!" 

"  But  you  must  not  startle  me!  You 
know  that  is  a  thing  which  is  perfectly 
understood." 

"  Of  course!  I  am  sure  you  will  be  an 
excellent  wife,  Louise:  you  are  so  fond  of 
looking  at  home!  But  listen." 

At  this  moment  the  band  was  playing  a 
set  of  quadrilles,  in  which  an  echo  was  in- 
30* 


346 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


troduced  by  dint  of  establishing  an  indi- 
vidual in  the  one  shilling  gallery  to  do  the 
refrain  out  of  sight.  This  had  a  good  effect, 
and  on  its  being  repeated,  Valentine  sent 
an  echo  into  the  slips,  and  then  one  into 
the  upper  boxes,  and  then  one  into  the 
dress  circle  near  the  proscenium,  and  then 
another,  most  dexterously,  into  the  chande- 
lier! This  of  course  produced  several  rounds 
of  applause,  and  the  demand  for  an  encore 
was  universal;  but  the  conductor  stood 
struck  with  amazement:  he  could  not  even 
guess  what  it  could  mean,  and  his  first  im- 
pulse was  to  send  round  to  the  various  parts 
of  the  house  from  which  the  sounds  had 
apparently  proceeded,  with  the  view  of 
setting  his  face  against  every  echo  save  the 
one  which  he  himself  had  established.  On 
turning  the  matter  again  over  in  his  mind, 
however,  he  could  not — as  the  thing  was 
effective  and  had  brought  down  thunders  of 
applause — see  why  it  should  not  be  re- 
peated. He  therefore  gave  the  usual  signal, 
and  the  band  recommenced,  and  when  he 
came  to  the  echo,  he  listened  with  a  pecu- 
liar expression  for  the  invisible  auxiliaries; 
but  what  was  his  dismay  when  Valentine, 
instead  of  following  the  established  ortho- 
dox echo,  introduced,  in  various  parts  of 
the  house,  snatches  of  popular  tunes,  and 
thus  produced  fits  of  laughter!  "  Ha!" 
said  he  gutturally,  grinning  like  a  griffin  in 
great  anguish,  and  holding  his  ears  as  if  a 
couple  of  wasps  had  introduced  themselves 
clandestinely  therein — "  Perdu!'11  where- 
upon the  whole  house  was  In  a  roar. 

"  Bravo!  bravo!"  shouted  the  audience. 
44  Encore!  encore!  encore!" 

*'  Not  if  I  knew  it,"  the  conductor  seem- 
ed to  say  confidentially  to  himself,  for  he 
looked  very  droll,  and  almost  buried  his 
'head  between  his  shoulders;  but  although 
his  indisposition  to  repeat  the  thing  was 
manifest;  although  it-was  evident  generally 
that  he  wished  to 'intimate  that  he  had  had 
no  hand  in  'the  matter,  the  enlightened 
audience  still  .continued  to  demand  an  en- 
«orea  which,  to  his  own  private  feelings, 
was  very  afflicting.  He  sent  an  emissary 
up  to  the  slips,  and  another  into  the  upper 
tier  of  boxes;  and  while  he  planted  sundry 
confidential  fiddlers  as  spies  upon  the  dress 
circle,  he  himself  strained  his  eyes  with 
the  bright  and  lovely  hope  of  discovering 
one  of  the  individuals  among  the  multitude 
of  promenaders.  In  this  he  was,  however, 
unsuccessful;  and  as  the  audience  still  re- 
morselessly demanded  an  encore,  he  did,  in 
his  extremity,  shake  his  head  with  much 
significance,  and  having  given  the  signal, 
the  band  made  a  dash  at  the  next  piece. 

This  silenced  the  majority  at  once,  and 
they  would  with  due  patience  have  waited 


for  a  repetition  of  the  novel  echo,  had  not 
the  minority,  who,  having  somewhat  more 
refined  and  experienced  ears,  on  perceiving 
that  this  was  not  the  same  piece,  shouted 
"  No,  no! — Encore!  encore — No,  no,  no, 
no!"  which  had  the  effect  of  inducing  the 
whole  house  to  join  them. 

The  band  notwithstanding  kept  on.  The 
conductor  was  firm.  He  would  have  no 
more  ad  libitum  echoes:  he  had  already 
had  quite  enough  of  them,  and  hence  re- 
solved within  his  own  mind  that,  come 
what  might,  he  would  go  through  the  piece 
then  in  hand  as  completely  as  if  nothing 
whatever  had  happened. 

The  audience,  fortunately  for  him,  were 
in  an  excellent  humour:  they  had  enjoyed 
the  echoes  much,  and  that  they  did  wish  to 
have  them  again  is  a  fact  which  ought  not 
to  be  disputed,  but  when  they  saw  the  dis- 
tress of  the  conductor,  who  was  an  accom- 
plished, and  withal  a  very  amiable  man, 
they  pitied  him  as  an  individual,  and  soon 
became  calm. 

**  Dearmt;!"  said  Louise,  when  the  storm 
had  subsided,  *'  how  very,  very  cleverly 
that  was  done,  to  be  sure!  Poor  man! — 
what  odd  faces  he  made!" 

"They  were  rather  droll,"  said  Valen- 
tine. "  I  wonder  what  he  thinks  of  it.  I 
should  like  to  know  his  strictly  secret  feel- 
ings upon  the  point." 

The  band  ceased:  the  first  part  was  con- 
cluded, and  shortly  after,  a  small  thin  man, 
in  an  old  hat,  came  close  to  the  spot  with 
several  persons  whom  he  knew.  He  seemed 
powerfully  excited,  and  looked  very  fierce, 
and  said  in  answer  to  a  question  which 
touched  upon  the  echo,  "  Sare,  I  sail  give 
you  five  pounce  with  great  pleasir  for  to 
t/zscovare  sem  tarn  peple." 

"  They  ought,"  said  one  of  his  friends, 
"  to  have  their  instruments  taken  from  them 
and  broken  about  their  heads." 

"  Instrurnence! — say  vas  ton  wisout  in- 
strumence!  Say  teed  him  wis  sare  mouse, 
and  pe  tarn!" 

This  caused  Louise  to  laugh  so  im- 
moderately, that  Valentine  was  compelled 
to  remove  her  from  the  spot,  and  when  the 
conductor  had  given  sufficient  vent  to  those 
feelings  of  indignation  which  were  plainly 
effervescing  within  him,  he  gave  one  des- 
perate shrug,  which  seemed  perfectly  con- 
clusive, and  then  left  the  inquiring  group 
to  cool  himself  with  an  ice. 

"  My^poy,"  said  Llewellen,  on  coming  up 
with  the  widow,  after  a  very  long  absence, 
"  Teet  you  hear  that  wonterful  echo?" 

"The  whole  house  heard  it,  I  apprehend," 
replied  Valentine.  "There  is  a  numerous 
family  of  the  Echoes  it  appears.  They  are 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


847 


»11  relatives,  you  will  remember,  of  your  in- 
visible wife." 

"  His  invisible  wife!"  cried  the  widow; 
"  has  Mr.  Llewellen  an  invisible  wife?" 

"  Yes,  the  mother  of  the  whole  family. 
She  became  enamoured  of  him  in  the  gar- 
den, and  would  have  him." 

The  widow,  who  now  saw  it  all,  ex- 
claimed, "  Gracious,  my  dear,  and  was  that 
really  you?" 

Louise  instantly  placed  her  finger  upon 
her  lips  to  enjoin  silence;  but  Llewellen, 
who  was  struck  with  the  singularity  of  the 
question,  had  a  very  strong  desire  to  know 
what  it  meant. 

44  There  is  some  creat  secret  apout  this, — 
some  extraortinary  secret. — Too  tell  me  phot 
it  is] — Pless  your  soul,  tool — Inteet  hur 
shoot  like  to  pe  tolt,  coolness  knows  it!" 

44  What  secret  do  you  allude  to1?"  inquired 
the  widow. 

44  Hur  ton't  know  inteet  then;  putt " 

44  This  is  not  a  place  for  telling  secrets," 
said  Valentine.  44  Come,  come,  let  us  go 
in  and  have  some  refreshment." 

"  Apove  all  things  in  the  worlt!"  cried 
Llewellen.  44  Oh!  that  is  the  pusiness. — 
Phot  have  they  cot?" 

44  We  shall  see  by  the  carte,"  said  Valen- 
tine. 

44  Well,  my  poy,  you  order  all:  hur'm 
font,  you  know,  of  anything  in  the  worlt." 

44  Order  ices,"  whispered  Louise,  "and 
let  us  see  how  Fred  will  like  them.  We 
have  had  none  at  home  since  he  came  up, 
and  I  dont't  think  they  ever  gave  him  any 
in  Wales." 

Ices  were  accordingly  ordered:  and  when 
Llewellen  took  his,  he  looked  at  it  for  some 
time  studiously. 

44  It's  a  mighty  little  trifle,"  said  he,  at 
length.  "  Coolness  knows  it."  And  having 
taken  the  whole  of  it  up  with  the  spoon,  he 
put  it  bodily  into  his  mouth.  It  was,  how- 
ever, no  sooner  in  than  out.  He  shuddered, 
and  dropped  it  without  a  second  thought. 

44  Is  it  too  hot  for  you!"  said  Valentine, 
gravely,  allhough  Louise  and  the  widow 
were  convulsed. 

"Hot!"  cried  Llewellen.  44  It  makes  me 
shiver  to  think  of  it! — Cruel  cold! — My 
whole  potty's  freezing,  look  you! — Jlnt  my 
teeth!— Oh!" 

44  Did  you  never  have  an  ice  before1?" 
44  No,  never, — coolness  knows:  ant  hur 
never  wish  to  have  one  again." 
44  Well,  what  will  you  have!" 
"Any    thing    in    the    whole   worlt  putl 
that." 

44  Well,  as  I  have  been  so  unfortunate,  I 
must  leave  you  now  to  order  for  yourself. — 
There  is  the  garfon." 

44  PhoCs  his  name?"  inquired  Llewellen. 


word  I  don't  know. — You  had 
better  call  4  Waiter.'" 

Llewellen  did  so;  and  a  foreign  indivi- 
dual, whose  mind  seemed  to  be  intenlly 
ixed  upon  something,  approached  him. 

Wailer,"  said  Llewellen,  in  a  confiden- 
lial  lone,  "have  you  col  any  peer?" 

The  foreign  individual  dropped  his  head 
pon  his  right  shoulder,  and  shrugged  up 
lis  left,  but  said  nothing. 

44  Not  coot?"  said  Llewellen,  who  mis- 
understood altogether  what  the  action  of 
the  Frenchman  was  designed  to  convey. 
44  Is  it  not  coot  in  pottles?" 

The  Frenchman  employed  the  same  ges- 
lure  as  before,  with  this  addition:  he  ex- 
tended his  chin,  which  was  naturally  a  long 
one,  and  looked  most  intensely  mysteri- 
ous. 

44  This  is  a  very  honest  fellow,"  thought 
Llewellen.  "  It  isn't  often  one  meets  with 
a  man  who  will  refuse  to  sell  an  article 
which  is  not  quite  the  thing  to  a  stranger. 
— Well,"  said  he,  "  never  mint. — You're 
a  coot  fellow  to  tell  me,  for  hur  hate  pat 
peer  apove  all  Ihings  in  Ihe  worlt;  putl  let 
me  have  some  pranty-and-water,  look  you; 
warm." 

The  Frenchman  again  gave  a  national 
shrug. 

44  Phot!"  said  Llewellen,  "  is  that  pat 
too? — Coolness  knows  it!" 

'"  Ve  sal  vas,  monsieur,"  said  the  wailer, 
who  prided  himself  especially  upon  the 
purity  of  his  English.  "  Ve  sal  nevere  is 
eau  de  vie  non  monsieur." 

44  Phot  to  you  say?"  inquired  Llewellen, 
as  Valentine,  Louise  and  Ihe  widow  were 
laughing  convulsively.  "  Come,  lei's  have 
it  al  once." 

44  Mais  I  sal  vos  non  comprendre  a  tall 
vous." 

44  Yes,"  said  Llewellen,  "  hur'll  pe  pount 
it's  all  right,  olt  poy,  so  you'd  petter  run 
away,  now,  anl  fetch  it."  And  as  he  waved 
his  hand  precisely  as  if  he  wished  him  to 
be  off,  the  puzzled  Frenchman  took  the  hint 
at  once,  and  started. 

44  Well,"  said  Llewellen,  addressing  Va- 
lentine, "  I  shall  pe  all  right  at  last." 

44  What  have  you  ordered?" 

44  Some  peautiful  pranty-anl-waler,  look 
you!  anl  coolness  knows  il!" 

44  He'll  bring  you  no  brandy-and-water." 

44  Inteet  then  hur'll  wring  his  plesset 
neck,  if  he  ton't." 

44  If  he  brings  you  anything,  he'll  bring 
you  an  ice." 

44  An  ice!— Oh!  it  freezes  my  plut!" 

44  If  he  don't  bring  you  that,  he'll  bring 
nothing." 

44  Phy,  hur  ortert  it,  look  you!" 

44  And  he  told  you,  as  plainly  as  he  could, 


348 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


that  they  hadn't  got  it;  and  you  sent  him 
away." 

"  Oh,  hur'll  see  apout  that,"  said  Llewel- 
len.  "  Here,  waiter!" 

**  Gargon!"  cried  Valentine,  throwing  his 
voice  a  short  distance  from  him." 

44  Oui,  monsieur." 

"Gargon!—  Gar^on!— Gargon!"  cried  Va- 
lentine, at  appropriate  intervals,  and  in  three 
distinct  tones. 

44  Oui,  monsieur,  oui!"  cried  the  French- 
man, who  seemed  in  some  measure  per- 
plexed. 

44  If  hur  ton't  make  an  effort,  my  poy," 
said  Llewellen,  44  hur  shall  not,  hur  see,  pe 
aple  to  get  anything,  look  you! — Phot  am 
hur  to  orter!"  ' 

44  Why,  as  you  want  something  warm, 
ask  him  why  he  has  not  brought  the  glace. 
Tell  him  you  want  a  glace,  distinctly,  and 
then  he'll  understand  you." 

44  There's  a  coot  fellow,"  said  Llewellen. 
44  Now!  waiter!" 

44  Oui,  monsieur1?" 

44  Come,  come,  you  have  not  brought  my 
glass! — There,  never  mind  making  those 
faces: — hur  prefer  pranty-ant-water;  put 
pring  me  a  glass  of  anything,  no  matter 
what,  if  it's  putt  a  coot  glass." 

The  Frenchman  bowed,  and  looked  as  if 
he  saw  his  way  now  pretty  clearly,  which 
rather  delighted  Llewellen,  who,  when  he 
had  left,  said:  44  Well,  hur  have  mate  him 
understant  me  at  last." 

44  I'm  glad  of  it,"  said  Valentine.  44  But 
if  he  should  make  a  mistake,  you  had  bet- 
ter tell  him  what  you  mean  in  Welsh." 

The  Frenchman  now  returned  with  a 
strawberry  ice,  which  he  presented  with 
characteristic  grace  to  Llewellen.  Llewel- 
len looked  at  it! — he  knew  what  it  was  in 
a  moment! — and  then  he  looked  at  the 
Frenchman.  His  blood  was  a  little  up:  he 
felt  indeed  very  angry,  and  proceeded  to 
explain,  with  due  severity  of  aspect,  the 
precise  state  of  his  feelings  in  Welsh  to 
the  Frenchman,  who  was  perfectly  amazed, 
and  on  perceiving  that  Llewellen  was  very 
indignant,  he  let  loose  in  French,  and  thus 
made  a  duet  of  it,  which  was  interesting, 
because  highly  calculated  to  bring  about  a 
good  understanding  between  them. 

Valentine,  however,  when  he  fancied 
that  the  thing  had  gone  quite  far  enough — 
for  Llewellen  was  turning  very  red,  while 
the  Frenchman  was  grinning  and  gnashing 
his  teeth  fiercely — shouted  44  Gar$ on! — 
gargon! — gar^on!"  when  the  Frenchman, 
hearing  himself  thus  imperatively  called, 
screwed  up  his  lips,  and  with  a  ferocious 
look  of  scorn,  left  the  spot  much  excited. 

44 Tit  you  ever  in  all  your  porn  tays," 


said   Llewellen,    "  hear  anypotty  chatter 
like  that  little  wretch?" 

44 1  was  afraid  you  would  come  to  blows," 
said  Valentine. 

44  Plows!  hur  coot  eat  him,  coolness 
knows  it." 

44  You  are  always  getting  into  some 
scrape,"  said  Louise. 

44  Well,  Louey,  it  wasn't  my  fault.  Phen 
a  fellow  prings  an  ice  for  warm  pranty-and- 
water,  it's  enough  to  make  a  man's  plut 
poil." 

44  It's  too  bad,"  said  the  widow,  who 
sympathized  with  Llewellen;  44  it  is  in- 
deed," and  she  looked  at  the  carte,  and 
then  consulted  a  female  attendant,  and  in  a 
short  time  some  ponch  a  la  Romaine  was 
produced,  which  she  presented  to  Llewel- 
len, who,  having  tasted  it,  was  in  ecstasies, 
and  called  her  an  angel. 

44  Now,"  said  Valentine,  when  Llewel- 
len had  finished  his  punch,  which  he  in- 
deed highly  relished,  "a  little  more  music, 
and  then  we'll  return." 

Llewellen,  who  was  blessed  with  a  most 
happy  disposition,  had  now  forgotten  all  his 
troubles,  and  on  their  return  to  the  body  of 
the  theatre,  he  chatted  and  laughed  in  the 
merriest  mood,  and  enjoyed  the  scene  per- 
haps much  more  than  any  other  person  pre- 
sent. The  pleasure  which  Louise  felt  was 
probably  of  itself  not  less  pure,  but  its 
brightness  was  occasionally  dimmed  by 
thought,  which  was  perfectly  absent  from 
the  mind  of  Llewellen.  Could  she  hope 
to  be  always  as  happy!  Should  she  always 
experience  in  Valentine's  society  the  same 
degree  of  pleasure!  Would  he  always  be 
the  same  kind,  good,  dear  creature — always 
as  anxious  to  inspire  her  with  delight? 
These  were  questions  which  would  suggest 
themselves  constantly;  for  although  she 
had  no  reason  to  suppose  that  he  would 
ever  change;  although  she  tried  on  all  oc- 
casions to  repudiate  the  notion;  she  was 
still  apprehensive,  because,  and  solely  be- 
cause, she  neither  knew  nor  could  conceive 
more  perfect  pleasure  than  that  which  she 
invariably  experienced  when  with  him. 
Her  fears  on  this  subject,  however,  were 
vain.  Valentine  was  always  himself.  He 
never  thought  of  assuming  another  charac- 
ter: he  never  desired  to  make  himself  ap- 
pear to  be  that  which  he  really  was  not. 
This,  of  course,  it  was  impossible  for  her 
to  know;  and  as  she  thought  on  the  subject 
most,  when  she  felt  most  happy,  she,  on 
this  occasion,  while  clinging  fondly  to  him, 
gazed  occasionally  upon  him  with  an  as- 
pect of  sadness. 

44  My  poor  girl,"  said  he,  "  are  you 
fatigued1?'' 

44  Oh,  no;  not  at  all." 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


349 


/      "You  look  so  sad!" 

/      "I  am  so  happy,"  said  Louise,  and  as 

|  she  spoke,  a  tear  glistened  in  her  eye. 

They  now  went  in  search  of  Llewellen 
and  the  widow,  who  were  perfectly  certain 
to  go  astray  the  very  moment  the  attention 
of  Valentine  happened  to  be  directed  to 
some  other  quarter,  and  having  eventually 
discovered  them  engaged  in  a  close  exami- 
nation of  certain  plants  which  were  placed 
round  a  fountain,  Valentine  gave  them  the 
word  of  command,  and  they  followed  him 
and  Louise  out  with  all  due  obedience. 

They  then  entered  a  coach,  arid  at  once 
proceeded  home,  and  it  may  be  said,  that 
no  party  was  ever  more  happy.  They  were 
on  the  highest  possible,  terms  with  them- 
selves and  each  other,  and  it  is  not  quite 
certain  that  both  Louise  and  the  widow  did 
not,  on  their  way  home,  shed  tears  of  joy. 

The  very  moment  they  arrived  at  the 
house,  Louise,  as  usual,  inquired  for  her 
father,  and  on  being  informed  that  he  was 
still  where  she  had  left  him,  and  that  it 
was  supposed  that  he  was  asleep,  as  they 
had  heard  nothing  of  him  for  more  than  two 
hours,  she  ran  up  at  once  to  his  room,  and 
as  on  reaching  the  door  she  heard  Joseph, 
the  porter  say,  in  a  loud  and  threatning 
voice,  "I'll  not  go  for  a  shilling  less:  and 
if  you  don't  give  me  that,  I'll  blow  up  the 
whole  affair!" — she,  without  the  slightest 
ceremony,  Altered  the  room,  and  was  struck 
with  amazement  on  finding  him  seated  at 
the  table  with  her  father. 

"  Hush!"  whispered  Raven,  the  moment 
she  appeared. 

"  How  dare  you,  sir,  thus  address  your 
master!"  cried  Louise. 

"  Mind  your  own  business,  Miss!"  said 
the  fellow;  "  Master  '11  mind  hisn,  and  I'll 
mind  mine." 

"You  insolent  man!  how  dare  you  speak 
to  me?  Leave  the  room,  sir,  I  desire!" 

The  fellow  did  leave  the  room;  but  with 
a  sneer,  which,  to  Raven,  was  one  of  great 
significance. 

"  Why,  papa,  why  do  you  allow  yourself 
to  be  thus  insulted  by  one  of  your  own 
servants?"  cried  Louise. 

"My  dear  child!"  said  Raven,  "do  not 
distress  yourself.  I  shall  soon,  very,  very 
soon  get  rid  of  him  now!" 

"  But  how  dare  he  presume  even  to  sit 


in  your  presence!  Father!  have  you  any- 
thing to  fear  from  that  man?" 

"Anything  to  fear  from  him,  my  child?" 

"If  not,  why  keep  him  in  the  house1?  If 
he  knew  of  that,  which  is  now  no  longer  a 
secret  and  kept  it  faithfully,  reward  him; 
but  do  not  allow  him  to  remain." 

"My  child,  have  I  not  said  that  I  am 
about  to  get  rid  of  him!  But  why  do  you 
imagine  that  he  knew  of  that  secret?" 

"  Because  he  was  continually  boasting 
of  the  power  he  had  over  you:  nay,  he 
boasts  that  you  are  in  his  power  now!" 

"Indeed!  to  whom  does  he  make  that 
boast1?" 

"To  the  servants.  He  is  constantly 
telling  them  that  he  could  command  the 
best  place  in  the  house;  that  he  could  force 
you  to  do  anything  for  him  he  pleased,  and 
that,  to  use  his  own  expression,  he  has  you, 
under  his  thumb." 

Raven  pressed  his  lips  and  breathed  very 
hard,  and  having  drawn  Louise  closely  to 
him,  kissed  her  with  much  warmth. 

"Dear  papa,"  she  continued,  "tell  me, 
pray  tell  me,  what  m)rstery  is  this1?" 

"  Mystery?   What  mystery,  my  child?" 

"I  fear  that  there  is  more  than  has  yet 
transpired,  and  if  so,  do  disclose  it;  but  if 
there  be  not,  I  do  beg  of  you,  father,  to  dis- 
charge that  man,  for  there  is  in  him  some- 
thing which,  while  I  look  at  him,  I  feel 
that  I  have  reason  to  fear." 

"  Fear  nothing,  my  child.  You  are  cor- 
rect in  supposing  that  he  knew  my  secret; 
he  did  know  it;  he  knew  it  from  the  first; 
had  it  not  been  so,  I  never  should  have 
kept  about  the  house  so  pernicious  a  scoun- 
drel. But  you  have  nothing  to  fear  from 
him  now." 

"  Have  you,  papa?  You  will  not  object 
to  answer  me  the  question.  Is  there  no 
other  secret?  Has  all  been  explained?  Has 
that  man  the  power  to  make  known  any 
circumstance  you  are  anxious  to  keep  un- 
known?" 

"  My  good  child,"  said  Raven,  "  you 
shall  know  all  anon.  He  shall  quit  the 
house  to-morrow.  Go,  my  girl:  go,  there 
leave  me.  But,  Louise,  not  a  word  of  this 
to  Valentine!  You  will  promise  me  that?" 

Louise  did  so  and  kissed  him;  but  she 
left  with  a  heavy  heart,  and  a  mind  teeming 
with  fresh  apprehensions, 


350 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


CHAPTER  LXIII. 


GOODMAN  QUITS  THE  SCENE  FOREVER. 


UNCONSCIOUS  of  all  that  had  occurred  be- 
tween Louise  and  her  father  during  their 
interview,  Valentine  in  due  time  left  for 
the  night.  He  did  indeed  perceive,  on  her 
return  to  him,  that  she  was  agitated;  nay, 
he  perceived  that  she  had  been  in  tears; 
but  as  she  frequently  wept  for  joy,  and  as, 
since  her  father's  secret  had  been  proclaim- 
ed, her  smile  had  always  been  seen  through 
a  soft  veil  of  sadness,  her  appearance  failed 
to  make  a  deep  impression;  and,  therefore, 
after  having  playfully  delivered  a  lecture 
on  the  physical  operation  of  tears  upon 
beauty,  he  gave  his  sweet  pupil  the  pre- 
liminary kiss,  when  as  usual,  at  lingering 
intervals,  they  twenty  times  reiterated — as 
if  they  had  really  become  enamoured  of  the 
words—"  Good  night!" 

As  in  the  early  part  of  the  evening 
Uncle  John  had  explained  to  him  that 
Whitely  had  consented  to  a  private  ar- 
rangement, Valentine  hastened  home,  being 
anxious  to  ascertain  if  that  which  formed 
the  only  bar  to  his  immediate  union  with 
Louise  had  been  entirely  removed. 

A  mournful  scene,  however,  awaited  his 
arrival:  poor  Goodman  was  dying. 

He  had  been  tempted  by  that  fallacious 
strength  which  declining  nature,  struggling 
to  the  last,  seldom  indeed  fails  to  summon 
on  the  near  approach  of  death,  to  make  an 
effort  to  walk  across  the  chamber;  but  no 
sooner  had  that  effort  been  made,  than  he 
sank  upon  the  floor  in  a  state  of  absolute 
exhaustion.  This  occurred  about  an  hour 
before  Valentine  arrived;  and  as,  immedi- 
ately on  his  arrival,  he  was  informed  of 
the  fact,  he  proceeded  at  once  to  his  good 
old  friend's  room,  in  which,  besides  the 
attendants,  were  Uncle  John  and  the  phy- 
sician. 

As  he  entered  Goodman  smiled;  his  ap- 
pearance seemed  to  cheer  him.  He  took 
his  hand,  and  pressed  it  feebly,  but  with 
earnestness,  and  kissed  it. 

There  is  before  the  eyes  of  men  on  the 
brink  of  dissolution,  a  glassy  film  which 
death  imparts,  that  they  may  have  a  brief 
prospect  of  eternity,  when  some  behold  the 
angels  of  light,  while  others  have  the  de- 
mons of  darkness  before  them.  This  film 
then  glazed  the  eyes  of  Goodman;  but  his 
spirit  was  calm,  and  his  look  serene;  re- 
signation was  seated  on  his  brow;  death 
had  no  terrors  for  him. 

Having  gazed  for  a  few  moments  at  Va- 
lentine with  an  expression  of  pleasure,  a 


slight  cloud  seemed  suddenly  to  pass  over 
his  countenance,  and  he  looked  round  the 
chamber,  and  then  gently  drew  Valentine 
nearer,  when  whispering  in  his  ear,  he 
said,  "  My  brother:  1  should  like  to  see  my 
brother:  do  you  not  think  that  he  would 
come  to  me  now?" 

"  He  would  be  but  too  happy,"  said  Va- 
lentine. "I  will  go  to  him  instantly." 

"Do,  my  dear  boy;  Heaven  bless  you! 
Tell  him  I  am  anxious  to  say  farewell;  but 
haste,  for  I  feel  that  in  y  hour  is  come." 

Valentine  again  pressed  his  hand,  and 
left  the  room,  and  then  proceeded  without 
delay  to  Walter's  residence,  in  the  full  con- 
viction that  fraternal  affection  would  over- 
come shame,  and  that  the  summons  would 
be  instantly  obeyed.  He  reached  the  house: 
light  was  to  be  seen.  It  was  late,  certainly, 
but  earlier  than  Walter  was  wont  to  retire. 
He  knocked;  no  answer  was  returned:  he 
knocked  again  and  again;  still  no  one  appear- 
ed. At  length,  however,  after  knocking  and 
ringing  with  sufficient  violence  to  have 
aroused  the  seven  sleepers,  he  heard  one  of 
the  upper  windows  open,  and  on  looking 
up,  saw  the  head  of  a  female,  who  half 
screamed,  "Who's  there?" 

"  I  must  see  Mr.  Goodman  immediately," 
cried  Valentine.  "  Open  the  door." 

"  Go  away,  tipsy  man!"  cried  the  female; 
"  there's  no  one  of  that  name  lives  here." 

"  My  good  woman,"  said  Valentine,  hav- 
ing satisfied  himself  that  he  had  not  mis- 
taken the  house,  "He  did  live  here;  can 
you  tell  me  where  he  is  to  be  found?" 
1  "I  know  nothing  about  him.  I'm  only 
in  the  house  to  take  care  of  it.  The  family 
that  left  last  week  are  gone  a  long  way  in 
the  country;  I  don't  know  where — but 
they're  gone." 

The  female  then  disappeared  and  closed 
the  window,  when  Valentine  went  to  the 
public-house  opposite — to  which  he  knew 
that  Horace  had  been  in  the  habit  of  going 
— and  there  learned  that  Walter  and  his 
family,  after  having  sold  everything  off, 
had  indeed  left  town;  but  how  they  went, 
or  where  they  were  gone,  he  could  not  as- 
certain. 

He  therefore  immediately  retraced  his 
steps,  and  being  anxious  of  course  to  keep 
everything  from  Goodman  at  all  calculated 
to  give  him  the  slightest  uneasiness,  he 
made  up  his  mind  on  the  way  to  conceal 
from  him  all  but  the  naked  fact  of  Walter 
being  absent. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


351 


As  he  cautiously  returned  to  the  cham- 
ber, the  eyes  of  Goodman  were  closed  as  if 
in  death;  but  they  were  re-opened  the  very 
moment  he  entered,  and  turned  inquiringly 
towards  him  as  Ke  drew  near  the  bed. 

"  He  will  cornel"  said  Goodman,  feebly, 
for  he  was  sinking  very  fast — "  He  will 
come?" 

"  He  would,"  returned  Valentine,  "  I  am 
sure  that  he  would  with  pleasure;  but  un- 
happily he  is  at  present  out  of  town." 

"  Well,  well.  The  meeting  might  have 
been  painful  to  him — yes,  it  might  have 
given  him  pain.  You  will  not  fail  to  let 
him  know  that  all — all  has  been  forgiven1? 
I  should  have  been  pleased — much  pleased 
— but  for  his  peace — for  his  peace — it  is 
perhaps— as  well." 

Valentine  now  sat  beside  him  with  one 
hand  in  his;  and  while  the  physician,  who 
expected  his  death  every  moment,  was 
watching  his  countenance  with  the  utmost 
anxiety,  Uncle  John  was  in  an  easy  chair 
blinded  with  tears,  though  his  sorrow  was 
silent.  Goodman  was  his  oldest  friend:  he 
had  been  his  companion  in  infancy;  and 
while  his  name  was  associated  with  his 
earliest  recollections,  their  friendship  in 
manhood  had  been  cemented  by  the  know- 
ledge of  each  other's  integrity  and  good- 
ness of  heart.  He  was  therefore  much 
affected,  and  wept  bitterly,  albeit  still  in 
silence. 

Philosophy  at  such  a  time  as  this  has  no 
effect;  nor  can  religion  and  philosophy  con- 
joined check,  when  over  the  bed  of  death, 


the  tears  which  gush  from  the  reservoir  of 
Nature.  We  must  weep.  But  why1?  The 
dying  do  not  weep! — they  may  be  calm, 
serene,  free  from  pain,  happy — most  happy 
in  the  enjoyment  of  the  prospect  of  celestial 
bliss — still  we  weep!  Is  it  to  lose  them? — 
They  lose  us!  But  in  their  view  then  they 
lose  us  but  for  a  time,  while  in  ours  we  lose 
them  for  ever.  We  therefore  weep:  we 
weep  to  be  left  in  the  world  without  them, 
while  the  fountain  of  their  tears  is  dried  up 
with  the  sweet  hope  of  meeting  us  *'  where 
the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  the 
weary  are  at  rest,"  in  the  realms  of  peace, 
to  part  no  more. 

"  Hush! — hush!"  exclaimed  the  dying 
man,  in  a  thrilling,  startling  whisper,  after 
having  gazed  on  vacancy  for  some  time  in 
silence — "  Hark! — do  you  not  hear?" 

The  physician  raised  his  hand  to  enjoin 
silence. 

"  Hark! — hark!"  he  continued,  with  an 
expression  of  rapture,  raising  his  feeble 
hands  and  straining  his  eyes  upwards. 

A  sigh  escaped — a  heavy  lingering  sigh: 
it  was  his  last — he  breathed  no  more!  His 
eyes  were  still  fixed,  but  his  spirit  had  fled! 
*  #  *  #  #  * 

Thus  died  the  benevolent,  amiable  Good- 
man, the  victim  of  a  monstrous,  a  barbarous 
system,  which  has  long  been  a  foul  and 
pernicious  blot  upon  civilization,  and  of 
which  the  existence  in  full  force  still,  re- 
flects the  deepest  disgrace  upon  us  as  Chris- 
tians and  as  men. 


CHAPTER    LXIV. 


HORACE    ANNOUNCES   THE    FACT   TO   WALTER. 


NEARLY  a  fortnight  elapsed  after  the  mourn- 
ful occurrence  detailed  in  the  preceding 
chapter,  before  Valentine  was  relieved  in 
any  sensible  degree  of  the  sadness  that 
scene  had  induced.  His  knowledge  of  poor 
Goodman  had  been  in  reality  but  slight — 
the  seizure  having  been  effected  so  soon 
after  his  arrival — but  his  death  still  had 
made  a  deep  impression  upon  his  mind,  for 
he  had  seen  sufficient  of  him  to  feel  well 
convinced  that  no  man  ever  did  or  could 
possess  a  more  purely  benevolent  heart. 

Louise,  too — albeit,  under  the  then  ex- 
isting circumstances,  it  was  but  natural  for 
her  to  partake  of  any  feeling  which  gave 
him  pain — was  affected  more  deeply  than 
might  have  been  anticipated,  considering 


that  Goodman  was  a  man  whom  she  had 
never  even  seen.  She,  however,  knew  his 
history:  she  knew  of  his  cruel  incarceration, 
and  of  the  brutal  means  by  which  his  death 
had  been  induced,  and  that  knowledge  was 
accompanied  by  the  ever  constant  thought 
that  the  self-same  means  had  been  employed 
by  her  father.  She  therefore  felt  it  very 
acutely,  as  indeed  they  did  all;  for  while 
Uncle  John  mourned  the  loss  of  his  friend 
as  if,  indeed,  he  had  been  a  brother,  White- 
ly  became  still  more  inveterate  against  Ra- 
ven, and  Raven  himself  appeared  to  have 
lost  his  own  esteem. 

There  was,  however,  one  who  felt  it  more 
deeply  still:  and  that  was  Walter! 

Horace  had  been  left  by  him  in  town  to 


352 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


watch  the  progress  of  events,  and  to  report 
from  time  to  time;  and  as  he  was  in  con- 
stant communication  with  the  servant  by 
whom  Goodman  was  attended,  and  whom 
he  had  promised  to  marry  "  when  the  old 
man  was  dead,"  he  of  course  was  informed 
of  that  event  as  soon  as  possible,  and  no 
sooner  did  he  hear  of  his  death  than  he 
called  to  inquire  particularly  after  his  health. 

Of  course,  on  receiving  the  only  answer 
he  could  receive  on  that  occasion,  he  was 
perfectly  struck  with  amazement!  He  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  be  suddenly  struck: 
it  was  part  of  the  plan  he  had  deliberately 
laid  down, — and  after  having,  in  his  own 
peculiar  style,  expressed  his  concern  to  the 
widow  Smugman,  whose  grief  was  exces- 
sive, he  thanked  her  for  feeling  so  much 
for  his  uncle,  and  begged  of  her  to  prevail 
upon  Valentine  to  see  him,  that  he  might 
know  if  there  was  anything  in  the  world 
that  he  could  do. 

The  affected  widow — who  began  to  look 
upon  Horace  as  an  individual  who  had  been 
scandalously  libelled — of  course  consented, 
and  proceeded  to  the  drawing-room,  in 
which  Valentine  was  sitting  with  Uncle 
John,  with  the  view  of  inducing  him  by 
her  eloquence  to  see  him  whom  she  termed 
"  the  poor  afflicted  young  gentleman." 

Valentine,  however,  needed  no  such  in- 
ducement: the  very  moment  he  heard  that 
Horace  was  below  he  came  down,  and  was 
by  no  means  displeased  to  perceive  that  he 
was  not  dead  to  every  proper  feeling,  for  he 
had  made  up  his  face  for  the  occasion, 
while  the  tones  in  which  he  spoke  resembled 
those  which  are  subdued  by  real  grief. 

The  interview  was  but  short.  Valentine 
explained  to  him  all  that  had  occurred,  but 
dwelt  emphatically  upon  Goodman's  earnest 
wish  to  see  his  brother  before  he  died;  and 
when  Horace  had  ingeniously  got  at  the 
fact  that  the  will  had  not  been  altered — 
which,  indeed,  was  the  only  thing  he  cared 
to  know — he  promised  to  communicate  im- 
mediately with  his  father,  and  with  that 
view  at  once  took  his  leave. 

The  country  is  beyond  doubt  the  most 
unpleasant  place  to  which  a  man  with  a 
stinging  conscience  can  retire.  Such  a  man 
must  keep  in  town  if  he  expects  even  par- 
tially to  drown  his  thoughts:  the  country 
cannot  calm  his  troubled  breast:  its  tran- 
quillity affords  no  peace  for  him. 

This  Walter  felt  strongly.  The  peace 
which  he  there  saw  around  him  so  striking- 
ly contrasted  with  the  perpetual  agitation 
within  him,  that  it  drove  him  almost  mad. 
Drink  was  the  only  means  of  excitement 
which  he  found  available  there.  Whether 
he  walked  abroad  or  remained  at  home,  to 
him  it  was  still  the  same:  everything  ap- 


peared to  be  tranquil  but  his  conscience,  and 
by  that  he  was  tortured  so  perpetually  that 
the  very  day  on  which  Goodman  died  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  return  to  town;  not 
only  with  the  view  of  escaping  the  torture 
which  the  peaceful  character  of  a  rural  life 
induced,  but  in  order  to  see  his  brother,  and 
to  solicit  his  forgiveness.  Upon  this  he  had 
fully  and  firmly  resolved,  and  was  on  the 
point  of  explaining  that  resolution  to  his 
wife,  and  to  urge  her  to  prepare  immediate- 
ly for  their  departure,  when  Horace  arrived 
to  announce  his  brother's  death. 

"  What  has  happened?"  inquired  Wal- 
ter, as  he  entered. 

"  There,  now,  sit  down,"  said  Horace, 
"  and  don't  be  in  a  fever.  Take  a  drop  of 
brandy,  and  give  me  ditto,  and  then  as  soon 
as  I've  got  off  my  benjamin,  I'll  tell  you 
all  the  news.  I  can't  before." 

\Valter  trembled.  He  had  no  conception 
of  his  brother's  death,  but  he  felt  that 
something  might  have  occurred  that  would 
plunge  them  at  once  into  ruin. 

"Well,"  said  Horace,  having  adjusted 
himself  to  his  entire  satisfaction,  "  we 
seem  to  have  made  a  bit  of  a  mull  of  this 
business,  after  all." 

44  What  business1?"  cried  Walter,  impa- 
tiently. 

"  Why,  the  old  buffer's  gone,  and—" 

"  Gone?— dead?" 

44  Why,  of  course!"  replied  Horace. 
"  Come,  come,"  he  continued,  on  perceiv- 
ing the  strong  effect  the  announcement  had 
upon  Walter;  "  there,  that's  quite  enough; 
you  do  it  on  the  whole  pretty  fairly;  but 
now, — come, — cut  it.  It's  all  very  natural 
to  be  struck  all  of  a  heap  when  you've  got 
your  game  to  play,  but  here  there's  no  ne- 
cessity for  it. — Well,  may  I  be  swindled! 
I  say,  governor! — do  you  mean  it1?" 

44  Silence!"  shouted  Walter,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  rage. 

"  Well,  that's  very  pleasant  and  very 
pretty,  and  would  sound  very  correct  if  set 
to  music;  but  the  tone  doesn't  harmonize 
exactly  with  my  feelings,  I  must  say. 
Haven't  1  done  all  I  could  do? — didn't  I 
swindle  the  buffers  into  the  belief  that  the 
papers  I  returned  were  the  papers,  and  no- 
thing but?— didn't  I  get  a  written  acknow- 
ledgment for  the  lot? — and  didn't  I  get  hold 
of  the  slavey,  and  make  her  believe  that  I 
was  single  and  was  going  to  marry  her,  in 
order  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  every  move? 
and  yet  it's  *  Silence!''  This  is  the  reward 
of  virtue!" 

"  Horace! — Horace!"  exclaimed  the  mo- 
ther, "  don't  for  goodness  sake  go  on  so!" 

"  Go  on,  how?  This  you  know  is  what  I 
call  gratitude,  this  is!" 

"  We  know  that  you  have  done  a  great 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


353 


deal;  wo  know  that;  and  we  appreciate 
it." 

44  Yes,  so  it  seems!  it  bears  a  striking 
resemblance  to  that!" 

*'  But  do,  for  Heaven's  sake,  talk  more 
like  a  Christian." 

44 Talk  more  like  a  Christian!  Well,  that's 
rather  rich — rich  enough  to  disagree  with 
any  stomach,  that  is.  How  am  I  to  talk?" 

44  With  less  vulgarity,  Horace!  It  is  re- 
ally quite  shocking." 

"Well,  I  shouldn't  be  surprised.  But 
what's  the  governor  dreaming  about  now1? 
He  hasn't  heard  a  quarter  of  what  I  have 
to  tell  him." 

44  Tell  me  all,"  said  Walter,  44and  at 
once." 

44  Now  don't  speak  in  such  an  uncom- 
fortable tone.  It  would  be  much  more  mild 
if  it  wasn't  so  strong.  I  should  before 
have  pulled  it  all  out  at  once  if  you  hadn't 
stopped  me.  But  to  whom  do  you  think 
he  has  left  all  his  property  now1?— guess." 

44  Perhaps  to  that  Valentine,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Walter,  44 1  shouldn't  be  surprised." 
-    "  I  care  not  if  he  has,"  said  Walter,  de- 
spondingly,  "lam  reckless  of  everything 
now." 

44  What!"  exclaimed  Horace,  "  what 
would  you  say  now  if  he  had  left  the  lot  to 
you1? — made  you  his  sole  executor,  notwith- 
standing what  has  occurred? — forgiven  and 
forgotten  all,  like  a  good  Christian." 

44  Is  that  the  fact?"  inquired  Walter,  with 
the  most  intense  earnestness.  "  Has  he 
really  done  that?" 

44  He  has.  He  has  left  no  one  else  the 
value  of  twopence." 

44  Thank  Heaven!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wal- 
ter; but  Walter  himself  became  motionless 
and  silent.  Had  his  brother  displayed  the 
slightest  feeling  of  enmity  or  revenge;  had 
he,  as  a  punishment  for  his  unnatural  con- 
duct, left  him  destitute,  it  would  have  af- 
fected him  but  slightly;  he  would  have  re- 
garded it  but  as  a  punishment,  and  all  his 
energies  would  at  once  have  been  directed 
to  the  means  of  avoiding  it  by  retaining 
illegally  that  which  he  had;  but  as,  not- 
withstanding the  injuries  he  had  received 
at  his  hands, — notwithstanding  he  had  been 
treated  by  him  with  the  most  unnatural 
cruelty,  he  had  act<°d  precisely  the  same  as 
if  he  had  experienced  nothing  but  kindness 
and  brotherly  affection;  it  cut  him  to  the 
quick:  for  hearts  are  wounded  far  more 
deeply  by  kindness  undeserved,  than  by 
the  barbed  shafts  of  malice  or  revenge. 

44  Why,"  said  Horace,  who  expected 
folly  that  his  father  would,  of  course,  be 
elated,  "  you  don't  appear  to  be  particularly 
up  in  the  stirrups  even  now." 

Walter  rose  and  left  the  room,  and  as  he 
31 


left,  his  eyes  seemed  to  be  starting  from 
their  sockets,  while  he  groaned  and  ground 
his  teeth,  and  with  his  clenched  fists  struck 
his  head  with  violence. 

44  Well,"  said  Horace,  "  did  you  ever  see 
anything  to  come  up  to  that?  I  tell  him  the 
very  best  news  that  could  possibly  be  told, 
and  instead  of  being  in  regular  ecstasies, 
he  cuts  away,  and  knocks  his  old  head 
about,  just  like  a  man  without  hope." 

44  The  news  of  his  brother's  death,"  said 
Mrs.  Walter,  44  has  affected  him,  and  very 
naturally." 

44  Well,  that  may  be  regular,  as  far  as  it 
goes;  but  it  won't  go  very  far,  you  know, 
when  he  has  been  expecting  his  death  daily 
for  months!" 

44  Very  true;  still,  however  long  it  may 
have  been  expected,  when  it  does  come  we 
cannot  but  feel  it." 

44  Well,  1  shouldn't  be  surprised.  But 
it  wasn't  the  death  that  affected  him  most; 
it  was  the  property  that  put  him  in  that 
state  of  mind.  But  I  say  though,  what 
donkeys  we  have  been  in  this  business! 
That's  what  I  look  at.  Here  have  we  been 
muddling  away  the  money  like  mad  indi- 
viduals, in  the  first  instance  sacrificing  one- 
half  in  order  to  keep  the  other,  and  then 
cutting  away  with  that  as  if  we  hadn't 
above  six  months  to  live,  when  if  we  had 
but  kept  quiet  we  should  have  had  the 
whole  in  the  regular  course  of  nature,  and 
that  too  in  a  lump,  which  of  course  would 
have  enabled  us  to  live  like  fighting-cocks, 
in  a  state  of  the  most  pleasant  independ- 
ence for  the  rest  of  our  days." 

44  Very  true;  very  true;  we  have  indeed 
been  extravagant." 

44  Extravagant,  yes;  but  that  which  hurts 
my  feelings  most  is  the  fact  of  our  having- 
seen  nothing  at  all  for  it!  The  money  has 
been  regularly  slobbered  away.  It  is  true 
we  havn't  had  much  luck:  that  must  be  ad- 
mitted by  universal  nature.  That  fool  of  a 
fire  was  the  first  go — that  cost  a  little  above 
a  trifle.  Then  there  was  the  buying  of  that 
Spanish,  only  just  as  it  was  on  the  point  of 
dropping  down  to  nothing.  Had  we  waited 
but  half  an  hour  longer,  we  shouldn't  have 
been  in  time  for  that.  Then  the  loss  of  the 
governor's  mysterious  pocket-book  contain- 
ing those  notes — that  was  another  nice 
blessing.  I  never  saw  such  a  sweet  run  of 
luck;  it  beats  all  my  acquaintance.  And 
then  again  you  see,  buying  that  house  full 
of  furniture  at  the  very  highest  price,  and 
then  selling  it  at  about  the  very  lowest  to 
come  down  here,  and  now  we  shall  have  to 
buy  another  house-full,  at  the  very  highest. 
You  see  all  these  things  tell!" 

44 They  do  indeed.  We  have  had  neither 
a  moment's  peace  of  mind  nor  anything  but 


354 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


misfortune  since  your  uncle  was  taken  to 
that  place." 

"It  was  a  badly  managed  business;  nay, 
the  whole  thing  has  been  most  miserably 
muffed,  and  I  don't  care  who  knows  it. 
However,  we  must  make  the  best  we  can 
of  it  now." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  we  disposed  of  that 
furniture.  Had  we  delayed  the  sale  but  a 
few  days,  you  see  there  would  have  been 
no  necessity  for  selling  it  at  all." 

"That's  the  beauty  of  it!— That's  the  very 
thing  I  look  at!  We  are  always  just  in  time!" 

"But  then  who  could  have  supposed  it1? 
Who  could  have  supposed  that  your  uncle 
after  all  would  have  been  so  considerate,  so 
good"?  I  am  sure,  for  my  own  part,  /never 
expected  it.  I  never  supposed  it  to  be  at 
all  probable.  I  fully  made  up  my  mind 
when  you  mentioned  the  property  that  the 
whole  had  been  left  to  that  young  man,  to 
whose  arrival  in  town  I  attribute  all  our 
misfortunes,  and  that  we  should  have  been 
in  consequence  compelled  either  to  quit  the 
country  or  to  remain  here  concealed,  to 
avoid  being  ruined  by  actions  at  law.  But 
say  what  you  will,  Horace,  your  uncle 
must  have  been  a  good  man." 


"  Oh!  he  was  a  decent  old  fellow  enough, 
I  dare  say.  I  should  have  liked  him  per- 
haps better  had  he  liked  me  better,  for 
there  is  always  a  great  deal  in  that;  but  as 
he  didn't  much  care  about  me,  why  I  didn't 
care  much  about  him.  But  where's  the 
governor]  It  will  never  do,  you  know,  to 
allow  him  to  get  into  a  state  of  confirmed 
uncomfortables.  I  must  say  I  don't  like 
the  look  of  him  sometimes." 

"I  fear  that  he  never  will  be  himself 
again." 

"  Well,  you'd  better  see  after  him,  you 
know.  He  may  give  us  a  little  more  of  his 
hanky-panky  business,  and  set  us  all  in  a 
blaze  as  he  did  before.  There's  no  account- 
ing for  buffers  that  see  apparitions." 

Mrs.  Walter  took  the  hint  and  left  the 
room,  when  on  entering  the  little  back  par- 
lour, she  found  Walter  seated  at  the  table, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy,  and  groan- 
ing with  intense  mental  anguish.  She 
spoke  to  him — he  started,  but  returned  no 
answer.  She  tried  to  rouse  him  from  his 
reverie,  but  in  vain. 

From  that  hour  his  misery  became  ap- 
palling. 


CHAPTER  LXV. 


IN  WHICH  THE  DAY  IS  FIXED  AGAIN. 


WHEN  a  month  from  the  period  of  poor 
Goodman's  death  had  passed  without  a 
single  syllable  on  the  subject  of  the  mar- 
liage  having  been  mentioned,  Valentine 
very  naturally  felt,  that  as  every  thing 
which  mjght  have  been  considered  a  bar  to 
its  immediate  celebration  had  been  effectu- 
ally removed,  it  would  be  absurd  to  defer 
the  renewal  of  that  subject  any  longer,  par- 
ticularly as  he  began  to  be  very  impatient. 
He  saw  Louise  daily;  he  dined  and  con- 
versed with  her  daily;  and  he  could  not  but 
feel  that  they  might  as  well  be  married  as 
not;  nay,  he  thought  it  would  be  better,  in- 
asmuch as  their  minds  would  be  more  at 
ease,  and  they  would  feel  far  more  settled, 
and  so  on. 

Accordingly,  having  satisfied  'himself 
that  nothing  could  be  more  correct,  he  re- 
aolved  to  revert  to  the  subject  at  once,  and 
as  at  the  time  this  unimpeachable  resolu- 
tion was  formed,  he  and  Louise  were  in  the 
drawing-room  alone,  he  closed  the  book  he 
had  in  his  hand,  and  drew  up  to  the  table 
at  which  she  had  been  working  for  some 
time  in  silence. 


It  is  a  curious  fact  in  natural  philosophy, 
that  ladies  in  almost  every  case  of  interest, 
clearly  understand  the  designs  of  their 
lovers.  The  process  by  which  they  arrive 
at  this  clear  understanding  is  inscrutable  of 
course,  but  that  they  do  possess  the  faculty 
of  perceiving  it  at  once  when  an  interesting 
proposition  is  about  to  be  made  to  them,  is 
a  fact  which  experience  has  placed  beyond 
dispute.  It  is  hence  that  at  such  a  time  as 
this  they  are  never  off  their  guard,  for  let  a 
man  go  round  ^and  round,  and  beat  about  as 
his  apprehensions  or  his  natural  diffidence 
may  prompt,  they  well  know  that  his 
design  is  to  come  to  the  point,  and  that 
sooner  or  later  to  the  point  he  will  come; 
and  hence  it  was  that  in  this  particular  in- 
stance Louise  no  sooner  perceived  Valen- 
tine draw  mysteriously  up  to  the  table, 
than  she  began  to  work  away  at  an  extra- 
ordinary rale,  and  to  feel  her  cheeks  glow- 
ing with  "  ineffectual  fire." 

"  Louise,"  said  he,  "I  mean  to  be  merry 
again.  I  have  been  solemn  already  too 
long;  for  although  the  mournful  scene 
which  caused  me  to  be  sad,  made  an  im- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


355 


pression  which  I  sincerely  hope  may  never 
be  obliterated,  still  I  hold  it  to  be  the  very 
reverse  of  wisdom  to  cherish  gloomy 
thoughts  until  they  obtain  so  great  an  in- 
fluence over  the  mind  as  to  tinge  every 
feeling  of  pleasure  with  sadness." 

At  this  point  he  paused;  but  Louise  kept 
on  working  with  great  intensity  and  zeal 
without  offering  the  slightest  remark,  or 
even  raising  her  eyes  for  an  instant. 

"Louise,"  he  continued,  "you  are  very 
industrious  to-day!" 

"That  is  rather  an  equivocal  compli- 
ment," said  Louise.  "Arn  I  not  always 
industrious'?" 

"  Your  mind  is  always  active,  I  admit; 
but  I  never  saw  you  work  quite  so  fast,  I 
think,  before!  Shall  you  be  long  about  that 
business?" 

"  What  business,  dear1?" 

"  Why  that  muslin  affair.— What  is  it?— 
Oh!  by  no  means!— I  have  no  wish  to 
know! — But  you'll  not  be  long  about  it,  I 
presume?" 

"  Oh!  no.     But  why  do  you  ask?" 

"  Because,  when  you  have  completed  it 
— whatever  it  may  be — I  should  like  to 
have  a  little  conversation  with  you  on  a 
subject  of  some  interest." 

"  Can  we  not  converse  while  I  am  work- 
ing quite  as  well?" 

"No,  my  Louise,  not  quite,  for  your 
eyes  are  then  fixed  upon  the  work  when  I 
am  anxious  to  have  them  fixed  upon  me." 

Louisa  bowed,  and  having  set  the  work 
aside,  was  all  attention. 

"You  heard  me  say  just  now,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  that  I  mean  to  be  merry  again. 
Louise,  we  must  both  be  merry." 

"  I  fear,"  said  Louise,  "  that  I  shall  never 
again  be  habitually  cheerful." 

"That,  my  dear  girl,  is  the  effect  of  the 
very  influence  to  which  I  alluded,  and 
against  which  we  must  take  care  to  guard. 
I  am  glad,  however,  to  find  that  you  fear 
you  never  shall,  because  as  that  implies  a 
wish  that  you  may,  I  have  no  doubt  you 
will.  Cherish  that  fear  until  you  prove  it 
to  be  groundless.  Entertain  it  till  then, 
and  you  are  safe.  But  1  have  no  fear  of 
the  kind;  I  have  not  even  a  doubt  that  you 
will  be,  and  that  soon,  the  same  light- 
hearted,  animated,  merry  little  tyrant  you 
were  three  months  ago." 

Louise  shook  her  head,  and  sighed. 

"Fou  do  not  think  so,  of  course,"  he 
continued;  "I  don't  see  how  you  can! 
But,  my  good  girl,  we  must  not  hug  sorrow 
to  our  hearts  as  if  we  loved  it.  We  shall 
have  enough  of  it,  without  courting  its 
society.  It  will  come  often  enough,  with 
out  any  invitation,  and  stop  long  enough, 
without  being  either  welcomed  or  fostered. 


We  must  give  it  no  encouragement;  if  we 
do,  it  will  stick  to  us,  and  make  itself  so 
jerfectly  at  home,  that  after  a  time  we  shall 
not  be  able  to  get  rid  of  it  at  all.  They 
are  the  wisest  people  who  turn  sorrow  out 
at  once,  for  it  really  has  no  engaging  quali- 
ties; it  is  always  looking  wretched,  and 
groaning  about  something.  How  ever  ra- 
tional beings  can  love  such  a  companion  I 
cannot  conceive." 

"Its  visits,"  said  Louise,  "are,  unfor- 
tunately, not  confined  to  those  by  whom  it 
s  beloved." 

"  Of  course  not.  It  will  force  itself  any- 
where; it  is  externally  trying  to  extend  the 
circle  of  its  acquaintance;  but  having  gain- 
ed an  introduction,  the  length  of  its  visit 
depends  entirely  upon  the  treatment  it  re- 
ceives. If  you  meet  it  with  spirit,  it  will 
be  too  much  shocked  to  remain  long;  but  if 
once  you  fall  into  its  views,  it  will  love 
you  too  dearly  to  leave  you.  Now  I  per- 
ceive, my  dear  girl,  that  it  is  getting  rather 
fond  of  you;  its  affection  for  you,  indeed,  is 
becoming  very  conspicuous,  and  as  such  is 
the  case,  would  it  not  be  wise  to  make  it 
understand  that  on  your  part  there  is  no 
reciprocity  of  feeling?  What  is  your  opin- 
ion upon  the  point?" 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Louise,  "  I  can- 
not say." 

"Are  you  enamoured  of  sorrow?" 

"No." 

"  You  have  no  desire  to  be  wedded  to  it 
for  life?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"If  you  knew  how  to  remove  the  heavy 
burden  from"  your  heart,  you  would  do  so 
willingly?" 

"I  would." 

"Then  the  thing  shall  be  done.  I  will 
undertake  to  show  you  how  to  do  it.  But 
let  us  have  a  clear  and  distinct  understand- 
ing. You  engage  to  be  guided  by  me? 
You  promise  to  act  upon  my  instructions 
to  the  very  letter?" 

Louise  paused,  but  at  length  said,  "  I 
do."' 

"Very  well.  In  the  first  place  then — 
(now  I  expect  the  most  implicit  obedience) 
— in  the  first  place,  let  me  see,  this  is  the 
sixth:  yes;  well  then,  decide  upon  what 
day,  between  this  and  the  twentieth,  we 
shall  take  full  possession  of  our  house." 

"  Oh!  that's  an  entirely  different  thing!" 
exclaimed  Louise.  "  We  were  speaking 
on  the  subject  of  sorrow!" 

"  We  were;  and  as  I  have  made  up  my 
mind  to  entertain  no  sorrow  at  that  house, 
the  sooner  we  take  possession  of  it  the 
better.  Remember,  you  have  promised  obe- 
dience!^— between  this  and  the  twentieth." 

"Nay,  but  this  is  a  snare!     You  can 


356 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


hardly  expect  me  to  feel  myself  bound  by 
a  promise  into  which  I  have  been  entrap- 

§ed!  But  seriously,  my  love,  pray  let  us 
efer  it  a  little  longer." 

**  Well,  rny  dear  girl,  I  will  consent  to 
defer  it— provided  you  can  prove  to  me  that 
it  ought  to  be  deferred." 

"  Would  not  the  mere  expression  of  my 
wish  on  the  subject  be  sufficient?" 

"Why  that  depends  entirely  upon  what 
form  of  government  we  are  under.  If  it  be 
an  absolute  despotism,  of  course  the  wish 
would  have  but  to  be  expressed  to  be 
obeyed;  but  if  it  be  but  a  limited  monarchy 
the  consent  of  others  must  be  obtained  be- 
fore it  can  have  the  force  of  law.  But  I 
thought  you  were  my  pupil — my  subject 
for  the  time  being.  I  thought  you  promised 
to  obey  me.  Was  it  not  so1?" 

"  I  certainly  did  promise;  but  — " 

"That  is  sufficient!  Your  will  then  of 
course  is  quite  out  of  the  question:  my  will 
is  the  law  to  which  you  have  promised  obe- 
dience; nevertheless,  if  you  can  show  me 
any  just  cause  or  impediment  why  we 
should  not  take  possession  of  that  house 
before  the  twentieth,  I  am  perfectly  willing 
to  yield;  at  the  same  time  I  think  that  I 
am  quite  safe  in  making  that  promise,  be- 
lieving that  no  sufficient  reason  can  be  ad- 
duced. But  what  have  you  to  urge?" 

**  I  know  of  nothing  which  you  would 
consider  a  sufficient  reason;  but  I  don't, 
iny  love,  feel — exactly— prepared." 

"  Well,  sure  you  will  have  plenty  of  time 
for  preparation  before  the  twentieth!  Con- 
sider, an  immense  deal  can  be  done  in  four- 
teen days.  Besides,  look  at  that  furniture! 
Now,  I  should  be  very  sorry  indeed  to  see 
that  fall  into  decay;  and  is  it  likely  that  it 
.will  not  all  be  spoiled  if  we  drive  this  affair 
off  much  longer?" 

"  Oh!  but  I  hope  it  is  well  taken  care  of." 

"  It  may  be;  I  say  it  may  be;  but  you 
know  what  servants  are  when  they  have  no 
one  to  see  after  them.  But  independently 
of  that,  I  don't  like  to  see  the  house  as  it  is 
now.  We  should  feel  more  at  home  there, 
— much  more  at  home.  I  admire  the  hoiyse. 
And  shall  we  not  be  happy  in  it,  my  love? 
Yes,  I  feel  that  we  shall,  and  you  feel  that 
we  shall,  too.  Let  ws  then  be  happy  at 
once.  I  am  not  at  all  particular  as  to  the 
day;  any  day  between  this  and  the  twen- 
tieth. The  earlier,  the  better,  of  course. 
Come,  my  Louise,  we  must  have  no  more 
gloom,  no  more  melancholy  thoughts  or 
afflicting  apprehensions.  To-morrow — I 
will  not  press  you  too  closely  now — but  to- 
morrow let  me  know  the  day  on  which  our 
happiness  is  really  to  commence,  and  then 
we'll  make  sorrow  Jly  before  the  pros- 
,pect!" 


Louise  was  silent.  Valentine  had  drawn 
his  chair  quite  close  to  hers;  and  had  both 
her  hands  in  his;  and  although  she  endea- 
voured to  fix  her  eyes  firmly  upon  her  dress, 
they  would  almost  every  moment  meet  his, 
which  of  course  she  couldn't  help. 

"  Louise,"  said  he,  after  a  pause,  during 
which  he  gazed  with  the  highest  and  purest 
feelings  of  admiration  upon  her,  "  what  say 
you;  shall  we  go  this  morning  and  look  at 
our  house,  and  see  how  the  furniture  stands, 
and  so  on?" 

"Oh,  yes!  I  should  like  it  indeed." 

"Then  we'll  go,  my  dear  girl,  run  away 
and  prepare." 

Louise  now  raised  her  eyes,  and  before 
she  left  the  room  fixed  them  firmly  upon 
him,  and  said  that  he  was  a  dear  good 
creature,  and  that  she  loved  him  more  and 
more;  for  which,  of  course,  Valentine  ap- 
propriately rewarded  her,  and  a  heavy  bur- 
den seemed  to  have  been  removed  from  the 
hearts  of  both. 

"  Oh,  Louey!"  exclaimed  Llewellen,  who 
happened  to  enter  unperceived  at  the  very 
moment  their  lips  accidentally  met, — "  OA.'" 

Louise  blushed,  and  darted  from  the  room 
with  all  possible  speed. 

"  Well,  Fred!"  said  Valentine,  precisely 
as  if  nothing  at  all  had  happened,  "  What's 
the  news?" 

"  Well,  coolness  knows  it,  now,  that's 
the  first  time  I  ever  frightened  Louey! 
Hur'm  so  clat!  Won't  hur  tease  her  now, 
look  you!" 

"Tease  her?"  said  Valentine,  "What 
about?" 

Llewellen  made  a  very  droll  face,  and 
gave  five  or  six  very  deliberate  nods  as  if 
he  quite  understood  it. 

"  Why,  you  don't  suppose,  Fred,  that  it 
is  very  extraordinary  for  a  lady  to  receive  a 
kiss  from  him  to  whom  she  is  just  on  the 
point  of  being  married?" 

"No,"  said  Llewellen,  "no!  It  isn't 
extraordinary,  that;  but  look  you;  there's  a 
tifference  between  kissing  phen  nopotty's 
apout,  ant  kissing  phen  somepotty's  hanty; 
and  coolness  knows  Louey  woultn't  have 
hat  me  seen  her  for  the  worlt;  so  hur'll 
roast  her  to  teath  apout  it,  look  you!  Putt 
hur  say,  my  poy,  woultn't  you  like  to  have 
a  walk?  Hur've  pin  reating  those  plesset 
books  pelow  till  hur'm  plind." 

"  Louise  and  I  are  going  to  look  at  the 
house." 

"Oh!  apove  all  things  in  the  worlt!  Hur 
may  co,  hur  suppose?" 

"  Of  course!— that  is  to  say,  if  Louise  has 
no  objection;  but  I  know  she  will  put  her 
veto  upon  it  at  once  if  you  say  another  word 
about  the  kiss." 

44  Oh,  very  well;  hur  ton't  care  so  long  as 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


357 


hur  can  co,  only  hur  shoot  like  to  tease  her 
a  pit  apout  that." 

"  But  her  spirits,  poor  girl,  have  of  late 
been  depressed,  and  you  ought  not,  you 
know,  to  take  any  advantage — " 

"Not  for  the  worlt!"  cried  Llewellen, 
with  much  feeling,  "  Not  for  the  worlt! 
For  hur  love  Louey,  look  you;  were  she  my 
sister,  hur  coultn't  love  her  more." 

Valentine  grasped  his  hand,  and  shook  it 
warm'y;  and,  having  said  that  he  was  a 
good  fellow,  strongly  recommended  him  to 
go  and  brush  his  hair,  not  because  it  was  at 
all  disarranged,  but  in  order  that  Louise, 
when  she  returned,  might  not  feel  at  all  em- 
barrassed. 

"  Hur  ton't  think  hur  can  make  it  look 
much  petter,  look  you,"  said  Llewellen, 
after  having  surveyed  it  in  the  glass. 
"  Phot's  the  matter  with  it,  my  poy?  Ton't 
you  like  the  co  of  it]" 

"  Oh,  go  and  give  it  a  brush;  it  will  look 
all  the  smoother,  especially  behind." 

Very  coot:  hur'll  make  it  co  petter  if  hur 
can." 

**  That's  right;  but  be  quick;  don't  keep 
us  waiting  long.  Run  away,  Louise  is 
coming." 

Llewellen  was  off  like  a  shot  to  arrange 
his  hair,  and  Louise  the  next  moment  re- 
turned. 

"  Oh!  where  is  Fred!"  she  inquired, 
having  looked  stealthily  round.  "  Gra- 
cious!— what  did  he  say1?" 

"  What  did  he  say!  Why,  he  said  that 
he  should  like  to  go  with  us." 

44  Yes,  yes;  but  about — you  know  what  I 
mean.  Did  he  make  any  remark?" 

"I  believe  that  he  said  'Oh!'  or  some- 
thing of  that  kind  playfully,  before  you  left 
the  room." 

"  Dear  me,  what  a  fidget  T  was  in." 

Llewellen  now  entered,  with  his  hair  in 
the  best  trim.  He  had  altered  the  "  go," 
and  it  looked  rather  tidy. 

44  WTiIl  it  tool"  he  inquired,  addressing 
Valentine. 

44  Aye!  now  it  looks  more  like  the  thing." 

44  Hur  wish,  Louey  tear,  you  woult  puy 
me  some  pears'  grease,  will  you,  Louey? — 
there's  a  coot  cirl!" 

Louise  promised  to  do  so,  and  they  left 
the  house,  and  at  the  suggestion  of  Valen- 
tine called  for  Uncle  John,  whom  they 
found  alone,  and  in  rather  low  spirits.  He 
was,  however,  pleased  to  see  them,  for  their 
appearance  was  cheering;  more  especially 
that  of  Louise. 

44  We  are  come,"  said  Louise,  after  a 
most  cordial  greeting,  "to  steal  from  you 
those  gloomy  thoughts  which  Valentine 
thinks  we  have  all  entertained  long 
enough." 


44  And  I  believe  that  he  is  right,  my 
dear,"  returned  uncle  John,  "I  believe  that 
he  is  right." 

44 1  am  glad  that  you  think  so  too,"  said 
Louise.  "You  will  accompany  us?  We 
are  going  to  look  at  the  house." 

44  Too  come,"  urged  Llewellen;  4<  it's  a 
plesset  deal  petter  than  peing  here,  and 
cootness  knows  it." 

44  Oh!  I'll  go  with  yon  with  pleasure." 

44  But  I  thought,"  said  Louise,  "  that  my 
dear  friend  was  here?" 

44  She  has  been  here;  but  we  shall  find 
her  there:  I  have  just  sent  her  to  see  that 
everything  is  going  on  right." 

"  Well,  that  is  fortunate.  I  hope  she 
will  not  have  left." 

44  Shall  hur  co  pefore,"  said  Llewellen, 
"  anvd  tell  her  you  are  coming?" 

4>  Yes,  do,"  replied  Louise,  "  there's  a 
dear  fejlow,  do," 

Llewellen  started  off,  and  they  followed 
him  leisurely,  and  on  the  way  Valentine 
hinted  to  Uncle  John  that  between  that  day 
and  the  twentieth  they  should  be  in  posses- 
sion, which  pleased  Uncle  John,  although 
it  slightly,  but  very  slightly,  embarrassed 
Louise. 

"  I  do  not  see,"  said  the  old  gentleman, 
"the  slightest  necessity  now  for  delaying 
the  thing  any  longer;  on  the  contrary,  I 
think  that  as  every  obstacle  has  been  re- 
moved, any  further  delay  would  be  folly; 
for  of  course  we  shall  all  feel  unsettled  until 
it  takes  place." 

Valentine  was  delighted  to  hear  his 
uncle  speak  out  on  the  subject,  and  Louise 
was  by  no  means  unhappy  about  it,  albeit 
she  was  silent. 

On  arriving  at  the  house,  they  were  re- 
ceived by  the  widow,  who  with  Louise  at 
once  proceeded  to  make  a  most  minute  in- 
spection, while  Valentine,  his  uncle,  and 
Llewellen,  were  having  a  glass  of  wine. 
This  inspection,  however,  did  not  occupy 
the  whole  of  the  time  the  ladies  were  ab- 
sent, for  Louise,  embracing  the  earliest  op- 
portunity, opened  her  heart  to  her  affec- 
tionate friend,  and  having  explained  the 
substance  of  all  that  passed  between  her 
and  Valentine  that  morning,  it  was  decided 
then  that  the  fifteenth  should  be  fixed,  and 
the  widow  was  deputed  to  announce  the 
fact  to  Valentine,  in  order  that  he  might 
immediately  communicate  with  Raven. 

Accordingly,  on  entering  the  drawing- 
room  in  which  the  gentlemen  were  enjoying 
themselves,  the  widow  drew  Valentine 
aside,  and  to  his  great  satisfaction,  impart- 
ed to  him  the  result  of  their  private  confer- 
ence; but  Louise  at  the  time  felt  so  exces- 
sively awkward,  and  trembled  with  so 
much  violence,  that  she  dared  not  attempt 

31* 


358 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


to  raise  the  glass  of  wine  presented  by 
tJncle  John  to  her  lips;  nor  was  it  until 
Valentine,  on  rejoining  them  with  a  smile, 
began  to  converse  on  general  topics  with 
the  highest,  consideration  for  her  feelings, 
which  he  on  all  occasions  studied,  that  she 
was  able  to  reassume  her  self-possession. 
On  recovering  herself,  however,  she  began 
to  explain  how  much  delighted  she  was 
with  the  whole  of  the  arrangements,  and 
soon  made  it  manifest  that  she  really  did 
feel  that  the  sooner  matters  were  settled  the 
better. 

The  object  proposed  having  been  thus 
accomplished,  Valentine,  Louise,  and  Lle- 
wellen,  left  the  house  in  the  occupation  of 
TJncle  John  and  the  widow,  who  remained 
to  give  additional  instructions;  and  as  Va- 
lentine was  resolved  that  Louise  should  be 
gay,  that  she  might  feel  as  little  embarrass- 
ed under  the  circumstances  as  possible,  he 
suggested  that  they  should  go  to  a  certain 
scientific  exhibition,  which  he  had  seen  ad- 
vertised in  the  papers  that  morning.  Louise 
— always  peculiarly  happy  to  visit  exhibi- 
tions with  her  Valentine,  who  had  the 
power  to  render  them  all  sources  of  infinite 
amusement — applauded  the  suggestion,  and 
they  proceeded  to  act  upon  it  at  once. 

On  passing  Langham  Church,  however, 
Valentine's  attention  was  attracted  by  two 
persons  who  were  in  earnest  conversation 
at  the  corner.  He  saw  at  a  glance  that  one 
of  these  persons  was  VVhitely;  but  being 
anxious  that  the  thoughts  of  Louise  should 
not  revert  to  the  affair  with  which  his  name 
was  associated,  he  of  course  took  no  no- 
tice, and  they  were  about  to  pass  on,  when 
at  the  moment  Llewellen  exclaimed,  "  Look 
you! — Is  not  that  Mr.  Phitely?" 

Louise  in  an  instant  turned  her  eyes,  and 
saw  not  only  Whitely,  but  Joseph,  her 
father's  late  porter. 

"Too  you  know  the  other,  Louey?"  add- 
ed Llewellen.  "  Apove  all  other  people  in 
the  worlt  it^s  that  lazy  scountrel  Joe,  ant 
cootness  knows  it!" 

44  Don't  appear  to  notice  them,"  said  Va- 
lentine. "The  fellow  is,  perhaps,  merely 
trying  to  get  another  situation.1' 

"  Phitely  ton't  live  with  you  now,  I  pe- 
lieve?" 

"  No,  he  left  about  a  fortnight  ago." 

They  passed  on,  and  Llewellen  again 
expressed  his  wonder  that  Whitely  should 
converse  with  a  fellow  like  that;  but  Louise 
neither  said  a  single  word  upon  the  subject, 
nor  felt  at  all  surprised;  indeed,  as  she 
knew  that  Raven's  secret  had  been  known 
to  the  man,  she  viewed  it  as  a  thing  to  be 
expected  that  whenever  he  and  Whitely 
happened  to  meet,  they  would  speak  on  the 
subject  as  a  matter  of  course. 


To  Valentine  this  was  unknown,  and 
hence  he  thought  far  more  of  the  matter; 
but  he  appeared  to  be  as  gay  as  before,  and 
conversed  in  as  lively  a  strain,  and  kept 
Louise  constantly  smiling  until  they  reach- 
ed the  exhibition,  being  anxious  for  her  to 
think  as  little  as  possible  about  that  which 
they  had  seen,  and  which  on  his  mind  had 
made  a  deep  impression. 

On  entering  the  exhibition,  the  first  thing 
which  attracted  their  notice  was  the  process 
of  spinning  glass  by  steam,  which  Llewel- 
len pronounced  to  be  "  wonterful  beyont 
all  things  in  the  worlt,"  and  when  inform- 
ed that  the  glass  thus  spun  could  with  silk 
or  thread  be  manufactured  into  various  arti- 
cles of  dress,  he  declared  in  a  confidential 
whisper  to  Valentine,  that  he  would  have  a 
pair  of  "  peautiful  preeches"  made  of  it, 
but  that,  if  he  "  tit  happen  to  tumple  town, 
then  they  would  certainly  preak  into  pits." 

They  then  proceeded  to  the  principal 
room,  which  was  crowded  with  models, 
and  scientific  apparatus,  which  Llewellen 
minutely  examined,  and  upon  which  he 
made  divers  extraordinary  remarks. 

"Valentine,"  whispered  Louise,  "I 
don't  think  that  Fred  has  ever  been  gal- 
vanized. I  wonder  how  he  would  like  it!" 

"  We'll  see,"  said  Valentine,  "there's  a 
wire  in  that  basin:  drop  something  in,  and 
ask  him,  as  a  favour,  to  get  it  out." 

"  Oh  that  will  be  glorious;  but  what 
shall  it  be? — my  purse!" 

"Anything:  a  ring  will  be  better;  he'll 
be  some  time  getting  at  that." 

Louise  drew  off  a  ring,  and  let  it  fall  into 
the  basin,  and  when  Llewellen,  who  had 
been  looking  at  the  model  of  a  steamboat, 
approached,  she  cried,  "  Oh,  Fred,  I've  just 
dropped  my  ring  into  the  water;  can  you 
see  it]" 

"Yes,"  replied  Llewellen,  "  there  it  is 
at  the  pottom.  Wait  a  minute;  Pll  get  it!" 

He  drew  off  his  glove,  and  put  his  hand 
into  the  water,  but  it  was  out  again,  of 
course,  in  an  instant! — the  shock,  being  per- 
fectly unexpected,  astonished  every  nerve 
he  possessed. 

"  Why,  Fred,  what's  the  matter?"  in- 
quired Valentine. 

Llewellen  couldn't  tell.  He  stood  and 
looked  at  the  water  with  great  intensity  of 
feeling,  and  with  a  very  remarkable  aspect; 
but  what  it  was  that  had  thus  travelled 
through  his  system  with  the  velocity  of 
light,  he  was  not  in  a  position  to  say. 

"  My  poy,"  said  he,  at  length,  "do  you 
see  anything  there  in  that  pasin?" 

"  1  see  a  ring  at  the  bottom." 

"  Putt  nothing  alive,  look  you? — nothing 
alive?" 

44  No,"  replied  Valentine,  gravely. 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


359 


"Nor  can  I — ant  yet  there  was  some- 
thing which  made  my  pint  curtle,  and 
shook  every  pone  in  my  potty." 

"  Come,  Fred,"  said  Louise,  who  had 
been  convulsed  from  the  first,  "you  said 
you  would  get  me  my  ring." 

"  So  hur  tit,  Louey — yes,  ant  so  hur  will 
—putt  cootness  knows  it!" 

Hereupon  he  put  his  hand  into  the  water 
again,  and  as  it  was  out  in  an  instant,  as 
before,  he  demanded  to  know  what  it 
was. 

"  Phot  t'«  it?"  he  cried—"  Phot  in  the 
name  of  Saint  Tavit  can  it  pe?  Hur  never 
saw  water  alive  pefore!  Just  try  it,  my  poy: 
just  try  it." 

"  Is  it  hot?" 

"  Oh  no,  cootness  knows  it's  not  hot,  putt 
so  queer! — too  try  it." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Louise,  affecting  to  be 
serious.  "I  suppose  that  I  must  get  it  out 
myself." 

"  Not  for  the  worlt!"  exclaimed  Llewel- 
len — "not  for  the  worlt!  it  will  shake  you 
to  pits!  No,  hur'll  get  it  out  presently,  putt 
inteet  her  ton't  know  phot  to  make  of  it  at 
all." 

He  now  tried  very  cautiously  with  one  of 
his  fingers,  and  the  result  caused  him  to 
feel  a  deep  interest  in  the  thing,  and  he  be- 
came less  alarmed,  still  he  could  make 
nothing  of  it. 

"Now,"  said  Louise,  "did  you  ever  see 
so  silly  a  creature!  There  has  he  been  for 
the  last  ten  minutes  dipping  for  my  ring, 
and  hasn't  got  it  up  yet!" 

"  Hur  ton't  care  phot  you  say,  Louey: 
there's  a  mystery  in  this  pusiness,  cootness 
knows,  ant  hur'll  get  to  the  pottom  of  it, 
look  you!" 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  would,  for  at  the  bot- 
tom lies  the  ring." 

"Hur  ton't  mean  that:  but  hur  say,  my 
poy,  try  it:  too  try  it!" 

"Oh!  I've  no  objection,"  said  Valentine, 
who  quietly  removed  the  wire,  and  drew 
out  the  ring,  without  the  smallest  incon- 
venience. 

"Well,"  said  Llewellen,  "how  very 
extraordinary!  Put  titn't  you  feel  something 
that  mate  you  tremple?" 

"No,"  replied  Valentine,  as  he  slipped 
the  wire  in  again. 

"  Well,  hur  can't  pear  to  pe  peat! — hur'll 
try  it  again,  look  you!" 

He  did  so,  and  on  finding  that,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course,  the  effect  upon  him  was  the 
same,  he  became  quite  distressed.  "  How 
very  remarkable,"  he  cried;  "  how  very 
troll!" 

"  Oh!  Fred,  Fred!"  cried  Louise. 
"  Hur  ton't  care,  Louey,  the  water's  pe> 
witched.     You  try  it;  only  try  one  finger 


[f  Valentine  can  stant  it  hur  can't,  and 
[nir'm  sure  it  will  shake  you  to  pieces." 

"  I've  no  particular  desire  to  wet  my 
fingers,"  said  Louise,  as  Valentine  again 
removed  the  wire,  unperceived,  "  but  in  or- 
der to  show  what  a  very  silly  creature  you 
are,  Fred,  I  will." 

She  then  at  once  introduced  her  little 
hand  into  the  water,  and  held  it  there,  of 
course,  with  perfect  steadiness,  which  so 
amazed  Llewellen,  that  he  scarcely  knew 
how  to  express  what  he  felt. 

"  Now,"  said  Louise,  "  I  do  hope  you 
are  satisfied."  But  Llewellen  was  not  by 
any  means;  and  he  was  about  to  explain, 
with  great  force,  that  he  was  not,  when 
Louise  playfully  told  him  to  say  no  more 
about  it,  and  with  gentle  force  led  him 
away. 

At  that  moment  a  man  in  a  diving  dress 
was  about  to  enter  a  basin  at  the  upper  end 
of  the  room,  about  twelve  feet  in  diameter 
and  eight  feet  deep.  They  therefore  drew 
as  near  as  possible  at  once,  in  order  to  have 
a  good  view  of  the  operations,  and  when  he 
had  got  beneath  the  surface,  he  appeared  to 
walk  about  with  very  great  deliberation  and 
safety,  his  movements  being  marked  by  the 
water  which  continually  boiled  above  his 
head.  Having  been  down  for  some  time, 
he  ascended,  and  when  a  box  had  been 
handed  to  him  with  the  view  of  giving  a 
practical  illustration  of  the  power  of  voltaic 
electricity,  he  went  down  again,  but  he  had 
no  sooner  done  so,  than  Valentine,  having 
whispered  to  Louise,  threw  his  voice  to- 
wards the  diver,  and  cried  "  Pull  me  out!" 

In  an  instant  the  men  who  were  in  attend- 
ance, threw  ropes  to  the  diver  and  held  a 
life-preserver  above  his  head,  and  would 
doubtless  have  proceeded  to  great  extremi- 
ties in  order  to  save  him,  had  he  not,  on 
perceiving  through  the  glass  in  his  helmet, 
a  very  unusual  bustle  above,  reascendeS 
the  rope  ladder  to  see  what  it  was  all 
about,  in  the  perfect  conviction  that  some- 
thing was  decidedly  wrong.  He  had 
scarcely,  however,  got  above  the  surface, 
when  he  was  seized  by  the  attendants,  who 
exhibited  the  most  laudable  anxiety  to  ren- 
der him  every  assistance  in  their  power, 
which  astonished  the  diver  more  and  more, 
and  he  shook  his  head  at  them  and  seemed 
by  his  gestures  to  be  demanding  an  explana- 
tion; but  it  had  no  effect;  they  led  him  with 
great  humanity  to  the  edge  of  the  basin  and 
made  him  sit  down,  and  having  carefully 
removed  his  helmet,  they  anxiously  asked 
him  how  he  felt  himself  then. 

Of  course,  the  diver  didn't  know  what  to 
make  of  this  display  of  affectionate  zeal, 
and  very  naturally  begged  to  know  what  it 
meant,  for  being  totally  unaccustomed  to 


360 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


such  considerate  attention,  it  rather  confused 
him  than  not. 

"What's  the  matter1?"  said  he,  "any 
thing  broke?" 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  you?"  in 
quired  one  of  the  men. 

"  The  matter  with  me! — nothing." 

"  What  did  you  call  out  for  then]" 

"  /call  out!  How  came  you  to  think  o 
that1?  /didn't  call  out!" 

Here  the  spirit  of  incredulity  seized  them 
all,  and  they  asked  him  distinctly  if  he 
really  meant  to  say  that  he  had  not  uttered 
the  words  "  Pull  me  out." 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  he  replied.  "  Why 
should  I  want  to  be  pulled  out?  If  I'd  felt 
queer,  couldn't  1  have  come  out  of  my  own 
accord  in  about  the  space  of  an  instant?" 

The  men  said  no  more;  but  they  looked 
at  each  other  as  if  they  felt  something  very 
acutely. 

The  helmet  was  now  readjusted,  and 
when  the  submarine  explosion  had  taken 
place,  the  diver  again  went  down  for  a  short 
time,  and  having  completed  his  task,  reas- 
cended. 

"Any  lady  or  gentlemen  for  the  diving- 
bell?"  shouted  one  of  the  attendants.  "The 
diving-bell!" 

"  Have  you  courage  enough  to  go  down 
Louise?"  said  Valentine,  hardly  expecting 
that  she  had. 

"I  have  courage  enough  to  go  anywhere 
with  you,"  replied  Louise.  "  I  fear  nothing 
when  you  are  with  me." 

Valentine  smiled,  and  pressed  her  hand. 
"  Would  you  like,"  said  he,  "  to  go  down 
with  us,  Fred?" 

"  Apove  all  things  in  the  worlt!"  replied 
Llewellen.  "  Hur  should  like  it,  if  only  to 
say  that  hur  hat  pin  town,  look  you!" 

The  necessary  tickets  were  therefore  pro- 
cured, and  they  entered  the  bell,  which 
would  have  held  five  persons,  but  they  were 
alone,  and  the  moment  they  were  sealed 
they  were  launched  into  the  middle  of  the 
basin,  and  began  to  descend.  The  pumping 
then  commenced,  and  they  began  to  expe- 
rience a  singular  sensation,  which  gradually 
increased  as  they  descended,  until  it  became 
one  of  absolute  pain.  Their  ears  seemed  to 
be  completely  stopped  up  one  moment,  and 
the  next  to  have  a  passage  directly  through 
them,  while  their  heads  felt  as  if  they  were 
quite  prepared  to  split. 

"  Oh!  1  shall  tie!"  cried  Llewellen,  "ant 
coolness  knows  it." 

"  Nonsense!"  said  Valentine. 

"  Oh!  put  hur  can't  preathe!" 

Valentine  knocked  for  more  air,  and  they 
immediately  felt  more  oppressed;  he  then 
knocked  for  less,  and  although  they  felt  in 


some   degree   relieved,  the  sensation   was 
still  very  painful. 

"  Oh  my  poor  het!— it  will  pust!"  cried 
Llewellen. 

"  We  are  ascending  now,  my  love,"  said 
Valentine,  who  regretted  exceedingly  that 
he  had  brouo-ht  Louise  down;  for  although 
she  exhibited  no  signs  of  fear,  he  well  knew 
that  she  must  be  in  pain. 

"  Oh!  my  potty's  as  empty  as  a  putt!" 
cried  Llewellen;  "  ant  my  het!  Oh!  mv 
het!" 

"  We  are  very  near  the  surface  now," 
said  Valentine. 

"  Only  let  me  once  more  get  apove  it!" 
cried  Llewellen — "hur'll  never  get  pelow  it 
in  a  living  pell  acain."  And  he  shook  his 
head,  and  gave  some  extraordinary  winks; 
and  appeared  to  be  altogether  very  uncom- 
fortable. 

The  next  moment  they  got  above  the 
surface,  and  began  to  breathe  freely  again; 
and  the  instant  the  bell  had  been  landed, 
Llewellen  rushed  out,  holding  his  ears,  and 
looking  very  mysterious.  The  persons  who 
stood  round  smiled,  of  course,  but  the 
knowledge  of  that  fact  did  not  hurl  his  pri- 
vale  feelings:  he  ihought  of  his  head— he 
then  cared  about  nothing  in  nature  but  that. 

"You  are  in  pain,  my  poor  girl,"  said 
Valentine,  having  handed  Louise  from  the 
bell. 

"  No,  I  don't  feel  much  now,"  replied 
Louise;  "  1  have  a  tingling  sensalion  in 
my  ears;  but  it  isn't  very  painful." 

"I  am  indeed  very  sorry  thai  I  induced 
you  to  go  down;  but  I  had  no  idea  of  its 
having  this  effect." 

"  Oh  it  will  very  soon  go  off"!  Do  you 
feel  much  of  it?" 

"  Very  little.     But  look  at  poor  Fred!" 

Llewellen  was  at  that  time  slanding  with 
his  hands  to  his  ears,  and  his  elbows  on  the 
frame,  looking  very  severely  at  the  water. 
His  expression  was  that  of  a  deaf  individual, 
and  the  whole  of  his  inlellectual  faculties 
appeared  to  be  in  a  most  distressing  state  of 
confusion. 

•'  How  do  you  feel  now,  Fred?"  said 
Valentine,  "  Better?" 

"  Fetter!"  cried  Llewellen,  "  my  net's 
n  a  roar!  Ils  langerous,  look  you! — very 
tangerous  indeed!" 

Valentine  admitled  that  it  was  danger- 
ous; and  that  ladies  especially  ought  never 
to  go  down;  for  although  in  the  bell  there 
were  instructions  to  knock  once  for  more  air, 
twice  for  less,  and  so  on,  nine  persons  out 
of  ten,  when  they  experience  a  difficulty  in 
breathing,  suppose  that  they  have  too  little 
iir  when  they  have  too  much,  and  knock 
or  more:  independently  of  which,  his  de- 
cided impression  was,  that  its  tendency  in 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


361 


many  cases  of  weakness  was  to  produce 
instant  death. 

An  announcement  was  now  made,  to  the 
effect  that  something  was  going  forward  in 
the  Theatre  of  the  Institution;  and  as  Valen- 
tine and  Louise  had  nearly  recovered  from 
the  effects  of  their  diving  experiment,  they 
playfully  rallied  Llewellen,  and  having  in- 
sisted npon  his  keeping  his  fingers  out  of 
his  ears,  proceeded  with  him  in  the  direc- 
tion pointed  out. 

As  they  entered  the  theatre,  it  was  per- 
fectly dark,  which  rather  alarmed  Fred, 
who  displayed  an  inclination  to  retire.  "Is 
this  another  scientific  experimental  pusi- 
ness?"  he  inquired;  "pecause  if  it  be,  hur 
can't  stant  it,  my  poy,  hur  can't  inteet." 

"It  is  only  the  microscope,"  said  Valen- 
tine, and  the  next  moment  the  disc  appeared 
before  them,  exhibiting  a  mass  of  unhappy 
little  wretches,  that  appeared  to  be  in  a 
frightful  state  of  excitement.  They  darted 
about,  and  drove  against  each  other,  and 
lashed  their  tails,  and  kicked  as  if  con- 
scious that  they  had  not  another  minute  to 
live,  and  were  therefore  resolved  to  make 
the  most  of  the  time  allowed  them. 

Llewellen  was  delighted.  He  at  once 
forgot  his  head,  and  took  the  deepest  pos- 
sible interest  in  the  evolutions  of  the  little 
animals,  whiofev-were  somewhere  about  a 
million  times  less  than  they  appeared. 

"  Phot  are  they1?"  he  inquired;  "phot  are 
they  all  about?  They  appear  to  have  pins 
in  their  tails,  look  you!" 

"  Listen,"  said  Valentine,  and  at  the 
moment  an  individual  began  to  explain 
that  what  they  saw  was  merely  a  drop  of 
Thames  water,  and  that  the  animals  therein 
were  so  minute,  that  the  idea  of  being  able 
to  s.ee  them  with  the  naked  eye  was  about 
the  most  ridiculous  that  could  be  conceived. 

•*  Oh!"  exclaimed  Valentine,  sending  his 
voice  some  distance  from  him.  "  How  then 
can  they  see  each  other?  Are  their  eyes 
stronger  than  curs'?" 

This  was  done  of  course  merely  to  create 
a  sensation,  and  that  object  was  in  an  in- 
stant achieved;  and  the  lecturer  paused,  but 
disdained  to  reply  to  so  strikingly  irregular 
a  question. 

"Well!"  said  Valentine.  "But  I  sup- 
pose you  cannot  tell." 

The  lecturer  scientifically  struggled  for 
some  time  with  his  feelings;  but  at  length 
said  with  very  great  solemnity,  "  What  is 
it  the  gentleman  wishes  to  know?" 

"Whether,"  replied  Valentine,  "their 
eyes  are  more  powerful  than  ours?" 

"  Beyond  doubt,"  said  the  lecturer,  in  a 
very  severe  tone — "infinitely  more  power- 
ful in  their  sphere.  Eyes  are  not  powerful 
in  proportion  to  their  size.  If  they  were, 


the  eagle  would  be  able  to  see  a  far  less 
distance  than  the  elephant,  and  assuming 
that  the  elephant  has  the  power  to  distin- 
guish objects  at  a  distance  of  twenty 
miles,  the  ant  would  be  able  to  see  nothing 
beyond  half  a  millionth  part  of  a  quarter  of 
an  inch." 

Here  the  lecturer  was  applauded,  and  by 
the  light  of  the  lamp  beside  him,  it  was 
perceptible  that  he  felt  a  little  better. 

"  What  a  very  silly  person  he  must  be," 
observed  Louise,  to  ask  so  ridiculous  a 
question!" 

"  Very,  returned  Valentine;  when,  as- 
suming the  same  voice  as  before,  he  added, 
"  Who  is  it  that  says  I  am  a  very  silly  per- 
son?" 

"  Good  gracious!"  cried  Louise,  "  I  had 
no  idea  of  his  having  overheard  me." 

"Who  is  it?"  again  demanded  Valen- 
tine, when  many  began  to  laugh,  and  many 
more  cried  "I!— I!— I!— We  all  say  that 
you  are  a  very  silly  person." 

"  How  dare  you  laugh  at  me!"  cried  Va- 
lentine, and  the  laughter  recommenced.  "I 
know,"  he  continued,  "I  well  know  the 
laugh  of  one  excited  individual;  it  is  that 
of  Fred  Llewellen,  who  has  just  been  down 
in  the  diving-bell." 

"  Oh!"  cried  Louise,  "  it  is  you!" 

"  Hush!"  said  Valentine. 

"  Tit  you  hear?"  cried  Llewellen;  "  tit 
you  hear?  Co  phere  hur  will,  hur  am  sure 
to  pe  known." 

"I  know  you,"  cried  Valentine. 

"  Silence! silence! Order!  order," 

shouted  several  persons,  who  began  to  feel 
indignant. 

"Am  I  to  be  insulted  by  a  Welshman?" 
cried  Valentine,  in  a  very  scornful  tone, 
"Is  it  likely?" 

"  Phot  to  you  mean,  sir?"  pointedly  de- 
manded Llewellen,  for  his  blood  began 
to  boil.  "Phot  to  you  mean? — Who  are 
you?" 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  lecturer,  sooth- 
ingly, "it  will  be  perfectly  impossible  for 
us  to  proceed  unless  you  are  silent." 

"Do  not  be  brow-beaten,  Fred,"  said 
Louise,  in  a  very  wicked  whisper. 

"Too  you  think  to  prow-peat  me?" 
shouted  Llewellen,  whom  Louise  had  thus 
inspired  with  unlimited  courage.  "  If  you 
too,  you  are  mistaken.  "  You're  no  gen- 
tleman, sir!" 

"  What!"  shouted  Valentine,  at  the  same 
time  patting  him  encouragingly  on  the 
shoulder. 

"  Hur  say  you're  no  gentleman!"  repeat- 
ed Llewellen,  under  the  influence  of  the 
liveliest  indignation. 

"  Gentlemen!"  said  the  lecturer—"  Gen- 
tlemen! I  would  put  it  to  your  own  good 


362 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


sense  whether  this  ought  to  be.  Is  it  decent? 
—Is  it  correct] — Is  it  a  thing  which  ought 
to  be  tolerated  for  one  moment?  You 
really  must  be  silent,  or  we  cannot  pro- 
ceed." 

"  He  may  be  silent,"  cried  Valentine, 
"but  I  will  not:  "  I'll  have  satisfaction!" 

"  It  is  to  you,  sir,  I  more  particularly 
address  myself,"  said  the  lecturer.  "You 
are  the  aggressor." 

"  Do  you  tell  me  that  to  my  teeth,"  said 
Valentine.  "I'll  have  satisfaction  of  you." 

Loud  cries  of  "Turn  him  out! — turn  him 
out! — Turn  him  out!"  now  proceeded  from 
every  quarter,  and  when  the  noise  and  ex- 
citement had  reached  the  highest  pitch,  the 
shutter  of  the  skylight  was  suddenly  re- 
moved, and  about  three  hundred  persons 
were  discovered  in  a  state  of  great  anxiety. 

This  unexpected  and  instantaneous  intro- 
duction of  light  had  a  striking  effect.  The 
noise  ceased  on  the  instant,  but  all  appear- 
ed to  be  panting  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  him 
who  had  created  the  unseemly  disturb- 
ance. 

"  Which  is  the  gentleman,"  inquired  the 
lecturer,  "  who  is  so  anxious  to  have  satis- 
faction?" 

No  one  answered.  The  question  was 
repeated  more  emphatically;  still  no  one 
answered. 

44  As  he  thought  proper  to  insult  me  per- 
sonally," said  Llewellen,  "hur  shall  be 
clat  if  he'll  make  his  appearance,  that  hur 
may  invite  him  to  walk  quietly  out." 

"  He  durst  not  show  himself,"  cried 
several  voices. 

"  Who  says  that?"  demanded  Valentine, 
promptly,  making  his  voice  appear  to  pro- 
ceed from  the  other  side  of  the  theatre. 

"  I!"  cried  Llewellen,  looking  towards 
the  quarter  from  which  the  sojund  apparent- 
ly proceeded.  "  I  say  that  you  tare  not 
show  yourself." 

Another  pause  ensued,  and  every  eye 
was  directed  towards  the  spot;  but  although 
a  low  muttering  was  heard  distinctly,  no 
one  appeared,  with  the  view  of  asserting 
his  dignity  as  a  man. 

"  My  impression  is,  that  he's  a  plaek- 
cart!"  cried  Llewellen,  "a  tirty  plackcart!" 

"That's  enough!"  said  Valentine,  throw- 
ing his  voice  as  before, "  that's  enough!  I'll 
be  with  you!" 

The  effect  which  this  had  upon  those 
who  were  in  the  quarter  from  which  the 
voice  seemed  to  come  was  extraordinary. 
They  looked  at  each  other  in  a  state  of 
amazement,  and  marvelled  not  only  that 
they  were  unable  to  see  him  there,  but  that 
they  could  not  discover  him  while  he  was 
speaking. 

"Now  then!"  shouted  Valentine,  throw- 


ing his  voice  towards  the  door,  "are  you 
coming?" 

This  puzzled  the  audience  still  more. 
They  had  seen  no  one  making  his  way  out, 
and  they  felt  sure  that  if  any  one  had,  they 
must  have  seen  him.  It  was  a  mystery  to 
them;  they  couldn't  understand  it.  Llewel- 
len, however,  without  waiting  to  see  what 
effect  this  had  upon  the  audience  generally, 
started  out  the  very  moment  he  heard  the 
summons  with  all  the  alacrity  at  his  com- 
mand. Valentine  and  Louise  followed, 
and  the  majority  of  the  audience,  who 
seemed  to  take  particular  interest  in  the 
matter,  followed  them,  and  found  Llewel- 
len very  naturally  looking  about  the  en- 
trance for  the  person  by  whom  he  had  been 
challenged. 

"  Well,  have  you  seen  him?"  inquired 
Valentine. 

"  No,  cootness  knows  it;  hur'm  afrait  he 
knows  petter  than  to  let  me." 

"Now  then! — Here  I  am!"  cried  Valen- 
tine, throwing  his  voice  among  the  crowd. 

Llewellen  again  looked  about  with  great 
acuteness,  and  the  crowd,  who  sympathized 
with  him,  assisted  him  in  his  efforts  to  dis- 
cover the  individual,  but  in  vain;  he  was 
there,  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  that,  but 
he  evidently  hadn't  the  courage  to  stand 
forth. 

"Now,  phot  can  you  too  with  such  a 
fellow?"  said  Llewellen,  appealing  to  Va- 
lentine. "  Phot  can  you  too  with  him?  If 
hur  coult  see  him,  hur  shoult  know  petter 
apout  it;  put  as  he  won't  pe  seen,  phy  coot- 
ness  knows,  hur  ton't  know  phot's  to  pe 
tone!" 

"  Treat  him  with  contempt,"  said  Valen- 
tine, in  his  natural  voice,  "  He  is  quite  be- 
neath your  notice.  I  thought  from  the  first, 
you'd  be  unable  to  discover  him.  Now,  let 
us  be  off." 

"  Put  we  had  petter  not  co  just  tirectly, 
my  poy!  He  will  say  that  hur  was  afrait, 
and  run  away!" 

"  Not  he,"  returned  Valentine;  "  but  we 
shall  walk  out  leisurely,  and  if  his  courage 
should  come  up,  he  can  follow  us  to  the 
door." 

They  then  proceeded  towards  the  en- 
trance, and  on  the  way  Llewellen— the 
thought  of  whose  head  had  gone  out  of  that 
head  altogether — turned  to  see  if  the  invisi- 
ble individual  had  plucked  up  sufficient 
courage  to  follow;  but  no  one  did  so — no 
one  approached  to  announce  himself  boldly 
like  a  man,  which  Llewellen  could  not  but 
think  strange;  but  still  more  strange  did  he 
consider  the  fact  of  his  invisible  enemy 
having  addressed  him  by  name. 

Of  course  Louise  was  delighted  with 
this  little  adventure.  She  thought  it,  in- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


363 


deed,  too  bad  that  poor  Fred  should  have 
been  teased  to  so  great  an  extent;  but  he 
was  soon  made  perfectly  happy  by  her  and 


Valentine,  who  felt  themselves  bound  to 
applaud  the  invincible  courage  he  had  dis- 
played. 


CHAPTER  LXVI. 


IN  WHICH  ANOTHER  IMPORTANT  SECRET  IS  REVEALED. 


ON  the  following  morning,  when  Valentine 
called  at  the  usual  hour,  he  just  presented 
himself  to  Louise,  and  then  proceeded  to 
the  library,  having  ascertained  that  Raven 
was  there  alone,  with  the  view  of  commu- 
nicating with  him  on  the  subject,  which 
then  almost  exclusively  occupied  his  mind. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  sought  a 
private  interview  with  him  since  the  un- 
happy recognition  took  place.  He  had 
seen  him — he  had  dined  with  him  indeed 
almost  daily  since  then,  but  as  he  had  on 
all  occasions  appeared  to  be  anxious  to 
avoid  being  with  him  alone,  Valentine  had, 
of  course,  never  thrust  himself  upon  him. 

The  time,  however,  had  now  arrived 
when  it  was  absolutely  necessary  for  him 
to  do  so;  and  as  he  entered  the  library, 
Raven  appeared  to  know  his  object,  for  he 
threw  aside  the  paper  he  was  reading,  and 
having  shaken  his  hand  warmly,  pointed  to 
a  seat. 

"Well,  Valentine,"  said  he,  "so  you 
have  come  to  have  a  little  private  talk  with 
me  at  last.  Of  course  I  know  upon  what 
subject;  at  least  I  presume  that  it  is  on  that 
of  your  marriage1?" 

"  Exactly,"  returned  Valentine.  "  It  is 
thought  that,  if  it  meet  your  views,  the 
fifteenth  will  be  a  very  correct  day." 

"  The  fifteenth,  my  dear  boy,  then  let  it 
be,  by  all  means;  and  the  sooner  the  fif- 
teenth comes,  why  the  sooner  I  shall  be 
happy.  I  hope  that  this  time  nothing  may 
occur  to  cause  the  slightest  disappoint- 
ment." 

"  I  hope  so  too.    I  have  no  fear  of  that." 

"  Nor  had  you  before,  and  yet  you  see — " 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  Valentine,  gently  in- 
terrupting him,  "  don't  let  us  revert  to  that 
subject;  let  us  shun  it;  let  us  forget  it. 
The  thing  is  over  now — settled — let  it 
rest." 

"There  is  one  consideration,  and  only 
one,"  rejoined  Raven,  "  which  enables  me 
to  recur  to  it  with  pleasure,  and  that  con- 
sideration has  reference  directly  and  solely 
to  you.  When  I  intimated  to  you  ambigu- 
ously, that  that  which  did  occur  might  hap- 
pen, you  promised  that  come  what  might, 


you  would  be  faithful  and  firm  to  Louise. 
You  have  kept  that  promise  nobly:  you 
have  been  firm:  I  am  convinced  that  you 
never  wavered  for  an  instant,  but  felt  as  a 
man  ought  to  feel,  that  whatever  might  be 
my  errors,  she  was  pure,  poor  girl!  and  1 
admire  you  for  it." 

"  I  apprehend,"  said  Valentine,  "  that 
in  that  instance  far  less  credit  is  due  to  me 
than  you  are  inclined  to  award;  for  I  much 
question  whether,  if  even  my  head  had 
made  an  effort  to  shake  my  firmness,  my 
heart  would  have  allowed  it  to  succeed. 
But  let  me  suggest  that  we  bury  this  mat- 
ter for  ever — that  we  never,  in  any  shape, 
or  on  any  occasion,  allude  to  it  again. 
Come,  let  us  change  the  scene.  We  have 
been  looking  already  too  long  at  the  dark 
side  of  things;  let  us  turn  to  the  bright  one, 
for  a  bright  one  there  is!  The  day  of  our 
marriage  must  nut  be  one  of  gloom." 

"You  are  a  fine  fellow,  Valentine — a 
noble  fellow:  there  is  none  of  that  sickly, 
sentimental  aristocracy  about  you.  You 
see  things  at  a  glance,  as  they  are.  I  have 
the  highest  opinion  of  your  judgment." 

"The  fifteenth,  then,"  said  Valentine, 
"  is  to  be  the  day!" 

"The  fifteenth.  Exactly.  And  as  your 
wish  is  to  avoid  all  allusion  to  that  affair,  I 
had  better  not  enter  into  any  explanation." 

"That  will  be  by  far  the  better  way.  I 
should  like  things  to  go  on  now,  precisely 
as  if  nothing  of  the  kind  had  occurred." 

"  Well  it's  useless  to  make  ourselves 
miserable  eternally  about  that,  jwhich,  be- 
ing done,  can't  be  helped.  It  was  a  sad 
affair,  certainly.  However,  it's  passed,  and 
we'll  say  no  more  about  it.  Will  your 
uncle  be  here  to-day?" 

"  It's  very  likely  he'll  call." 

"If  he  should,  let  me  see  him.  We  have 
not  to  go  over  the  same  ground  again,  ex- 
actly; but — don't  let  him  go  away  without 
looking  in  upon  me." 

Valentine  promised  that  he  would  not; 
and  as  the  object  for  which  he  had  sought 
the  interview  had  been  accomplished,  he 
was  about  to  leave  the  room,  when  Raven, 
as  if  a  thought  had  just  occurred  to  him, 


364 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


said,  "  Valentine!— Mr.  Whitely  has  left 
you,  has  he  not!" 

'  Yes,"  returned  Valentine. 

'  Have  you  seen  him  lately1?" 

'Not  to  speak  to  him." 

'  I  am  not  very  anxious  to  know,  of 
course;  but  you  have  seen  him1?" 

*  Why,  I  just  saw  him,  yesterday." 

*  Yesterday!  Oh!  indeed,  so  recently  as 
that?  Then  he  intends  to  remain  in  town,  I 
suppose!" 

"  Upon  rny  word,  I  am  unable  to  say." 

44  Oh!  it's  a  matter  of  no  importance.  I 
merely  thought  that  he  intended  to  go  into 
the  country:  that's  all." 

Valentine  looked  at  him  intently.  He 
was  half  inclined  to  mention  the  fact  of  his 
having  seen  Whitely  with  Joseph;  but  as 
it  struck  him  that  its  tendency  could  only 
be  to  reproduce  unpleasant  feelings,  he  ab- 
stained, and  left  the  room. 

Louise  and  the  widow  now  began  to  be 
excessively  busy  again;  for  although  it  is 
true  that  everything  from  the  most  impor- 
tant even  to  the  most  minute  had  been  pre- 
viously prepared  to  their  entire  satisfaction, 
it  is  equally  true  that  when  they  came  to 
look  again  calmly  over  everything,  every- 
thing required  to  be  slightly  altered.  They 
therefore  became  as  full  of  business  as  be- 
fore; nay,  their  minds  were  more  constant- 
ly occupied,  seeing  that  whereas  in  the 
making  of  matters  a  great  deal  had  been 
left  to  the  judgment  of  other  persons,  the 
alterations  were  effected  under  their  imme- 
diate superintendence,  it  being  absolutely 
necessary  for  those  alterations  to  be  in  ac- 
cordance with  their  mutually  improved 
taste. 

In  this  business,  of  course,  Valentine 
was  shut  entirely  out  of  all  confidence. 
Generally  he  stood  in  the  position  of  family 
counsel,  for  his  opinion  was  solicited  in 
cases  of  emergency,  and  acted  upon  with- 
out another  thought;  but  in  this  particular 
case  he  was  not  applied  to  at  all! — a  fact 
which  did  not  however  disturb  him. 

Uncle  John,  having  been  deeply  engaged 
about  the  house — the  appearance  of  which 
in  every  point  may  be  said  to  have  been  the 
subject  of  his  "  thoughts  by  day,  and  his 
dreams  by  night" — did  not,  as  was  expect- 
ed, call  the  day  on  which  Valentine  had  his 
interview  with  Raven.  On  the  following 
morning,  however,  having  been  informed 
that  Raven  had  expressed  a  wish  to  see 
him,  he  did  call,  and  found  him  in  unusual- 
ly high  spirits.  He  had  just  received  a 
letter,  it  appeared,  dated  from  a  vessel 
•which  had  that  morning  sailed.  He  did 
not,  however,  enter  into  the  subject  of  this 
letter;  but  he  seemed  to  feel  that  the  whole 
of  his  troubles  were  at  an  end,  and  shook 


the  hand  of  Uncle  John  with  extraordinary 
warmth. 

"  My  friend,"  he  exclaimed,  ««  we  shall 
not  sink  beneath  this  blow  now." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Uncle  John — "I  hope 
not." 

"  It  must  all  be  forgotten,  my  friend,  it 
must  all  be  forgotten.  We  have  had  these 
aristocratic  miserables  too  long.  We  must 
now  turn  and  dwell  upon  the  prospect  be- 
fore us." 

"  I  am  glad  to  perceive,"  said  Uncle 
John,  "that  you  have  come  to  that  wise 
determination." 

"  A  weight,"  cried  Raven,  striking  his 
breast  with  violence;  "a  deadweight  has 
been  removed,  and  I  feel  myself  again.  Oh, 
my  friend,  you  don't  knew  what  I  have  suf- 
fered; you  can't  know:  but  as  Valentine 
says  the  marriage-day  must  not  be  one  of 
gloom,  it  shall  not  be;  it  shall  be  a  joyous 
day.  I  have  not  felt  so  happy  for  years!" 

"  I  am  right  glad  to  hear  it!"  said  Uncle 
John,  **  I  hope  sincerely  that  that  happiness 
will  be  lasting." 

"It's  sure  to  be  now,"  said  Raven; 
"quite  sure  to  be  now!  But  to  business," 
he  added,  and  he  proceeded  to  open  a 
secret  drawer  in  his  desk,  and  to  deposit 
the  letter  therein. 

It  was  perfectly  evident  to  Uncle  John 
that  something  had  happened  more  than 
Raven  cared  to  explain.  He  felt  sure  that 
the  fact  of  the  marriage-day  having  been 
fixed  again,  had  not  alone  elated  him  thus. 
Since  the  day  of  the  recognition,  he  had 
been  a  wretched  being;  he  had  kept  him- 
self almost  entirely  secluded,  and  had  worn 
the  aspect  of  a  miserable  man:  yet  now  he 
was  in  raptures;  his  eyes  sparkled  with 
pleasure,  and  he  spoke  of  happiness,  as  if 
he  had  then  felt  it  for  the  first  time.  In  the 
judgment  of  Uncle  John  there  was  far  more 
in  this  than  appeared,  seeing  that  Raven 
had  not  dined,  and  therefore  could  not  be 
supposed  to  have  been  under  the  influence 
of  wine.  However,  he  felt  that  he  had  no 
right  to  pry  into  the  matter,  and  that  as  no 
explanation  was  offered,  it  was  a  thing 
which  Raven  had  no  desire  to  explain. 

"  Valentine,"  said  Raven,  having  settled 
himself  down,  "has  informed  you,  of 
course,  that  his  marriage  has  been  fixed  for 
the  fifteenth?" 

"Yes;  that  is  to  say,  this  day  week." 

"  Precisely.  Well  then,  my  friend,  this 
day  week  must  be  a  day  of  perfect  happi- 
ness; and  as  happiness  must  be  the  promi- 
nent feature,  what  can  be  done  to  secure 
it!" 

"I  have  done  nothing.  I  want  to  do 
much  more  towards  the  accomplishment  of 
that  object,  than  we  have  done  already!" 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


365 


"  Why,"  replied  Uncle  John,  deliberate- 
ly,  "I  don't  exactly  see  that  we  can  do 
much  more." 

"  I  must  do  something.   What  can  I  do1?" 

"I  really  don't  know  what  you  can  do! 
I  know  of  nothing  that  requires  to  be  done. 
There  is  everything  prepared  for  them — 
everything!  As  far  as  their  own  personal 
happiness  is  concerned,  it  of  course  depends 
now  upon  themselves;  we  have  at  least  the 
satisfaction  of  knowing  that  we  have  done 
all  we  could  to  promote  it." 

"You  have  that  satisfaction;  but  I  have 
not.  I  have  as  yet  done  absolutely  nothing. 
I  wish  you  would  suggest  something. 
What  can  I  do?" 

"  Well  now,  do  you  know,"  said  Uncle 
John,  "you  couldn't  possibly  have  asked 
me  a  more  puzzling  question!" 

"Of  course  the  transfer  of  the  sum  we 
before  fixed  upon  has  been  arranged,  and 
the  little  marriage  presents  have  been  pre- 
pared, and  so  on.  It  strikes  me,  however, 
still,  that  I  ought  to  do  something  more!" 

"  Well,  I  am  sorry  I  am  unable  to  assist 
you  in  deciding  upon  what  that  something 
is;  for  upon  my  honour,  I  can't  conceive 
•what  it  can  be!  No,  my  friend,  be  assured, 
that  nothing  more  can  be  done.  We  start 
them  fairly,  and  I  should  say  that  few,  in- 
deed, ever  had  a  brighter  prospect  of  happi- 
ness before  them." 

"That  I  feel,"  rejoined  Raven;  "nor 
have  I  the  smallest  doubt  of  that  prospect 
being  realized.  Still  I  should  like,  you 
see,  to  bring  the  affair  off,  as  the  beggarly 
aristocracy  say,  with  <?claf!  Now  let  us  put 
our  heads  together.  How  is  this  to  be 
done?" 

"  For  my  own  part,"  said  Uncle  John, 
"I  am  inclined  to  believe  the  less  display 
we  make  the  better." 

"  Well,  what  would  you  suggest?  Some 
arrangement  must  be  made.  How  do  you 
think  we  ought  to  proceed? — on  the  day — I 
mean  the  day  of  the  marriage." 

"Why,"  said  Uncle  John,  "I  don't 
know  what  your  views  on  the  subject  may 
be,  nor  what  arrangements  you  have  in 
contemplation,  but  I  would  suggest,  that 
on  returning  from  church,  we  should  have 
some  slight  refreshment,  and  that  the  young 
people  then  should  start  off  to  spend  the 
honeymoon,  leaving  us  happy  in  viewing 
the  prospect  of  their  happiness,  and  in  the 
conviction  of  having  done  our  duty." 

"  What,  then,  are  we  two  old  fogies  to 
be  left  dreaming  at  home?" 

"I  dare  say  that  they  would  rather  be 
without  us  than  with  us!" 

"  Well  now,  do  you  know,  I  don't  think 
so!  I  think  that  they  would  enjoy  them- 
selves more  if  we  were  all  to  be  actively 
32 


happy  together.  The  consciousness  of  hav- 
ing performed  one's  duty  is  all  very  well, 
and  very  pleasing;  but  that  is  not  exactly 
the  thing:  it  doesn't  meet  my  views  of 
what  a  wedding-day  ought  to  be  at  all.  My 
impression  is,  and  always  has  been,  that  on 
such  a  day  as  that,  we  ought  not  to  be  be- 
calmed! It  ought  to  be  a  joyous  day;  a 
merry  day — a  day  upon  which  we  can  all 
dine,  drink,  and  be  jolly  together!" 

"  Well,  what  do  you  propose?" 

"  Why,  to  act  upon  your  suggestion  in 
all  but  one  point.  Let  them  leave  by  all 
means  to  pass  the  honeymoon  at  Brighton, 
or  wherever  else  they  may  please:  they 
shall  have  my  carriage  and  four,  or  six  if 
they  like:  immediately  after  the  ceremony 
let  them  be  off!  But  let  us  go  with  them. 
Let  us  start  immediately  after  them:  let  us 
race  them  down;  let  us  have  a  joyous, 
glorious  day  of  it;  and  a  glorious  night 
too!" 

"  Well,  of  course,"  said  Uncle  John,  "  I 
can  have  no  objection.  I  should  like  to  be 
with  them." 

"  Of  course  you  would!  I  know  you 
would!  Why  should  they  go  moping  down 
there  alone?" 

"They  would  not  be  exactly  alone;  they 
would  have  the  bridesmaids  and  the  old 
lady,  and " 

"  What  are  they?  What  can  they  do? 
How  can  they  of  themselves  form  a  really 
happy  party?  They  have  all  the  elements 
of  happiness  in  them,  but  they  want  a 
couple  of  young  fellows  like  us  to  inspire 
them  with  spirit.  Just  imagine  the  party 
down  there.  There  they  are,  after  a  fifty 
miles'  ride,  say,  at  dinner.  There's  only 
one  man  amongst  the  lot,  and  that  man's 
the  bridegroom.  Why,  what  can  he  do 
with  them?  How  can  he  keep  them  from 
sighing  themselves  down  into  a  state  of 
sentimental  misery?  He  can't  do  it!  I'll 
defy  him  to  do  it.  But  even  if  he  could, 
look  at  him,  mark  his  position.  Give  him 
the  best  of  it;  say  that  the  dinner  passed  off 
well,  and  that  they  were  all  full  of  gaiety 
and  joy,  which  of  course  they  wouldn't  be, 
but  say  that  they  were.  Well,  an  hour  after 
dinner  the  women  retire — of  course  they 
retire,  and  when  they  do,  look  at  him! 
There's  a  lively  position  for  a  bridegroom 
to  be  placed  in! — there's  jollity! — there's 
joy!  He  sits  there,  silently  sipping  his 
wine;  not  a  creature  to  speak  to;  perfectly 
alone.  Why  such  a  position  is  monstrous 
for  a  man  to  be  placed  in  at  such  a  time  as 
that.  Come,  let  us  go  with  them." 

"  Oh!  with  all  my  heart!"  said  Uncle 
John,  "I  should  enjoy  it;  but  I  didn't  know- 
how  far  such  a  course  might  be  correct." 

"Why,     you    see,    our    arrangements 


366 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


wouldn't  interfere  with  theirs.  Besides, 
why  should  we  follow  the  beggarly  aristo- 
cratic fashion  of  dividing  families  atthe  very 
time  they  ought  especially  to  be  together? 
Let  us  accompany  them.  I  am  sure  that 
they  will  be  much  more  happy  with  us  than 
without  us.  They  are  sure  to  be  merry 
then;  but  if  we  let  them  go  alone,  my  friend, 
v  mark  my  words,  neither  for  them  nor  for  us, 
will  it  be  a  joyous  day." 

""Well,  then,  let  it  be  so;  let  us  all  go 
together.  There  can  be  no  doubt  about  our 
being  more  merry  in  that  case." 

"  None, -whatever.  You  see  I'm  not  one 
of  your  beggarly  aristocracy;  I  haven't  fifty 
thousand  dowagers,  and  toadies,  and  hang- 
ers-on to  give  a  sumptuous  dinner  to  on 
such  an  occasion;  with  the  exception  of 
yourself,  there's  scarcely  a  man  whom  I'd 
care  to  break  bread  with  in  any  place, 
much  less  at  my  own  table;  and  although  I 
have  no  doubt  that  you  and  I  should  enjoy 
ourselves,  and  be  in  a  measure  jolly,  it 
wouldn't,  it  couldn't  come  up  within  a  mile 
of  my  notions  of  what  ought  to  be  the  glori- 
ous characteristics  of  a  wedding-day.  As, 
therefore,  you  are  willing  to  fall  into  my 
views,  I  would  suggest  that  it  be  proposed 
to  the  young  people — who  will  agree,  I 
know,  to  anything  of  the  kind — that  imme- 
diately after  the  ceremony — which  ought 
to  be  over  early,  say  ten — they  take  my 
carriage  and  four  horses,  and  start,  say  for 
Brighton,  in  the  lively  expectation  of  feeing 
passed  by  us  on  the  road;  that  we  drive 
there  all  together,  and  then  stop  a  week  or 
a  month,  or  in  fact,  just  as  long  as  we  think 
proper." 

"  Very  good,"  said  Uncle  John.  "  And 
if  the  bride  and  bridegroom  wish  to  leave 
us  after  ,a  few  days,  why  they  can  start  off 
and  go  where  they  please." 

"  Exactly!  They  may  start  the  next  day 
if  they  like.  All  I  am  anxious  for  is,  that 
we  may  have  the  wedding  dinner  together." 

Very  well.  It  was  decided  that  this  plan 
should  be  proposed  forthwith  both  to  Va- 
lentine and  Louise,  and  Uncle  John  was 
deputed  to  make  the  proposition,  before  he 
left  the  house,  which  he  did,  and  they  were 
both  much  delighted. 

Valentine,  however,  was  not  exactly  at 
ease;  he  had  nothing  to  do;  all  were  busy 
but  him,  and  they  would  not  allow  him  to 
assist  them.  He  could  scarcely  be  said  to 
be  uncomfortable,  or  annoyed,  but  he  felt 
fidgety  and  impatient,  and  looked  at  his 
watch  very  often,  and  walked  about  with- 
out an  object — in  a  word,  he  was  unsettled. 
Such  being  the  case,  having  plenty  ol 
time  for  thought,  he  conceived  the  idea  of 
getting  up  a  dinner  at  the  house,  that  Louise 
might  officiate  as  mistress  before  her  time 


He  thought  that  under  the  circumstances  it 
would  tell  extremely  well,  more  particular- 
y  as  they  should  not  be  able  to  give  a  din- 
ner there  for  some  considerable  time,  and 
therefore  as  all  kind  of  restraint  had  worn 
away — for  the  party  to  be  invited  felt  as  if 
they  were  already  one  family — he  named 
he  subject  to  Uncle  John  immediately  after 
e  had  communicated  the  result  of  his  in- 
terview with  Raven,  and  that  gentleman 
not  only  had  no  objection  to  the  course  pro- 
posed, but  applauded  the  notion  highly,  as 
one  calculated  to  be  a  source  of  great  amuse- 
ment and  delight.  The  next  step  was  to 
obtain  the  consent  of  Louise,  and  with  that 
view  Valentine  returned  to  her  at  once. 

"  My  love!"  said  he,  "  I  want  you  to  be 
my  wife  before  we  are  married!" 

"  Oh!  of  course,"  said  Louise,  with  a 
playful  expression,  "by  all  means.  What 
have  you  got  for  me  to  do?  I  have  not  much 
time  you  know  to  spare;  but  I'll  do  it  if  I 
can.  What  is  it?" 

"  Why,  I  am  anxious  that  we  should  give 
a  party  at  our  house  to-morrow,  in  which 
case  you,  of  course,  must  be  there  to  receive 
our  guests.1' 

"  We?  Of  course  you  mean  that  you  and 
your  uncle  will  give  a  party?" 

"  No;  I  mean  that  you  and  I  should  give 
the  party,  Louise." 

"  What,  already?" 

"  Aye!  a  sort  of  preliminary  party,  just 
to  let  them  know  what  we  can  do." 

"  But  will  it  be  correct?" 

"  I  should  say  that  there  will  be  nothing 
at  all  incorrect  about  it." 

"Oh,  well,  if  you  think  that,  I  should 
enjoy  it  amazingly.  Oh!  it  will  be  glorious! 
— the  idea  is  so  new.  I  am  sure  that  it  is 
yours.  I  need  not  ask  you  that.  Did  you 
ever  hear  of  such  a  thing  before?" 

*'  I  confess  that  I  never  did;  but  I  don't 
see  why  that  should  prevent  us  from  doing 
it!" 

"  By  no  means.  On  the  contrary,  it  will 
be  all  the  better.  I  shall  enjoy  it  the  more. 
The  novelty  of  the  thing  will  be  delightful! 
But  understand,  sir,  I  must  not  be  teased 
too  much.  Oh!  my  Valentine,  do  not  sup- 
pose that  I  am  inclined  to  treat  the  great 
subject  of  our  marriage  with  levity.  In- 
deed, indeed,  I  am  not;  but  I  am  so  happy! 
oh,  so  happy!  I  feel  that  the  time  is  past 
for  it  to  be  necessary  to  conceal  my  feelings 
from  you." 

"  My  own  Louise!"  exclaimed  Valentine, 
with  fervour,  "I  know  that  the  native 
piirity  of  your  heart  is  to  be  equalled  only 
by  the  correctness  of  your  mind.  Fear  not, 
my  love,  that  I  can  entertain  a  thought 
which  can  tend  to  diminish  my  estimation 
of  either.  My  object  in  proposing  this  is 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


367 


to  render  you,  if   possible,  more  happy 

44 1  know  it;  I  feel  it,  oh,  believe  me  I  am 
quite  sure  of  that.  Well — well!"  she  added, 
playfully,  "and  whom  shall  we  invite?" 

44  Why,  it  must,  of  course,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, be  confined  to  ourselves." 

44  Why,  of  course!— What  a  silly  thing  I 
am!  Well,  then,  let  me  see,  there'll  be 
papa,  and — oh!  six  altogether.  Well,  have 
you  any  invitation  cards?  If  not,  I  have 
some — beauties!— they  have  been  printed-— 
perhaps  more  than  a  thousand  years — I 
can't  say:  at  all  events  we  have  had  them 
ever  since  we  came  here,  and  not  one  of 
them  has  ever  been,  by  any  chance,  used. 
I'll  go  and  hunt  them  up  immediately.  Get 
the  envelopes  ready,  and  we'll  despatch 
them  at  once." 

Louise  then  ran  for  the  cards,  and  on  her 
return  they  were  prepared  and  enclosed; 
and  when  Valentine  went  to  the  house  with 
the  view  of  giving  the  necessary  instruc- 
tions for  the  dinner,  he  despatched  them 
with  all  due  formality,  by  one  of  his  own 
servants. 

This,  as  Valentine  expected,  delighted 
them  all;  but  not  one  of  them  was  so  much 
delighted  as  Raven.  He  was  in  ecstasies! 
He  declared  to  Uncle  John  confidently— for 
he  spoke  to  no  one  else  on  the  subject — that 
it  was,  beyond  every  species  of  doubt,  the 
best  thing  he  ever  heard  of. 

44W7e  must  go  full  dressed,"  said  he. 
*4  What  can  we  wear  to  astonish  them? 
Let  me  see.  That,  perhaps,  doesn't  much 
matter;  but  we  must  go  full  dressed.  We 
must  keep  the  thing  up.  We  must  do  it  in 
style.  I'll  call  for  you  in  the  carnage  at  a 
quarter  to  six." 

The  thing  being  thus  arranged,  he  did  call 
with  the  Widow  and  Llewellen,  and  when 
Uncle  John  had  joined  them,  they  proceeded 
full  of  life  and  spirits  to  the  house,  where 
Valentine  and  Louise,  with  due  dignity,  re- 
ceived them. 

Valentine  had  ordered  the  best  dinner 
that  could  be,  on  so  short  a  notice — pre- 
pared; leaving  the  thing,  of  course,  entirely 
to  the  cook.  But  although  it  was  really 
excellent,  the  dinner  itself  was  quite  a 
secondary  consideration  with  them:  it  was 
the  fact  of  their  having  been  thus  invited 
which  rendered  their  enjoyment  so  rich,  for 
they  really  were  in  raptures  the  whole  of  the 
evening,  and  left  inspired  with  the  highest 
and  purest  delight. 

On  the  following  morning,  however,  as 
Valentine  and  Louise  were  in  the  drawing- 
room,  conversing  in  a  most  happy  strain, 
each  pointing  out  to  the  other  the  various 
bright  little  features  of  the  prospect  in  view, 
which  had  before  been  overlooked  or  indis- 


tinctly perceived,  a  coach  drove  up  to  the 
door,  and  WThitely,  with  an  expression  of 
mingled  pleasure  and  indignation,  alighted. 

44  Good  gracious!"  exclaimed  Louise,  as 
her  heart  sank  within  her.  44  What  can  be 
about  to  happen  now!" 

44  Be  calm,  my  sweetest  girl;   be  com- 
"  "  said  Valentine. 

Look!"  she  exclaimed,  starting,  and 
bursting  into  tears,  as  Joseph  also  alighted. 
44  Valentine!  Valentine! — my  dearest  love! 
Some  dreadful  mystery  is  about  to  be  re- 
vealed!" 

44  My  Louise! — Come,  come,  my  sweet- 
est!— Courage!  Why  inspire  these  fears  on 
speculation,  my  love?" 

44  What  can  they  want  here?" 

44  Oh!  Whitely  may  be  dissatisfied;  he 
may  wish  to  have  the  terms  of  his  engage- 
ment slightly  altered — a  thousand  things 
may  have  occurred  to  induce  him  to  call." 

44  But  why  bring  that  man  with  him?  Oh, 
my  Valentine!  I  cannot  but  anticipate  the 
disclosure  of  some  dreadful  secret." 

44  Well,  my  Louise,  let  it  be  disclosed; 
and  let  us  meet  it  boldly,  whatever  it  may 
be;  not  tremblingly  sink  beneath  it,  as  if  a 
consciousness  of  guilt  made  us  imbecile. 
Be  firm,  my  Louise;  I  know  that  you  can 
be  firm;  let  it  come!  Let  it  be  even  the 
worst  that  can  befall  us,  my  love,  it  shall 
not  subdue  us  without  a  struggle.  But,  my 
girl,  it  may  be  nothing  of  importance  after 
all!  Come,  let  us  wait  the  result  of  this 
interview  with  patience." 

By  this  time  Whitely  and  his  companion 
had  been  shown  into  the  parlour.  The 
latter  was  unknown  to  his  successor,  who 
therefore  made  no  distinction  between  them, 
but  bowed  to  both  as  he  left  to  take  White- 
ly's  card  to  Raven,  who  was  at  the  time  in 
a  pleasing  reverie,  almost  buried  in  an  easy 
chair. 

The  very  moment,  however,  Raven  saw 
the  card,  he  started,  and  turned  pale  as 
death,  and  then  fixed  his  eyes  wildly  upon 
the  carpet,  until  after  a  time  he  seemed  to 
become  again  conscious  of  the  presence  of 
the  servant,  when  he  made  a  strong  effort 
to  rally. 

44  This  person,"  said  he,  waving  his  hand, 
and  affecting  an  air  of  supreme  indifference, 
44  may  walk  up. — Be  a  man!''''  he  continued, 
muttering  to  himself,  when  the  servant  had 
left  him.  "  Display  the  spirit  of  a  man! 
What  have  I  now  to  fear?  What  danger  is 
there  now?" 

He  rose,  and  struck  his  breast,  and 
breathed  deeply,  and  tried  to  subdue  every 
feeling  of  fear,  and  succeeded  at  least  in 
recovering  his  apparent  firmness  by  the  time 
Whitely  was  ushered  into  the  room. 

44  Well,  sir!"  said  Raven,  with  marked 


368 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


deliberation,  "and  what  is  your  business 
with  me?" 

Whitely  stood  and  looked  at  him  fiercely 
for  a  moment,  and  then  said  with  a  sarcas- 
tic smile,  "Are  you  at  all  astonished  to  see 
me?" 

"I  am,"  replied  Raven.  "I  am  aston- 
ished. I  thought  that  you  were  to  annoy 
ine  no  more?" 

"I  did  undertake  to  annoy  you  no  more; 
but  with  this  proviso,  that  if  at  any  time  I 
discovered  that  you  had  not  dealt  fairly  and 
openly  with  me,  the  undertaking  should  be 
cancelled.  I  have  discovered  this;  I  have 

discovered " 

<     "  Well,  sir!  whathave  you  discovered?" 

"  That  you  are  a  more  consummate  vil- 
lain than  I  even  supposed  you  to  be  be- 
fore." 

"  &>.'"  shouted  Raven,  as  he  rose  from 
his  seat  fiercely,  "  I  can  endure  much:  I 
have  endured  much;  but  if  you  suppose 
that  I  am  to  be  trampled  upon,  you  are  de- 
ceived. Have  you  come  here  expressly  to 
insult  me?  Is  that  your  only  object  in  com- 
ing?" 

"No!"  replied  Whitely;  "my  object  in 
coming  here  is  to  claim  rny  children! — my 
children!— villain!" 

At  this  moment  Valentine,  Llewellen, 
and  Louise,  rushed  into  the  room. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  Heaven  is  all 
this?"  demanded  Valentine,  as  Louise  flew 
to  Raven,  and  tried  to  calm  him.  "  What 
does  it  mean  ?" 

"  He  is  a  madman!"  cried  Raven, — "  A 
roadman!" 

"  What  is  this?"  said  Valentine,  address- 
ing Whitely.  "  Why,  why  are  you  here? 
Is  it  fair— is  it  just— when  the  thing  was 
understood  to  have  been  forever  at  an  end?" 

"Valentine,"  said  Whitely,  looking  at 
him  with  a  most  intense  expression,  "I 
respect  you:  I  always  have  respected  you 
highly! — do  not  destroy  that  respect  by  in- 
terfering hotly  in  this  matter  while  in  igno- 
rance of  its  merits.  I  have  come  to  claim 
my  children!  They  are  here! — These  are 
my  children!" 

The  effect  produced  by  this  announce- 
ment was  electric.  A  thrill  ran  through 
the  veins  of  them  all;  but  Louise  clung 
still  more  closely  to  Raven,  who  again  and 
again  declared  that  Whitely  was  mad. 

"No!"  cried  Whitely,  "I  am  not  mad. 
They  are  my  children.  They  know  rue  not; 
of  course  they  do  not  know  me,  although 
there  was  a  time — but  that  is  passed." 

"Mr.  Whitely,"  said  Valentine,  "are 
you  acting  advisedly  in  this  matter — What 
proof  have  you?'' 

"  Aye!"  cried  Raven,  "  what  proof  has 
he?  Let  him  produce  his  proof!" 


"  I  have  preof — ample  proof;  and  will  pro- 
duce it!"  cried  Wliitely,  who  instantly  rush- 
ed from  the  room. 

During  his  absence  not  a  syllable  was 
spoken.  They  were  dumb  with  amaze- 
ment, and  remained  in  a  state  of  breathless 
suspense  until  he  returned  with  his  witness. 

The  very  instant  Raven  saw  this  man,  he 
started,  and  looked  at  him  as  if  he  had  been 
a  spectre. 

"  Don't  you  know  me?"  said  the  fellow, 
with  a  sneer. 

"Devil!"  cried  Raven,  "  is  it  you?" 

"  It's  nobody  else!  What,  you're  caught 
then  at  last!  You  thought  I  was  off  to  Ame- 
rica, didn't  you?  I  hope  you  received  my 
affectionate  epistle,  because — " 

"  Silence,  fellow!"  cried  Valentine. 

"  Fellow!" 

"  Aye,  fellow! — State  what  you  know  of 
this  matter,  and  no  more." 

"  I  shall  have  my  revenge  on  every  one 
of  you,  before  I've  done  with  you,  it  strikes 
me.  I  owe  you  all  a  grudge, — the  whole 
set  of  you!" 

"Now,"  said  Whitely,  "suppress  what- 
ever feeling  of  enmity  or  anger  you  may 
have,  and  answer  me  distinctly,  and  with 
truth.  There  stands  «  Miss  Raven,' — there 
*  Mr.  Llewellen;'  whose  children  are  they?" 

"Yours!" 

Here  Raven  rose  suddenly,  as  if  about 
to  seize  the  witness,  who  placing  his  foot 
against  the  door,  cried,  "  Come,  keep  off! 
keep  off!  1  know  what  you're  up  to;  I  won't 
be  turned  out!" 

"  No  one  wishes  to  turn  you  out,"  said 
Valentine. 

"  Don't  they!  I  don't  want  nothing  from 
you.  I  speak  nothing  but  the  truth,  and  he 
knows  it!  and  that's  what  cuts  him  to  the 
quick." 

"Now,  sir,"  said  Whitely,  "attend  to 
me:  you  say  that  these  are  my  children?" 

"  Of  course  they  are,  and  he  knows  it." 

"  State  how  you  know  them  to  be  mine." 

"  Why,  wasn't  I  with  'em  when  they 
were  infants,  and  haven't  I  been  with  'em 
all  along?  Whose  should  they  be?  He  never 
had  no  children.  He  never  had  no  wife, 
but  your  wife  which  died  of  a  broken  heart; 
and  didn't  she  take  'em  with  her  when  she 
left  home?  I  can't  be  mistaken  in  'em,  it 
strikes  me!" 

"  Have  you  no  other  proof  than  this  man's 
word?"  inquired  Valentine.  "  Are  you  your- 
self sure  that  he  has  not  invented  this  tale 
for  the  gratification  of  some  malicious  feel- 
ing?" 

"Certain,"  replied  Whitely. 

"Of  course,  he  is  certain!"  cried  the 
man.  "  And  if  he  wasn't,  I  could  make 
him.  It  don't  depend  upon  me;  if  it  did, 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


369 


he'd  stand  me  out  in  it.  I  can  produce  both 
documents  and  witnesses;  but  look  at  him! 
That  '11  tell  you  whether  what  I  say  is 
truth  or  not.  Only  look  at  him!  That's 
quite  enough!  He  hasn't  got  so  much  as 
the  face  to  say  they're  his.  He  knows  that 
what  I  say  is  right.  He  don't  deny  it;  he 
hasn't  denied  it  yet.  Let  him  deny  it,  that's 
all!  Let  him  deny  it!" 

44  Father!"  exclaimed  Louise,  in  agony. 


"  Father!— I  feel  that  yon  are  my  father 
still;  you  have  always  been  like  a  father  to 
me;  is  it — no?—  I'll  not  believe  it." 
44  Let  him  deny  it!  Let  him  deny  it!" 
44  Say  hut  one  word,"  cried  Louise;  44  but 
one  word  to  silence  for  ever  this  slanderous 
man.     Is  it  true!" 

Raven  sank  into  his  chair,  exclaiming, 
44  My  dear  child,  it  is'." 


CHAPTER  LXVH. 


IN   WHICH    A   VARIETY    OF   MATTERS   ARE    EXPLAINED. 


As  this  confession  at  once  sealed  the  lips  of 
incredulity — albeit  Louise  clung  to  Raven 
etill  as  if  she  felt  it  even  then  to  be  impossi- 
ble—Valentine, whom  nothing  could  de- 
prive of  self-possession,  on  the  instant 
begged  of  Whitely  to  retire  with  him,  in 
order  that  the  effects  of  the  sudden  disclo- 
sure might  in  some  degree  subside  before 
any  other  decisive  steps  were  taken.  To  this 
Whitely  consented,  and  they  quitted  the 
room,  leaving  Louise  with  her  face  buried  in 
her  hands  by  the  side  of  Raven,  who  ap- 
peared to  have  reached  the  very  depths  of 
despair,  while  Llewelleri  stood  at  his  back, 
as  motionless  as  if  he  had  been  absolutely 
petrified. 

On  reaching  the  drawing-room,  Valentine 
and  Whitely,  with  the  view  of  considering 
what  course  would  be  the  best  to  pursue 
under  the  circumstances,  drew  to  the  table, 
while  the  sentimental  Joseph,  in  order  to 
listen  without  being  suspected,  went  to  one 
of  the  windows,  where,  having  drawn  a 
hymn-book  from  his  pocket,  he  seemed  to 
be  lost  in  religious  contemplation. 

44  Well,"  said  Valentine, 44  of  course  there 
can  be  no  doubt  now  about  the  correctness 
of  that  which  this  man  has  disclosed,  Raven 
himself  having  admitted  it  to  be  true:  the 
only  question  therefore  is,  what  is  best  to 
be  done?" 

*4  That  is  the  only  question,"  said  White- 
ly; **  I  wish  to  do  nothing  with  rashness — 
nothing  without  due  consideration." 

44 1  am  sure  of  it:  I  am  also  sure  that, 
however  great  may  be  your  contempt  for 
the  feelings  of  Raven,  you  will  avoid  doing 
anything  which  may  inflict  an  additional 
wound  upon  those  of  poor  Louise." 

14 1  am  of  course  anxious,  most  anxious, 
to  act  with  strict  regard  to  the  feelings  of 
my  own  dear  child,"  said  Whitely. 


44  Being  quite  certain  of  that,"  rejoined 
Valentine,  44  it  is  with  confidence  I  suggest 
that  the  immediate  departure  of  Louise  from 
this  house  ought  not  to  be  insisted  upon." 

44  What!"  exclaimed  Whitely,  44  leave 
her  here,  and  that  with  the  wretch  who 
would  have  kept  her  for  ever  from  me?" 

44  For  the  present! — until  she  becomes 
more  cairn! — until  matters  can  be  arranged! 
You  would  not  surely  insist  upon  her 
leaving  at  once,  without  having  time  al- 
lowed to  make  the  slightest  preparation? 
But  I  wish  you  would  speak  with  my 
uncle  on  the  subject.  Will  you  remain 
here  till  he  comes?  I  will  send  for  him 
instantly." 

44  I'll  wait  for  him  with  pleasure.  Be- 
fore I  act  in  this  matter  I'd  rather,  much 
rather  see  him." 

Valentine  therefore  rang  the  bell,  and 
having  written  a  hasty  note  to  his  uncle, 
requesting  him  to  come  without  a  moment's 
delay,  he  desired  the  servant  to  take  it  with 
all  possible  speed,  it  being  a  matter  of  the 
highest  importance. 

While  the  servant  was  waiting  for  this 
note  he  caught  sight  of  the  sentimental 
Joseph — notwithstanding  that  pious  indi- 
vidual was  so  deep  in  the  beautiful  spirit  of 
his  hymns  that  he  kept  the  book  strictly 
up  to  his  eyes,  that  those  organs  might  not 
vainly  wander — and  having  become  assured 
of  its  being  the  Joseph  and  no  one  but  the 
Joseph,  he  took  the  note,  and  promised  to 
make  all  possible  haste;  but  before  he  left 
the  house,  he  communicated  what  he  had 
seen  to  the  rest  of  the  servants,  who  under- 
took to  keep  a  remarkably  sharp  look-out 
till  he  returned. 

Valentine,  as  soon  as  the  note  had  been 
despatched,  begged  Whitely  to  excuse  him, 
and  returned  to  Louise,  whom  he  found  in 
tears  on  the  sofa  with  Llewellen,  while 

32* 


370 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


Raven,  with  his  hand  over  his  eyes,  still  sat 
in  his  easy  chair  motionless. 

44  This,"  said  Louise,  extending- her  hand 
to  Valentine  as  he  entered,  "  Oh!  this  is  a 
heavy  blow  indeed!" 

44  It  is,"  returned  Valentine,  as  he  ap- 
proached and  sat  beside  her;  "  it  is  a  heavy 
blow,  my  dearest  girl;  but  we  must  not 
sink  beneath  even  this." 

Louise  moved  her  head  mournfully,  and 
sighed. 

44  Courage,  my  own  Louise,  courage!" 
continued  Valentine.  4'  Retire  for  the  pre- 
sent; come,  let  us  seek  my  mother:  with 
her  you  will  be  more  calm:  come! — come!" 

He  raised  her  from  the  sofa,  and  led  her 
gently  to  the  door,  but  they  had  no  sooner 
reached  it  than  Raven  cried,  "  Louise!" — 
when  on  the  instant  she  turned  and  flew 
into  the  arms  extended  to  receive  her,  ex- 
claiming, "  My  father! — Oh,  be  my  father 
still!" 

For  some  time  she  remained  clasped  in 
Raven's  arms,  but  neither  uttered,  nor  at- 
tempted to  utter,  another  word:  she  sobbed 
aloud,  while  the  tears  gushed  down  his 
furrowed  cheeks,  and  they  both  seemed  to 
endure  the  most  intense  mental  anguish. 

At  length  Valentine  approached  with  the 
view  of  prevailing  upon  them  to  separate  un- 
til they  had  become  more  tranquil,  and  even- 
tually succeeded  in  inducing  them  to  do  so, 
having  declared  again  and  again  that  he 
would  not  allow  Louise  to  be  taken  abruptly 
from  the  house. 

44 1  rely  with  the  utmost  confidence  upon 
you,"  said  Raven.  "  1  feel  that  whatever  I 
may  be,  or  may  appear— for  I  appear  in  this 
case,  to  be  worse  than  I  am — you  will  not 
suffer  her  to  be  torn  from  rne  yet." 

Valentine  repeated  his  assurance,  and 
left  the  room  with  Louise. 

The  widow  had  heard  nothing  of  this 
revelation.  She  had  indeed  been  informed 
by  one  of  the  servants  that  there  had  been 
something  of  a  stir;  but  of  the  cause  she 
continued  to  be  in  the  most  perfect  igno- 
rance until  Valentine  explained  it  on  bring- 
ing up  Louise.  How  great  her  surprise 
was  then  may  be  imagined.  She  confessed 
that  she  in  reality  knew  neither  what  to 
think  nor  what  to  say,  and  when  Valentine 
had  intimated  to  her  that,  until  the  whole 
matter  had  been  explained,  the  less  she 
thought  and  said  about  it  the  better,  he  left 
her  and  Louise,  to  rejoin  Whitely  and  his 
pseudo-sentimental  companion. 

On  the  stairs,  however,  he  encountered 
Llewellen,  who  was  in  a  truly  wretched 
state.  The  whole  of  his  intellectual  facul- 
ties appeared  to  he  deranged:  he  looked 
like  a  morally  disorganized  man. 

"  My  tear  poy,"  said  he,  44  here's  a  pies- 


set  pusiness! — here's  tooings  and  cootness 
knows  it!  Putt  phot's  to  pe  tun,  my  poy, 
phot's  to  be  tun!  Too  step  here,  ant  just  tell 
me  phot  hur'm  to  too." 

Here  he  took  the  arm  of  Valentine,  and 
having  led  him  into  an  apartment  with  an 
expression  of  vacant  wonder,  resumed: — 

44  Now  phot's  to  pe  tun?  How  am  hur  to 
act]  Phot  can  hur  too,  look  you!  I  never 
tit! — oh!  my  tear  poy,  too  tell  me  how  hur'm 
to  proceet." 

'4  Have  patience  for  a  short  time,  Fred, 
and  I  shall  know  how  to  advise  you.  At 
present  there  is  but  one  thing  I  feel  myself 
justified  in  recommending  you  to  do,  and 
that  is  to  keep  silent." 

14  Putt  it  is  such  a  pusiness!  Am  hur 
pount  to  pelieve  that  Mr.  Phitely  is  really 
my  father!" 

44  Why,  I  think  there  can  be  but  little 
doubt  about  it  now." 

44  Well,  putt  inteet,  now,  look  you,  coot- 
ness  knows,  it  will  pe  so  very  ott  to  call 
him  father,  inteet!" 

44 1  have  no  doubt  it  will  seem  rather 
strange  at  first;  but  you  will  soon  get  ac- 
customed to  that." 

44  Very  coot,  my  poy;  putt  hur'll  not  pe- 
lieve it!  Have'nt  hur  another  father  town 
at  Caermarthen?" 

44 1  should  say  that  the  chances  are,  if 
Mr.  Whitely  be  your  father,  that  you  have 
not." 

44  Putt  hur  ton't  pelieve  that  he  is  my 
father.  Hur'll  write  town  to  Caermarthen 
by  this  plesset  lay's  post,  and  ask  my  own 
father — that  is,  my  father  Llewellen — 
phether  he  is  my  father  or  not.  If  he  says 
that  he  is,  hur  shall  know  phot  to  too;  hur'll 
not  pelieve  Phitely,  nor  ten  thousant  Phite- 
lys  pesites!  Hur'll  write  town  this  plesset 
lay,  look  you!" 

44  Wait,  my  dear  fellow;  have  patience," 
said  Valentine;  44  at  least  for  a  day  or  two 
wait." 

44  Well,  well!  if  you  think  it  will  pe  pet- 
ter  to  wait,  phy  hur'll  too  so." 

44  Before  the  day  is  at  an  end,  we  shall 
doubtless  know  more,  much  more  than  we 
do  now." 

44  Very  well;  then  hur'll  tefer  writing, 
look  you;  putt  hur  ton't  inteet  like  to  pe 
pount  to  pelieve  that  any  potty's  my  father 
that  chooses  to  say  so  without  any  particle 
of  proof,  ant  cootness  knows  it.  Put  hur 
say,  my  poy,"  he  added,  with  a  singular 
expression,  "phot  a  very  troll  co  it  will  pe 
if  Louey  shoot  pe  illy  sister! — hur  say,|if 
she  shoot!  If  that  phere  all,  look  you,  hur 
shootn't  care  a  pit  apout  that,  for  hur  always 
tit  love  Louey  tearly;  putt  hur  won't  pelieve 
Phitely's  my  father  pecause  hur  shootn't 
mint  if  Louey  phere  my  sister." 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


371 


"No,  that  would  be  scarcely  worth 
while.  I  confess  to  you  that  at  present  I 
have  very  little  douht  about  it  myself;  but 
we  shall  see.  In  a  few  hours  the  thing  will 
be  placed  beyond  dispute." 

A  coach  at  this  moment  drew  up  to  the 
door,  with  the  servant  who  had  been  sent 
for  Uncle  John  upon  the  box.  "Now," 
cried  Valentine,  "we  shall  soon  know  all. 
Here  is  my  uncle.  I  must  go  and  explain 
to  him  before  he  sees  Whitely;  but  immedi- 
ately after  our  interview  I'll  let  you  know, 
Fred,  precisely  how  the  matter  stands." 

He  then  ran  down,  and  met  Uncle  John 
in  the  hall,  and  having  led  him  into  the 
parlour,  related  what  had  occurred  with  all 
possible  brevity.  Uncle  John  was  astounded 
at  the  intelligence. 

"Is  it  possible!"  he  exclaimed,  "is  it 
possible!  Is  it — can  it  be  possible!  White- 
ly's  children — not  his!  He  has  not  kept 
faith  with  me;  I've  been  deceived!  He  led 
me  to  believe — What  could  be  his  motive! 
Not  his,  but  Whitely's  children,  after  all! 
Are  they  together?" 

"No.  Whitely  is  in  the  drawing-room 
with  the  man  whom  he  brought  as  a  wit- 
ness. He  is  waiting  to  see  you.  I  begged 
of  him  to  do  so,  being  anxious  for  you  to 
prevail  upon  him  not  to  insist  upon  the  im- 
mediate removal  of  Louise,  because,  as  that 
must  not  be,  his  refusal  to  consent  may 
create  a  disturbance  which  it  would  be  of 
course  better  to  avoid." 

"Of  course,  my  boy;  of  course:  yes,  I'll 
go  to  him  at  once.  Come  with  me.  Bad 
conduct;  bad,  very  bad  conduct." 

They  now  reached  the  drawing-room,  and 
Whitely  rose  to  meet  Uncle  John  as  he 
entered,  and  they  shook  hands  with  all 
their  wonted  warmth. 

"Why,  my  friend,"  said  Uncle  John, 
wiping  his  brow  with  great  energy,  the 
perspiration  the  intelligence  had  caused  be- 
ing very  profuse,  "  I  have  been  amazed! — 
absolutely  amazed!" 

"  And  well  you  may  be,"  cried  Whitely, 
"  well  you  may  be  amazed;  but  not  at  the 
falsehood  of  a  villain! — no,  that  is  not 
amazing!" 

"I  couldn't  have  believed  it!"  rejoined 
Uncle  John;  "I  really  couldn't  have  be- 
lieved it!" 

"I  don't  see  that  we  had  any  right  to 
expect  that  what  he  stated  was  the  truth. 
It  is  now,  however,  useless  to  dwell  upon 
that.  The  question  is,  having  (thank 
Heaven!)  discovered  my  children,  how  am 
I  to  proceed!  As  I  explained  to  Valentine, 
I  wish  to  do  nothing  rashly.  Before  I  act, 
I  am,  therefore,  anxious  to  have  your 
advice." 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Uncle  John,  "I 


scarcely  feel  competent  to  give  any  advice 
at  all;  I  seem  bewildered;  the  thing  appears 
like  a  dream.  Did  Raven  himself  enter 
into  any  explanation1?" 

"Not  the  slightest;  nor  was  any  explana- 
tion demanded.  It  was  sufficient  for  me 
that  he  confessed  that  the  children  were 
mine." 

"But  I  cannot  conceive  what  induced 
him  to  wish  to  keep  them  from  you!  What 
object  could  he  have! — what  motive!  Until 
I  have  some  explanation  from  him,  I  shall 
not  feel  myself  justified  in  advising  you 
how  to  act.  You  are  not  I  hope  in  haste; 
let  me  go  to  him  at  once  and  hear  what  he 
has  to  say  upon  the  subject.  I  shall  then 
be  better  able  to  judge.  Shall  I  do  so?" 

"By  all  means  if  you  wish  it,"  replied 
Whitely,  "  I  am  in  no  sort  of  haste,  I  can 
wait." 

"I'll  detain  you  but  a  very  short  time," 
said  Uncle  John;  "  I'll  be  back  as  soon  as 
possible.  Valentine,  remain  with  Mr. 
Whitely  till  I  return." 

He  then  left  them,  and  after  having  sent 
to  Raven  to  request  an  immediate  interview, 
which  was  granted,  he  proceeded  to  the  room 
in  which  the  secret  had  been  revealed,  and 
in  which  he  found  Raven  apparently  half 
dead. 

Their  meeting  was  awkward.  Raven 
himself  seemed  ashamed  to  advance,  while 
Uncle  John  felt  that  if  he  offered  his  hand 
as  a  friend  he  should  be  a  hypocrite.  They 
therefore  regarded  each  other  with  coldness; 
but  Uncle  John,  the  very  moment  he  had 
taken  a  chair,  said,  "My  good  friend,  how 
came  you  to  mislead,  to  deceive  me?  While 
conducting  the  arrangement  which  it  gave 
me  great  pleasure  to  conduct,  I  did  expect, 
I  had  a  right  to  expect,  that  acting  as  I  was 
in  the  capacity  of  friend  to  both  parties, 
both  parties  would  treat  me  with  fairness 
and  candour.  I  am  however  sorry  to  find 
that  you  were  not  candid  with  me — that 
you  induced  me  to  believe  that  which  has 
been  proved  to  be  false." 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Raven,  "  that  although 
I  was  guilty  of  no  direct  falsehood,  I  led 
you  to  believe,  when  I  said  that  I  would 
not,  that  I  meant  that  I  could  not  give  any 
information  on  the  subject  of  the  children: 
that  I  admit,  and  I  was  prompted  to  this 
species  of  prevarication  by  a  most  powerful 
motive;  but  as  I  have  ever  regarded  you  as 
one  who  would  scorn  to  press  heavily  upon 
a  fallen  man,  harshness  from  you  is  what  I 
did  not  expect:  it  is,  sir,  a  thing  which  I 
will  not  endure." 

"I  have  no  desire  to  be  harsh,"  said 
Uncle  John;  "  I  have  no  right  to  be  harsh; 
but  I  have  a  right,  when  a  man  misleads 


372 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


me,  to  let  him  know  that  I  feel  myself  ag- 
grieved." 

44  Even  assuming  that  you  have  this 
right,"  rejoined  Raven,  "  is  it  correct,  is  it 
generous  to  exercise  it  just  as  you  see  a 
man's  spirit  broken  down1?" 

44  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  augment 
any  man's  affliction,  but — " 

44  Had  I  been  lost,"  resumed  Raven,  "to 
every  sense  of  generosity  and  of  justice,  or 
dead  to  every  virtuous  feeling,  viewing  the 
world  as  it  is,  and  like  a  man  of  the  world 
holding  its  opinion  in  contempt;  all  this 
would  have  been  avoided.  I  should  not 
have  been  placed  in  so  humiliating  a  posi- 
tion; but  as — by  virtue  of  endeavouring  to 
conciliate  those  who  never  could  be  con- 
ciliated, instead  of  putting  at  once  a  bold 
face  upon  the  matter,  and  setting  them  at 
defiance — I  am  in  this  position,  unkindness 
at  the  hands  of  those  from  whom  I  expect- 
ed friendly  advice  and  assistance,  has  a  ten- 
dency to  make  me  callous  and  to  incline  me 
to  treat  tho  world  as  the  world  treats  me, 
with  disdain." 

44  Mr.  Raven,"  said  Uncle  John  gravely, 
"I  do  not  think  that  you  will  feel  yourself 
justified  in  saying  that  I  ever  behaved  in  an 
unfriendly  manner  towards  you." 

44  It  is  unfriendly  to  speak  with  harsh- 
ness to  me  at  such  a  time  as  this.  At  any 
other  time  I  could  have  borne  it.  It  is  only 
when  a  man  is  in  an  extremity  that  he  needs 
a  friend,  and  that  is  precisely  the  time  when 
he  finds  himself  deserted.  All  that  I  have 
done  since  the  first  false  step  was  taken  the 
whole  world  may  know;  with  that  single 
exception  there  is  no  act  of  mine  of  which 
I  need  be  ashamed,  having  been  prompted 
by  generosity  on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the 
other  by  the  purest  affection.  However  I 
have  no  wish  to  explain;  1  find  that  all  are 
against  me." 

44 1  am  not  against  you;  none  who  were 
previously  for  you  are  against  you.  I  spoke 
to  you  on  the  subject  rather  sternly,  I  ad- 
mit; but  why]  not  because  I  wished  to  be 
against  you,  but  solely  because  I  conceived 
it  to  be  a  pity  that  you  were  not  more  in- 
genuous, more  candid." 

44  I  was  as  candid  as  under  the  circum- 
stances I  could  be,  or  at  least  could  feel 
myself  justified  in  being.  The  fact  of  those 
children  being  Whitely's  I  wished  from  my 
heart  to  conceal.  I  promised  her  who  was 
their  mother — I  promised  her  on  her  death- 
bed that  I  would  keep  from  them  all  know- 
ledge of  her  shame,  and  for  ever  would  it 
have  been  kept  from  them,  had  it  not  been 
for  that  atrocious  hypocritical  villain  whom 
I  have  pampered  for  years,  and  who  of 
course  sold  the  secret  after  having  sworn 
solemnly  to  preserve  it  in  consideration  of 


my  having  given  him  a  sum  sufficient  to 
keep  him  independent  for  life." 

44  Then,"  said  Uncle  John,  44  their  mo- 
ther is  dead!" 

44  Yes,  she  died  soon,  very  soon  after  she 
left  her  husband;  for  although  she  had 
every  possible  comfort,  and  was  treated  by 
me  with  the  utmost  tenderness  and  affec- 
tion, the  step  she  had  taken  weighed  so 
heavily  upon  her  heart,  that  it  was  not  long 
before  that  heart  was  broken.  Her  children 
I  loved  as  dearly  as  if  they  had  been  my 
own,  and  had  they  been  my  own  they  could 
not  have  displayed  a  greater  affection  for 
me.  That  dear  girl,  Louise,  was  especially 
fond  of  me:  I  need  not  add  that  I  doted 
upon  her,  I  dote  upon  her  still;  I  love  her 
with  all  the  fond  intensity  of  an  affectionate 
father,  and  must  continue  thus  to  love  her 
till  I  sink  into  the  grave.  She  has  been 
more  than  a  child  to  me;  she  has  been  an 
angel! — May  the  angels  hover  round  and 
protect  her  for  ever!  Oh,  my  friend,  it  may 
have  been  thought  that  my  commerce  with 
the  world  would  have  destroyed  the  best 
feelino-s  of  my  nature;  but  if  you  knew  how 
purely,  how  devotedly  I  love  that  affec- 
tionate girl,  you  would  not  be  surprised  at 
my  having  descended  to  prevarication  in 
order  that  she  might  still  be,  in  her  view, 
as  well  as  in  the  view  of  the  world  in  ge- 
neral, my  own  dear  child.  As  my  own  I 
have  cherished  her  fondly,  tenderly:  she 
was  my  comfort,  the  fountain  of  my  joy:  it 
was  my  delight,  and  the  highest  delight  I 
ever  experienced — to  promote  her  happi- 
ness; and  yet  on  the  very  eve  of  my  plea- 
surable task  being  perfected— just  as  that 
happiness  was  about  to  be  permanently 
secured,  she  is  proclaimed  to  be  not  my 
own  child,  and  torn  from  me  for  ever!  It  is 
this  which  afflicts  me  beyond  the  power  of 
expression.  Nothing  could  have  afflicted 
me  more;  no  calamity  which  could  have 
befallen  me  could  have  struck  so  deeply 
into  my  heart,  for  I  now  feel  completely 
alone  in  the  world,  deprived  for  ever  of  her 
who  was  my  solace — my  child!" 

Here  Raven  was  much  affected,  and  so 
indeed  was  Uncle  John,  who,  scarcely 
knowing  what  to  say,  remained  silent.  At 
length  Raven,  with  considerable  emotion, 
resumed: — 

*•  It  may  have  been  wrong,"  said  he, 
44  nay,  I  cannot  but  feel  it  to  have  been 
wrong,  very  wrong,  even  to  wish  to  con- 
ceal those  children  from  their  father.  I 
cannot  justify  myself,  nor  can  I  on  any 
grounds  be  justified;  still,  in  extenuation, 
it  may  be  said  that  I  did  not  conceal  thorn 
wantonly,  or  with  any  cruel  aim,  my  object 
for  such  concealment — besides  that  of  fos- 
tering that  fond  devoted  girl  as  my  own — 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


373 


being  the  performance  of  my  promise  to  her 
broken-hearted  mother,  that  her  children 
should  if  possible  be  kept  for  ever  in  utter 
ignorance  of  her  disgrace.  This  was  the 
great  object  I  had  in  view,  and  that  object 
would  assuredly  have  been  attained,  had  it 
not  been  for  the  treachery  of  that  pernicious 
miscreant.  But  the  die  is  cast — I  am 
alone!" 

Raven  again  paused,  but  Uncle  John  still 
knew  not  what  to  say.  He  could  not  tell 
what  Raven  really  was.  He  could  not  be- 
lieve him  to  be  an  absolutely  heartless 
villain;  for,  notwithstanding  his  conduct 
towards  Whitely  himself  had  been  villanous 
in  the  extreme,  he,  in  the  view  of  Uncle 
John,  had  certain  redeeming  points,  to  which 
he  was  not  indisposed  to  attach  due  weight. 
He  therefore  did  not  feel  justified  in  saying 
anything  which  could  be  construed  into  an 
opinion  upon  the  subject;  but,  at  length, 
finding  that  Raven  was  not  about  to  pro- 
ceed, he,  conceiving  that  he  ought  to  say 
something  on  the  occasion,  inquired  why 
Fred  had  in  infancy  been  separated  from 
Louise. 

"  I  parted  them,"  said  Raven,  "  I  brought 
them  up,  not  as  brother  and  sister,  but  as 
cousins,  in  order  that  the  secret  might  be 
the  more  effectually  preserved.  I  regarded 
it  as  being  highly  probable  that  when  Fred 
became  a  man  his  curiosity  would  prompt 
him  to  go  back,  with  the  view  of  ascertain- 
ing certain  matters  having  reference  to  their 
origin,  which  Louise  would  not  think  of 
herself,  or  if  she  did,  she  would  not  have 
those  facilities  which  would  be  at  his  com- 
mand. I  therefore  sent  him  into  Wales, 
and  placed  him  under  the  care  of  a  kind, 
quiet  creature,  who  brought  him  up  as  his 
own  son,  and  a  good  fellow  he  has  made  of 
him;  a  better  hearted  boy  never  breathed: 
still  the  loss  of  him,  my  friend,  I  could 
endure:  I  have  not,  of  course,  those  feelings 
for  him  that  I  have  for  Louise;  she  has 
ever  been  with  me, — she  has  ever  been  my 
joy,  my  sweet  companion,  my  pride;  I 
cannot  bear  to  part  with  her:  I  feel  that  I 
shall  not  long  survive  it;  but  at  all  events 
she  must  not  be  torn  from  me  yet." 

"  We  shall  be  able  to  arrange  that,  I 
have  no  doubt,"  said  Uncle  John.  '*'  Valen- 
tine has  already  spoken  to  Whitely  on  the 
subject.  I'll  return  to  him,  and  urge  it  still 
further.  I  think  that  I  may  say  you  may 
be  sure  that  that  at  least  will  be  arranged." 

44  Now  that  I  am  in  your  hands  again," 
observed  Raven,  4'  my  mind  is  more  at  ease. 
You  will  do  the  best  you  can  for  me,  I 
know." 

44  All  that  can  be  done  shall  be  done,  be 
assured  of  that.  I  will  go  at  once,  and 
make  the  best  arrangement  1  can." 


Uncle  John  then  returned  to  the  drawing- 
room,  where  Valentine  and  Whitely  were 
still  engaged  in  earnest  conversation,  while 
the  sly  sentimentalist,  with  the  utmost  at- 
tention, was  listening  at  the  window  with 
the  hymn-book  in  his  hand. 

It  was  abundantly  evident  to  Uncle  John, 
as  he  entered,  that  Valentine  had  been  ap- 
plying the  balm  of  reason  to  Whitely's 
inflamed  passions  with  success,  for  he  was 
perfectly  calm,  and  spoke  with  the  utmost 
composure. 

44  Well,  my  friend,"  said  he,  when  Uncle 
John  had  taken  a  seat  beside  him,  44  are  you 
now  in  a  position  to  give  me  advice1?" 

44 1  now  feel  that  I  am,"  replied  Uncle 
John.  44  But  in  the  first  place,  in  order 
that  you  may  judge  for  yourself,  I'll  not 
only  relate  the  substance  of  what  passed 
between  us,  but  will  repeat  it  word  for 
word,  as  nearly  at  least  as  I  can  remember." 

He  did  so:  he  went  through  it  faithfully: 
he  made  no  effort  to  colour  any  fact:  the 
points  which  related  to  Raven's  great  affec- 
tion for  Louise  were  extremely  effective; 
but  that  effect  was  produced  without  design. 

Whitely  was  throughout  most  attentive. 
He  weighed  every  word.  Sitting  in  a 
studious  attitude,  his  head  resting  upon  his 
hand,  not  a  single  muscle  moved,  nor  did 
he  utter  a  syllable  until  Uncle  John  had 
concluded,  when  he  exclaimed  aloud, 44  Had 
he  not  been  the  seducer  of  my  wife,  I  could 
have  honoured  him! — had  he  taken  the 
children  of  a  fallen  woman,  not  being  him- 
self the  cause  of  her  fall,  and  thus  cherished 
them  until  the  feelings  of  a  father  had  been 
engendered,  I  would  have  worshipped — 
aye,  worshipped  that  man! — but  being  the 
seducer,  the  murderer  of  my  wife,  his  love 
for  them  prompts  me  to  hate  him  the  more! 
But  1  -will  be  calm — I  will  still  be  calm! — 
he  has  robbed  me  of  their  affection — the 
dear  love  of  my  own  children — still  I  will 
be  calm." 

During  this  burst  of  passion,  brief  as  it 
was,  the  sentimentalist  at  the  window 
placed  the  hymn-book  upon  his  knees,  and 
rubbed  his  hands  in  a  state  of  ecstasy.  He 
was  in  raptures,  and  would  have  gloried  in 
it  had  Whitely,  in  a  paroxysm  of  rage, 
rushed  into  Raven's  room,  and  either  stran- 
gled him  or  stabbed  him  to  the  heart. 
Whitely,  however,  as  if  to  cut  the  senti- 
mentalist to  the  soul,  resumed  his  former 
attitude,  and  after  a  pause,  said,  tranquilly, 
44  Well,  my  friend,  what  do  you  advise!" 

44  Why,"  replied  Uncle  John,  "I  should 
say  that  for  the  sake  of  poor  Louise,  and  for 
her  sake  alone,  things  ought  to  remain  for 
the  present  as  they  are.  You  of  course 
would  not  think  of  compelling  her  to  quit 
the  house  at  an  hour's  notice.  Under  the 


374 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


circumstances,  that  would  be  on  your  par 
impolitic,  seeing  that  it  might  tend  to  shock 
her  feelings,  and  thus  to  create  an  unfa- 
vourable first  impression.  No,  let  what  is 
to  be  done  be  done  gently.  For  a  day  o 
two,  say,  let  no  slir  be  made  in  the  matter 
in  the  interim,  you  know,  something  may 
strike  us:  at  all  events,  nothing  can  be 
gained  either  by  harshness  or  precipitation.' 
"  In  that  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  saic 
Whitely.  "  Well,  my  friend,  well!— I  wil 
be  advised  by  you:  for  the  sake  of  my  child. 
I'll  allow  her  to  remain  for  a  day  or  so,  in 
order—" 

"You're  a  fool,  sir,  if  you  do,  sir!"  ex- 
claimed the  sentimentalist. 

"Come  here,  sir,"  said  Valentine. 
"D'yer  think  I'm  afeared,  then, to  cornel' 
cried   the  fellow,  closing  his  hymn-book 
and   bouncing  up  to  the  table  with  grea 
ferocity  of  aspect. 

"Now,  sir,"  said  Valentine,  "why  will 
Mr.  Whitely  be  a  'fool'  for  allowing  his 
daughter  to  remain  here  for  the  present!" 

"  Why  will  he!"  cried  the  sentimentalist 
— "why  will  he!  What!  d'yer  think  Pd 
let  her  stop  with  him?  No,  not  another  hour! 
I'd  drag  her  away  at  once!  I'd  break  his 
heart!  That  would  do  it!  I  know  it!  I'm 
sure  of  it!  Oh!  I'd  let  her  remain  with 
that  son  of  Satan!  not — " 

"Joseph,"  said  Whitely,  with  much 
coolness,  "I  don't  think  that  I  shall  want 
you  again  to-day;  you  can  go  now,  but  let 
me  see  you  early  in  the  morning." 

"Very  well,  sir!  Oh!  very  well;  but  you 
take  my  advice,  sir;  don't  you  let  her  stop; 
if  you  do,  you  only  study  the  comfortabili- 
ties  of  a  man  which  has  a  soul  as  never 
can  and  never  ought  to  be  saved." 

"At  ten  in  the  morning,"  said  Whitely, 
"I  shall  expect  you." 

This  quiet  way  of  repudiating  the  advice 
of  -the  sentimentalist  did  not  exactly  meet 
his  approbation;  he,  notwithstanding,  on 
the  instant  prepared  to  depart,  and  having 
delivered  himself  finely  of  "Oh!  very 
well!"  he  raised  his  extensive  cravat,  and 
left  the  room  with  the  air  of  an  individual 
slightly  offended. 

"  Is  that  the  man  who  was  formerly  in 
your  service?"  inquired  Uncle  John. 

"Yes,"  replied  Whitely,  and  I  believe 
him  to  be  one  of  the  vilest  and  most  con- 
temptible scoundrels  that  ever  had  exist- 
ence, although  in  this  case  I  have  been  of 
course  compelled  to  employ  him.  How- 
ever, to  revert  to  the  great  subject — for  to 
me  it  is  great,  indeed  all  in  all— I  am  will- 
ing to  follow  your  advice,  that  is  to  say, 
I'll  consent  to  allow  my  children  to  remain 
here  a  day  or  two  longer,  or  until  they  shall 
have  recovered  from  the  sudden  effects  of 


the  disclosure,  provided,  my  friend,  you 
feel  sure,  quite  sure,  that  there  will  be  no- 
thing like  concealment." 

"Ido  feel  sure,"  said  Uncle  John,  "so 
sure,  that  I  would  willingly  stake  my  life 
that  nothing  of  the  sort  will  be  attempted." 

"And  so  would  I,"  cried  Valentine;  "in- 
deed, I  might  perhaps  be  justified  in  de- 
claring, in  the  name  of  Louise,  that  if 
under  the  circumstances  such  a  proposition 
were  made,  it  would  be  spurned." 

"  I  am  satisfied,"  said  Whitely.  " Thus, 
then,  let  it  be.  I  shall  probably  see  you  in 
the  course  of  to-morrow?" 

"At  any  time,"  replied  Uncle  John;  "  but 
if  you  are  not  engaged,  let  us  dine  together 
to-day.  Walk  home  with  me,  and  then  we 
can  talk  matters  quietly  over.  It  will  be 
much  better;  come,  what  say  you?" 

Whitely  consented,  and  they  almost  im- 
mediately afterwards  left  the  house,  much 
to  the  gratification  of  Valentine,  with  whom 
Whitely  shook  hands  with  unusual  warmth 
on  being  accompanied  by  him  to  the  door. 

While  descending  the  stairs  with  them, 
Valentine  heard  a  most  singular  uproar  be- 
low; but  the  moment  they  were  gone,  his 
ears  were  assailed  with  half-stifled  cries  of 
"Murder!— murder!— Fire!— fire!— Help!— 
help! — Fire!"  mingled  with  certain  shouts 
of  indignation  and  of  derision. 

As  all  this  was  extremely  irregular,  Va- 
lentine, without  the  slightest  ceremony, 
hastened  below,  and  on  arriving  at  the  door 
of  the  kitchen  beheld  a  strikingly  effective 
and  deeply  interesting  scene. 

Joseph,  the  sanctimonious  and  sentimen- 
tal Joseph — who,  on  being  dismissed  by 
Whitely,  had  been  silently  seized  by  the 
servants,  who  were  anxious  to  settle  cer- 
tain matters  with  him  privately — was  at 
that  particular  period  before  the  fire,  be- 
tween the  reflector  and  the  dripping  utensil, 
in  the  central  pool  of  which  his  devoted 
smalls  had  been  immersed;  and  while  the 
coachman  held  him  tightly  by  the  collar, 
and  looked  at  him  very  fiercely  indeed,  the 
cook  shook  him  with  great  ability  with  one 
hand,  while  with  the  other  she  held  to  his 
noble  breast  a  sacrificial  spit,  which  ren- 
dered it  impossible  for  him,  without  being 
Merced,  to  move  forward,  and  as  for  step- 
ring  back! — why,  the  fire  was  very  large, 
and  very  clear  at  the  bottom,  while  at  the 
op  the  flames  ascended  with  a  roar.  It  was 
an  affecting  sight.  In  the  Martyrology  of 
.he  middle  ages,  there  is  nothing  at  all  like 
t  described.  The  idea  of  an  individual,  a 
idy  individual — an  individual,  moreover,  of 
sentiment  and  feeling,  being  pinned  in  this 
wsition — the  tails  of  his  respectable  coat 
)eing  scorched,  even  after  his  smalls  had 
een  saturated  with  hot  mutton  fat,  is  an- 


r.374- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


375 


palling;  and  if  the  idea,  the  bare  idea,  is 
appalling,  what  must  the  reality  have  been! 

And  yet  there  stood  Valentine  coolly  at 
the  door,  while  the  victim  was  being  thus 
roasted  behind  and  assaulted  in  front  by 
two  creatures,  neither  of  whom  had  the 
slightest  respect  for  his  feelings,  and  who 
were  stimulated  by  the  applause  of  the  but- 
ler, the  footman,  and  two  housemaids,  who 
were  absolutely  base  enough  to  glory  in 
the  scene!  Why,  it  was  monstrous! — 
almost  as  monstrous  as  the  outrage  itself! 
And  why  was  that  outrage  committed] 
Why  simply  because  this  individual  had, 
in  the  plenitude  of  his  politeness,  under- 
taken to  pay  into  a  certain  Savings'  Bank 
certain  sums  of  money,  belonging  to  those 
two  creatures,  which  money,  while  lost  in 
the  contemplation  of  the  world's  unrighte- 
ousness, he  had  altogether  forgotten  to  pay 
in,  albeit  every  sum,  without  a  single  ex- 
ception, had  been  entered  in  their  books 
with  the  utmost  regularity!  It  was  for 
this,  forsooth —this  omission,  this  oversight 
— that  Ae,  a  respectable  person,  was  pum- 
melled— that  he  was  made  to  sit  with  white 
kerseymere  smalls,  first  in  a  dripping-pan's 
well-supplied  pool,  and  then  in  an  adjacent 
scuttle  of  coals — that  he  was  throttled,  half 
strangled,  and  shaken,  by  the  coachman, 
and  scarified,  nay,  almost  sacrificed  by  the 
cook,  while  the  perspiration  starting  in  a 
state  of  alarm  from  every  pore,  he  was 
being  roasted  behind  into  actual  crackling! 
Again,  it  may  be  said  to  have  been  an 
affecting  sight.  It  was  touching  in  the 
extreme  to  hear  him  implore  them  to  desist. 
He  spoke  to  them  with  all  the  ardour  of  a 
righteous  man  upon  the  subject.  He  be- 
sought them  for  their  own  dear  sakes  to 
give  in;  he  assured  them,  with  a  beautiful 
expression,  that  if  they  did  not,  they  could 
never  be  saved;  but  he  couldn't  reach  their 
hearts — he  could  make  no  impression;  they 
still  kept  on,  until  he  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Valentine,  to  whom  he  on  the  instant  cried 
aloud  for  aid. 

"Oh!  save  me,  sir!— save  me!"  he  ex- 
claimed, in  the  most  touching  tones,  and 
with  a  heart-rending  aspect,  "save  me,  or 
I  drop!" 

"What  is  all  this?"  cried  Valentine, 
coming  forward.  "  Why  are  you  here1?" 

"They  dragged  me  down  here,  sir;  I 
didn't  come  down  o'  my  own  accord." 

"  Well!  why  do  you  make  so  much 
noise?" 

"Oh!  they've  been  a-murdering  of  me, 
sir:  they've  been  a-using  me  shameful! 
They  have  indeed!" 

Hereupon  the  ill-used  individual  burst 
very  correctly  into  tears. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this?"  in- 


quired Valentine  of  the  coachman.  "What 
is  it  all  about?" 

The  coachman  and  the  cook  on  the  in- 
stant set  to  work,  and  explained  it  all  with 
amazing  clearness,  considering  they  made 
a  duet  of  it  throughout. 

"You  are  a  scoundrel!"  said  Valentine, 
addressing  the  sentimentalist,  which  was 
highly  reprehensible;  but  he  said,  "  You 
are  a  scoundrel!"  and  then  added,  "  Do  you 
mean  to  return  this  money?" 

"  You  haven't  heered  the  merits  of  the 
case,"  cried  the  grossly  ill-used  man,  while 
with  a  knife  he  was  endeavouring  to  scrape 
the  grease  off  his  clothes,  and  thereby  to 
restore  the  respectability  of  his  appearance. 

"  You  received  this  money  to  pay  in,  did 
you  not?" 

"I  certingly  did." 

"  And  you  did  not  pay  it  in." 

"Why,  that's  where  it  is— that's  the 
point!" 

"  Exactly!"  said  Valentine,  "  that  is  the 
point.  Instead  of  putting  it  into  the  bank 
you  put  it  into  your  pocket.  There's  no 
mistaking  the  point!  Now,  villain,  I  mean 
to  take  this  matter  entirely  into  my  own 
hands.  The  sum  you  have  thus  stolen  is 
twenty-five  pounds." 

"I  didn't  steal  it!— nor  it aint  twenty-five 
pounds!  But  I'll  give  'em  the  twenty-five 
pounds!  Lor  bless  us!  I  aint  destitute  of 
twenty-five  pounds!" 

"  I  know  that  you  are  not,"  said  Valen- 
tine; "  but  we  shall  want  a  hundred  pounds 
of  you  to  settle  this  affair." 

"A  hundred  pounds!  You  won't  get  a 
hundred  pounds  out  of  me  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  shall!"  said  Valentine. 
"Coachman!  I  want  you  to  run  to  Mr. 
Whitely— " 

"  Mr.  Whitely  has  nothing  to  do  with 
my  private  affairs." 

"  Oh!  but  in  this  case  he  will  have  a  little 
to  do  with  them.  You  have  a  cheque  of  his 
now  in  your  possession.  That  cheque  shall 
be  stopped." 

"  But  it  shall  not  be  stopped!  And  if  it 
is,  I  can  recover:  I  can  recover,  sir,  by 
law." 

"Law!  That  is  well  thought  of!— an 
excellent  suggestion.  It  will  be  the  shorter 
way.  Oh!  never  mind  the  money.  Coach- 
man! fetch  me  an  officer." 

"An  officer!  What  for?" 

"  Merely  to  take  you  into  custody." 

"But  I've  committed  no  crime!  It's  only 
a  debt— it  aint  a  robbery!" 

"  We  shall  see  what  it  is,  when  we  get 
before  the  magistrate;  and  since  I  have 
taken  the  matter  in  hand,  be  assured  that  if 
it  be  a  transportable  offence,  you  shall  be 
transported.  Fetch  me  an  officer." 


376 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"Oh!  for  the  love  of  grace,  sir,  don't 
send  for  no  officers!  I  don't  like  officers;  I 
don't,  sir,  indeed,  sir!  I'll  give  cook  and 
coachman  the  money  back  with  pleasure." 

44  You  shall  give,  sir,  fifty  pounds  to  each 
of  them.  By  doing  so  only  can  you  induce 
me  not  to  proceed  according  to  law." 

44  But  fifty  pounds  a-piece,  that  is  to  say, 
a  hundred  pounds,  sir — consider,  sir,  what 
an  enormity!" 

"  Well!  it  is  not  of  much  importance.  It 
will  be  better  that  you  should  pay  in  per- 
son, perhaps,  after  all.** 

"  But  I'd  rather  not,  sir!  much  rather 
not." 

"  What  is  the  amount  of  that  cheque!" 

44  It's  only  a  hundred  and  fifty,  sir:  only 
a  hundred  and  fifty." 

44  Very  well.  Mr.  Raven  had  provided 
amply  for  you  when  you  betrayed  him:  you 
will  therefore  take  your  choice:  either  give 
one  hundred  pounds  out  of  that  cheque,  to 
those  two  persons  whom  you  have  robbed, 
or  take  the  consequence  of  being  pursued, 
as  I  will  pursue  you  with  the  utmost  rigour 
of  the  law." 

44  But  fifty,  sir!  fifty  between  'em! — sure- 
ly that  will  content  'em!  they  wouldn't  like 
to  press  upon  me  too  hard!" 

"Nothing  less  than  the  sum  I  named 
shall  they  receive.  Decide  at  once:  if  you 
hesitate—" 

44  No,  no,  no;  I  don't  hesitate,  only  it  is 
very  hard;  I'll  send  them  the  money  to- 
morrow." 

44  You  are  not  to  be  trusted.  No,  that 
will  not  do." 

44  Well,  as  soon  as  I  get  the  cheque 
cashed,  sir,  I'll  come  back,  upon  my  word 
and  honour." 

44 1  have  no  faith  in  either  your  word  or 
your  honour.  Besides,  I  am  inclined  to 
take  the  responsibility  entirely  off  your 
hands.  Give  coachman  the  cheque.  It 
will  save  you  a  deal  of  trouble.  Let  him 
get  it  cashed,  and  then  the  thing  will  be 
settled." 

44  I'll  not  give  the  cheque!  I'd  rather  die 
than  be  thus  plundered  of  my  money.  I 
won't  do  it." 

"  Very  well.  We  now  see  the  value  of 
your  word  and  honour.  You  have  taken 
your  choice.  We'll  have  no  further  parley. 
An  officer  shall  be  sent  for  at  once,  and  I'd 
have  you  understand,  that  if  once  you  get 
into  an  officer's  hands,  the  thing  must  go 
on; — a  compromise  then,  will  be  out  of  the 
question." 

The  cruelly  ill-used  individual  did  not 
like  this  by  any  means.  He  wept  bitterly 
and  sobbed  like  a  child,  but  having  a  natu- 
ral horror  of  being  brought  to  justice,  and 
being  ignorant  of  the  amount  of  punish- 


ment that  would  be  inflicted  upon  him,  in 
the  event  of  his  being  unable  to  convince 
the  court  that,  in  keeping  the  money  he  had 
no  dishonest  motive,  he  eventually  drew 
forth  the  cheque,  and  gave  it  to  the  coach- 
man to  get  cashed,  and  while  doing  so  it 
was  really  heart-rending  to  see  him.  The 
coachman  was,  of  course,  in  the  highest 
possible  spirits,  and  so  was  the  cook,  but 
the  rest  of  the  servants  were  not,  perhaps, 
in  such  ecstasies  as  they  would  have  been, 
had  it  happened  that  they  had  been  plun- 
dered as  well.  They  were  not,  however, 
displeased;  on  the  contrary,  they  enjoyed 
the  thing  much;  and  endeavoured  in  their 
way  to  solace  the  victim,  who  was  at  that 
time  a  most  intensely  miserable  man. 

As  the  coachman  had  been  ordered  to 
take  a  cab  to  the  banker's  and  back,  he  soon 
returned  with  three  fifty  pound  notes,  which 
he  placed  in  the  hands  of  Valentine,  who, 
in  the  name  of  the  victim,  gave  one  to  cook, 
another  to  coachman,  and  the  third  to  the 
victim  himself,  at  the  same  time  intimating 
to  him  that  he  was  then  at  perfect  liberty 
to  go. 

Of  course,  the  state  of  the  sentimental- 
ist's mind  at  that  period  was  extremely 
afflicting:  his  heart  was  wounded  to  an  un- 
fathomable depth,  while  the  feelings  which 
reigned  in  the  ascendant  were  those  of 
agony.  He,  notwithstanding,  without  de- 
lay, took  the  hint  that  he  might  leave,  for, 
having  deposited  his  note  in  a  bag,  he  look- 
ed at  his  enemies  with  unspeakable  fero- 
city, and  stepped  into  the  area,  from  which 
he  declared  with  great  solemnity  that  they 
should  suffer  for  what  they  had  done,  and 
that  he  would  have  his  revenge  upon  them 
all,  and  having  delivered  himself  freely  to 
this  effect,  he  rushed  up  the  steps  in  a  state 
bordering  upon  madness. 

Valentine — who  felt  that  although  the 
settlement  of  this  matter  had  taken  up  some 
time,  that  time  had  not  been  altogether 
wasted— now  returned  to  Louise,  whom  he 
found  with  the  widow  still  in  tears. 

44  Come,  my  dear  girl,"  said  he,  taking 
her  hand,  "this,  indeed,  must  not  be;  I 
must  not  have  you  trembling  as  if  you  were 
on  the  very  brink  of  despair!" 

44  Oh!  my  dear  Valentine!"  exclaimed 
Louise,  again  bursting  into  tears,  "you  are 
the  only  one  on  earth  now  to  whom  I  can 
with  confidence  look  for  protection!" 

44 1  know  it,"  said  Valentine,  assuming  a 
gaiety,  with  the  view  of  relieving  her,  to 
some  extent,  of  her  sadness.  "  I  know  it, 
my  Louise,  and  I  shall  presume  upon  it  ac- 
cordingly. I  have  you  now  in  my  power, 
and  shall  therefore,  of  course,  make  you 
act  precisely  as  I  may  command." 

44 1  am  not  afraid  of  you,  my  dearest," 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


377 


said  Louise,  with  much  emotion.  "The 
-more  I  might  feel  myself  in  your  power, 
the  less  1  should  fear  your  tyranny,  my 
love." 

"  Have  you  so  much  confidence  in  me! 
Well,  I  believe  it.  You  are  a  dear  good 
girl,  but  you  want  more  courage." 

"  But  consider,  my  dearest  boy!"  said 
the  widow,  "  consider  what  an  awful  thing 
it  is!  It  is  not  like  one  of  those  common 
occurrences  which  may  be  borne  without  a 
pang,  because  their  character  is  ephemeral. 
It  is  a  permanent  thing,  my  love,  you  must 
remember,  and  a  dreadful  thing  it  is  to  be 
permanent,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it!" 

"That  is  a  very  correct  observation  of 
yonrs,  mother.  You  are  perfectly  right. 
But  I  can't  see  very  distinctly  why  we 
should  either  cover  ourselves  with  sack- 
cloth and  ashes,  or  lie  down  and  die,  be- 
cause a  circumstance  occurs  over  which  we 
had  and  could  hare  no  control!  Resigna- 
tion, mother, — your  own  fovourite  resigna- 
tion,— is  a  great  Christian  virtue,  I  admit; 
but  I  hold  that  it  does  not  become  us  as 
Christians  to  sink  under  every  trouble  which 
may  assail  us,  seeing  that  we  are  morally 
and  physically  formed  to  oppose  them  with 
success.  It  is  our  duty  to  grapple  with 
troubles  as  they  rise:  if  we  do  so  boldly 
and  at  once,  they  are  perfectly  sure  to  be 
overcome." 

"  Yes,  my  dear  boy,  that  is  all  very 
well;  but  we  cannot  help  feeling:  when 
troubles  like  these  come  so  suddenly  upon 
us,  we  cannot  but  be  shocked:  it  is  na- 
tural." 

"I  admit  it;  but  it  is  not  natural  for  a 
shock  to  continue.  It  soon  ceases  to  be  a 
shock.  We  have  no  control  over  it:  we 
cannot  grapple  with  it.  But  we  have  con- 
trol over,  and  therefore  ought  to  grapple 
with  the  effects  of  that  shock.  A  shock  no 
sooner  comes  than  it  goes,  leaving  its  effects 
for  us  to  manage,  which  effects  can  be 
managed  and  ought  to  be  managed:  he  who 
allows  them  in  any  case  to  obtain  the  mas- 
tery over  him,  must  never  presume  to  boast 
his  moral  strength." 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  this  mode  of  bidding 
defiance  to  Fate,  by  standing  erect  and  with 
a  bold  front  exclaiming,  '  No  circumstance 
shall  ever  bow  me  down  to  the  earth;  no 
series  of  troubles  shall  ever  break  my  spirit; 
nothing  shall  ever  prevent  me  from  grap- 
pling with  an  enemy  who  will  be  sure  to 
conquer  me  if  I  fail  to  conquer  him!'— this, 
I  say,  is  all  very  correct,  and  very  laudable 
in  you  men,  and  nothing  more  than  we  have 
a  right  to  expect;  but  with  us  it  is  totally 
different,  my  dear;  we  haven't  the  strength, 
we  haven't  the  nerve  to  bear  up  against 
these  things:  we  are  more  sensitive:  our 
33 


feelings  are  more  acute;  our  hearts  are  more 
easily  wounded,  more  delicate,  more  tender, 
more  susceptible  of  sad  impressions;  this 
boldness  is  not  to  be  expected  from  us." 

"I  have  often,"  said  Valentine,  as  the 
widow  took  the  hand  of  Louise,  and  pressed 
it  and  held  it  in  her  lap,  "I  have  often 
thought  it  a  pity  that  it  should  be  the 
fashion  to  cultivate  female  weakness." 

"The  fashion  to  cultivate  female  weak- 
ness! The  fashion,  my  love! — the  idea!" 

"  Doubtless  in  your  view  it  seems  very 
absurd;  but  if  you  examine  the  morally 
enervating  tendency  of  the  present  system 
of  female  education,  you  will  find  that 
weakness  in  every  point  is  cultivated  stu- 
diously, and  that  therefore  the  application 
of  the  term  '  fashion'  is  correct.  But  we 
will  not  dwell  upon  this.  Whatever  your 
physical  weakness  may  be,  your  moral 
strength — although  enervated  by  education 
— is  naturally  equal  with  ours.  You  have  the 
power  to  meet  troubles — for  troubles  form 
our  text — with  equal  firmness.  If  you  re- 
pudiate the  exercise  of  that  power,  of  course 
weakness  will  prevail." 

"But  this  of  ours,"  said  Louise,  "can 
scarcely  be  called  one  of  the  ordinary 
troubles  of  life — a  mere  casualty!" 

"  Granted.  If  it  were,  its  importance 
would  be  diminished.  If  such  things  were 
to  happen  every  day,  we  should  think  but 
little  of  them;  but  troubles,  my  love,  are 
the  emblems  of  cowardice:  you  no  sooner 
oppose  them  than  they  take  to  their  heels; 
but  if  you  fear  them,  or  try  to  run  from 
them,  or  sink  before  them,  or  exhibit  the 
slightest  irresolution,  they  will  tyrannize 
over,  trample  upon,  and  torture  you.  Meet 
them  boldly,  my  Louise,  and  behold  how 
they'fly!" 

"  But  how  is  this  to  be  met1?  How  am  I 
to  meet  this?" 

"I  can  tell  you,  and  will,  if  you  promise 
to  act  upon  my  advice." 

"  Well,  I  never  saw  any  one  take  things 
so  coolly  in  my  life!"  exclaimed  the  widow. 
"  Whatever  may  occur,  however  serious, 
however  momentous,  you  look  at  it  as 
calmly  as  if  you  had  expected  it:  nothing- 
seems  to  disturb  you — nothing  seems  to  put 
you  out." 

"  Many  things  disturb  me,  mother;  but  I 
look  at  whatever  difficulty  may  occur  as  a 
thing  which  ought  promptly  to  be  met,  and 
I  accordingly  make  up  my  mind  at  once  to 
meet  it." 

"What,  then,  in  this  instance,  would 
you  propose!"  inquired  Louise. 

"  You  promise  to  be  guided  by  me?" 

"I  have  so  much  confidence  in  you,  my 
love,  that  I  do,  without  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion. I  place  myself  entirely  in  your  hands. 


378 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


I  will  go  by  your  directions;  whatever  you 
direct  me  to  do  shall  be  done." 

"You  are  a  dear,  good,  confiding  little 
creature,  my  Louise;  but  I  believe  you 
know  that  I  knew  that  before.  Now  attend: 
Mr.  Whitely  is  your  father — there  can,  of 
course,  be  no  doubt  of  that  now — and  as  a 
father,  you  are  called  upon  to  regard  and  to 
love  him.  Very  well.  Now  although  we 
have  frequently  heard  of  such  things,  and 
have  frequently  seen  them  represented  on 
the  stage,  I  hold  it  to  be  impossible  for 
you  at  once  to  inspire  those  feelings  of 
affection  for  him  which  a  child  ought  to 
feel  for  a  father,  and  which,  although,  they 
may  be  indeed  engendered  in  infancy,  time 
and  constant  communication  alone  can  es- 
tablish. But  your  position  is  one  of  even 
greater  difficulty  than  that:  your  affections 
as  a  child  having  been  engrossed,  cherished, 
and  ripened  by  the  love  and  fostering  care 
of  another,  you  are  called  upon  suddenly  to 
transfer  those  affections  from  him  whom 
you  have  ever  believed  to  be  your  father  to 
one  of  whom  you  had  previously  no  abso- 
lute knowledge." 

"  Precisely  so,"  interposed  Louise.  "It 
is  that  which  1  feel  most  acutely.  It  is, 
indeed,  the  very  difficulty  which  I  fear  is 
insurmountable." 

"  A  moment's  patience,"  said  Valentine. 
"  That  is  the  point  to  which  we  are  coming. 
It  is  abundantly  clear,  that,  if  under  these 
circumstances  you  were  to  leave  this  house 
— in  other  words,  that  if  you  were  to  leave 
Mr.  Raven,  to  live  with  Mr.  Whitely,  you 
would  feel,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  excessive- 
ly awkward." 

"Oh!  I  should  be  wretched! — perfectly 
miserable!" 

"  Exactly.  However  highly  you  might 
esteem  Mr.  Whitely;  however  sincerely 
you  might  respect  him,  or  however  anxious 
you  might  be  to  love  him;  you  would  be 
conscious  that  you  possessed  not  those 
feelings  towards  him,  which  a  child  ought 
to  have  towards  a  parent — for  those  feelings 
must  be  established  by  degrees — and  that 
very  consciousness  would  render  you  un- 
happy." 

"It  would  indeed;  I  might  perhaps,  in 
time,  teach  my  heart  how  to  love  him;  but 
to  love  him  at  once,  as  I  feel  that  as  his 
child  I  ought  to  love  him,  would  be  impos- 
sible, and  the  impossibility  of  doing  so,  to 
rne,  would  be  dreadful." 

"This,  then,  is  the  difficulty  which  we 
have  now  to  meet.  It  is  manifest  thai  you 
will  not  lie  permitted  to  remain  here  much 
longer.  It  is  scarcely  to  be  expected,  that 
Mr.  Wliitely  will  consent  to  that:  I  confess 
to  you,  that  if  I  were  ho,  I  would  not  my- 
fcelf.  The  question,  then,  resolves  itself  to 


this.  I'll  put  it  plainly,  because  I  conceive 
that,  in  all  such  cases,  plainness  is  much  to 
be  preferred.  Will  it  be  better,  under  the 
circumstances,  for  you  to  live  with  Mr. 
Whitely,  or — with  me]" 

Louise  blushed,  and  dropped  her  head. 

"Nay,"  continued  Valentine,  "I  do  not 
expect  you  to  answer  this  question.  I  have 
undertaken  to  answer  it  for  you;  1  have  to 
decide,  and  really,  to  give  expression  to 
that  which  I  most  sincerely  feel,  I  do  think 
that,  all  things  considered,  it  will  be  in- 
finitely better  for  us  to  marry  at  once, 
when,  without  the  slightest  annoyance, 
you  will  be  able  to  imbibe  and  to  cherish 
by  degrees,  those  feelings  for  Mr.  WThitely, 
which,  of  course,  you  will  be  anxious  to 
entertain." 

Valentine  paused;  but  Louise  was  still 
silent. 

"  What  think  you,  mother1?"  he  at  length 
continued.  "  Do  you  not  think  that  that 
will  be  the  better  course  to  pursue]" 

"  W'hy,  my  dear,"  returned  the  widow, 
"that  you  know,  is  an  extremely  delicate 
question  for  me  to  answer.  It  would  cer- 
tainly, at  once,  do  away  with  that  which 
we  conceived  to  be  the  greatest  difficulty  to 
be  encountered." 

"Of  course,"  rejoined  Valentine.  "What 
I  propose  then,  is  this:  that  the  fifteenth  be 
still  the  happy  day — that  we,  Louise,  be  as 
we  had  previously  settled,  on  the  fifteenth, 
united.  This  is  what  I  propose,  and  as  I 
can  see  no  objection  at  all  to  it,  I  hereby 
direct  you — seeing,  that  you  have  promised 
to  go  by  my  directions — to  prepare  for  our 
union  on  the  fifteenth  instant,  not  only  that 
you  may  escape  that  position  of  embarrass- 
ment which  we  have  just  been  considering, 
but  that  we  may  no  longer  be  subjected  to 
those  disappointments  and  delays  which  we 
have  found  so  particularly  disagreeable." 

Still,  with  downcast  eyes,  Louise  was 
silent;  her  heart  beat  an  approval,  which 
her  tongue,  however,  refused  to  express. 

"  Having  thus,"  resumed  Valentine,  with 
a  smile — "  Having  thus,  then,  given  my  di- 
rections, my  task  is  for  the  present  at  an 
end;  unless,  indeed — for  I  have  no  desire  to 
be  despotic — you  can  give  me  a  single 
reason  why  those  directions  should  not 
be  implicitly  obeyed.  Am  I,"  he  added, 
after  a  pause,  "  to  understand  by  your 
silence,  that  you  know  of  no  such  reason?" 

"My  dearest  Valentine!"  exclaimed 
Louise,  fervently,  "  I  arn  at  your  disposal. 
I  said  that  I  would  be  guided  by  you,  Va- 
lentino; 1  will!  But  do  not,  pray  do  not 
wish  me  to  take  this  step  before  the  consent 
of  Mr.  W likely — I  mean,  of  my  father — 
has  been  obtained." 

"  Of  course,  my  love,  he  must  be  con- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


379 


suited:  I  would  not,  on  any  account,  proceed 
without  first  consulting  him." 

"There's  a  dear!" 

"Although  I,  on  one  occasion,  did  speak 
harshly  to  him  in  order  to  protect  Mr. 
Raven,  I  believe  that  he  has  ceased  to  think 
of  that;  and  I  feel  quite  convinced,  that 
when  I  point  out  to  him  the  peculiar  posi- 
tion in  which  you  will  otherwise  be  placed, 
his  consent  to  our  immediate  union  will  not 
be  withheld.  He  dines  to-day  with  my 
uncle.  It  may,  perhaps,  appear  too  pre- 
cipitate if  I  name  it  to  him  to-day;  but 
when  I  join  them  in  the  evening — they  will, 
no  doubt,  have  been  conversing  on  the  sub- 
ject— I  will  invite  him  to  dine  with  me  to- 
morrow, at  our  house,  when  I  will  lay  the 
whole  matter  before  him,  and  I  have  not  the 
smallest  doubt  that,  for  the  sake  of  your 
feelings,  which,  I  am  sure,  he  is  anxious  to 
study,  he  will  readily  give  his  consent.  Do 
not,  therefore,  for  a  moment,  anticipate  an 
unfavourable  answer  from  him;  feel  certain, 
as  I  do,  that  we  shall  have  to  encounter  no 
opposition,  and  act  precisely  as  if  he  had 
consented  already." 

"I  will  do  so,"  said  Louise,  "you  have 
made  me  comparatively  happy:  you  have, 
indeed,  proved  to  me  that  difficulties,  when 
promptly  met,  vanish,  and  have  thereby 
taught  me  a  lesson  which,  if  acted  upon, 
must  smooth  the  path  of  life." 

11  It  is  the  grand  secret,  my  love,"  re- 
turned Valentine.  "  But  I  wish  it  were  a 
secret  no  longer:  if  it  were  but  universally 
known,  the  happiness  of  mankind  ih  the 
aggregate  would  be  very  materially  en- 
hanced, for  it  would  then  be  apparent  to  all, 
that  although  men  are  'born  to  troubles,' 
they  are  also  born  to  surmount  them." 

"Well,  now,  really!"  exclaimed  the 
widow,  "  upon  my  word,  this  appears  to  be 
comparatively  nothing,  my  love,  now!" 

"The  difficulty,"  said  Louise,  "does 
seem  to  be,  in  a  measure,  overcome.  I 
shall  not,  at  all  events,  be  placed  in  that 
distressing  position,  if,  indeed,  we  are  not 
opposed." 

"  Expect  no  opposition  from  Mr.  White- 
ly,"  said  Valentine,  "  I  am  convinced  that 
he  will  gladly  agree  to  anything  calculated 
to  promote  your  happiness." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"I  am  sure  of  it!  he  has  proved  it  al- 
ready." 

"He  is  a  good  creature:  I  feel  that  I 
almost  love  him  now." 

"  Proceed  with  your  preparations,"  said 
Valentine,  rising  from  his  seat;  "you  have 
nothing  to  fear,  nor  have  you  any  time  to 
lose.  You  will  remember  this  is  the  tenth! 
The  fifteenth  will  soon  be  here  Louise,  and 
then,  my  love! — and  then!"  he  added,  em- 


bracing her,  and  gazing  upon  her  with  the 
fondest  affection — "  But  you  know  the  rest! 
I'll  now  detain  you  no  longer:  for  the  pre- 
sent, adieu!"  And  again  he  embraced  her, 
and  having  given  the  widow,  who  was 
more  than  ever  proud  of  him,  a  filial  kiss, 
he  left  them  in  tears,  but  they  were  not 
tears  of  sadness. 

During  the  whole  of  this,  interview,  Fred 
was  in  the  library,  waiting  with  the  utmost 
impatience  for  Valentine  to  communicate 
to  him  the  result  of  his  conference  with 
Whitely  and  Uncle  John.  He  was  very, 
very  wretched;  for  although  his  case  differed 
from  that  of  Louise,  inasmuch  as  he  had 
never  regarded  Raven  as  his  father,  he  had 
the  feelings  of  a  son  for  Mr.  Llewellen  of 
Caermarthen,  whom  he  believed  of  course 
to  be  his  bond  fide  father  still. 

When,  therefore,  Valentine,  on  leaving 
Louise,  related  to  him  all  that  had  passed, 
as  well  between  him  and  Whitely  as  be- 
tween Raven  and  Uncle  John,  he  felt  and 
looked  more  bewildered  than  before. 

"  Phot!"  he  cried,  "  tit  my  uncle— that 
is,  Mr.  Raven— tit  he  confess  it  himself 
inteet?  Tit  he  say  my  father— I  mean  Mr. 
Llewellen,  coolness  knows  it,  hur  ton't 
know  phot  hur'm  apout;  hur  ton't  know 
phether  hur'm  stanting  upon  my  het  or  my 
heels;  it's  like  a  trearn! — putt  tit  he  say 
that  my  father  was  not  my  father,  ant  that 
my  name  was  Whitely,  ant  not  Llewellen, 
look  you1?  Now  tit  he  say  that1?" 

"  He  did,"  replied  Valentine;  "  and  it  is 
of  course  perfectly  certain  that  he  would 
not  have  said  it  had  it  not  been  true." 

"Oh!  there's  not  a  pit  of  tout  at  all 
about  it  if  he  said  so:  it's  evitent  he  woot 
have  teniet  it  if  he  coot:  putt  t'cootness, 
now,  phot  am  hur  to  too?  It  is  such  an  ex- 
traortinary  pusiness!" 

"  It  is  an  extraordinary  affair;  but  we 
must  manage  to  get  over  it,  Fred,  in  some 
way!" 

"  Well,  how  am  hur  to  act,  look  you? 
Only  tell  me  phot  hur'm  to  too,  ant  hur'll 
too  it!" 

"  Well,  we  shall  see.  Shall  we  go  and 
have  a  dinner  together  somewhere?" 

"  Apove  all  other  things  in  the  worlt! 
You  are  not  then  coing  to  tine  here  to-tay?" 

"  Why,  I  think  it  will  be  as  well  for  me 
not  to  see  Raven  under  the  circumstances: 
you  understand?" 

"  Oh,  perfectly! — ant  hur  tecitetly  acree 
with  you.  Phere  shall  we  co?" 

"  Why,  as  we  have  just  time  to  run  down 
to  Greenwich,  I'll  give  you  some  white 
bait.  It  will  be  a  change  of  scene.  We'll 
have  a  quiet  dinner,  and  then  immediately 
return.  I  wish  to  go  home  early  to  join 
my  uncle." 


380 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


Fred  was  highly  pleased  with  this  pro- 
position, and  as  they  started  at  once,  he 
seemed  at  once  to  forget  all  his  troubles. 
It  is  true  that  on  the  way  the  fact  of 
Whitely  being  his  father  did  occasionally 
occur  to  him;  but  the  thought  seldom  occu- 
pied his  mind  more  than  a  moment:  foras- 
much as  he  was  not  a  deep  thinker,  the 
appearance  of  almost  every  new  object  was 
sufficient  for  the  time  being  to  engross  his 
attention,  while  Valentine,  being  himself 
in  high  spirits,  made  him  as  gay  as  if  no- 
thing of  an  extraordinary  character  had 
occurred. 

On  arriving  at  Greenwich  they  proceeded 
without  loss  of  time  to  that  which  is  decid- 
edly the  best  house  in  the  town,  and  ordered 
dinner,  and  until  it  was  produced,  Fred 
amused  himself  at  the  window  by  throwing 
sixpences  into  the  depths  of  the  mud — it 
being  happily  low  water — that  sundry  par- 
ticularly interesting  and  ragged  young  gen- 
tlemen might  dexterously  dive  after  them, 
and  then  turn  ingenious  somersets,  to  show 
that  they  did  themselves  a  pleasure  thereby. 
And  it  was  extremely  glorious  to  behold  the 
development  of  pure  joy  which  accompanied 
their  agreeable  evolutions — evolutions  by 
which  less  gifted  individuals  would  have 
been  smothered,  but  which  seemed  to  be 
the  principal  business  of  their  uninsured 
lives.  They  were  in  raptures  as  they 
picked  up  the  sixpences,  and  translated 
them  freely  from  the  mud  to  their  mouths, 
as  well  to  cleanse  as  to  secure  them,  while 
— actuated  by  one  of  the  purest  and  most 
beautiful  feelings  of  our  nature — they 
plunged  with  surpassing  grace  for  more. 
Fred  enjoyed  it.  exceedingly.  It  was  the 
very  thing  for  him;  indeed,  he  entered  so 
fully  into  the  spirit  of  the  scene,  and  was 
so  much  delighted  with  its  chief  character- 
istics, that  when  dinner  was  produced,  he 
rather  regretted  it  than  not,  a  thing  which 
never  did  happen  to  him  by  any  mistake 
before. 

Once  at  the  table,  however,  he  quite  for- 
got the  mud  larks,  having  transferred  the 
whole  of  his  attention  from  them  to  the 
scene  before  him.  He  ate,  and,  ate,  and 
praised  everything  he  ate;  but  when  he 
came  to  the  "phite  pait,"  oh! — and  good- 
ness knew  it — he  never  did  in  all  the  world 
taste  anything  so  delicious.  Were  they 
"  tittlebats]"  He  made  this  inquiry,  but 
to  him  it  was  a  matter  of  the  slightest  im- 
portance, as  he  shovelled  them  into  his 
mouth  with  the  fork  with  at  least  as  much 
spirit  as  grace. 

When  he  had  quite  given  in,  when  he 
felt  and  expressed  himself  perfectly  sure 
that  he  was  done,  Valentine  recalled  his 
attention  to  the  subject  of  the  position  in 


which  he  then  stood,  and  after  having 
briefly  touched  upon  various  points  con° 
nected  therewith,  he  explained  to  him  that 
Whitely  was  then  dining  with  Uncle  John, 
and  that  it  would,  in  his  judgment,  have  an 
excellent  effect  if  they  were  both  unexpect- 
edly to  join  them.  To  this  proposition 
Fred  was  at  first  most  unwilling  to  accede: 
"  Hur  shall  pe  so  very  awkwart,"  said  he; 
"  hur  shan't  know  how  to  act,  nor  phot  to 
too,  nor  phot  to  say." 

"  Why,"  said  Valentine,  "  you  have  but 
to  act  as  you  would  under  any  other  cir- 
cumstances. There  will  be  no  necessity 
for  you  to  allude  to  the  matter:  I  question, 
indeed,  whether  the  subject  will  be  men- 
tioned this  evening  at  all." 

"Putt  it's  unpleasant,  look  you.  Hur'd 
rather  not,  inteet." 

"  W'ell,  I'll  not  press  it;  but  I  am  quite 
sure  that  nothing  would  delight  him  more; 
and  as  you  are  his  son,  while  I  am  his  son- 
in-law,  nearly,  I  think  that  we  ought  to 
begin  now  to  do  all  in  our  power  to  please 
him," 

"  Phy,  my  poy!"  exclaimed  Fred,  sud- 
denly throwing  himself  back  in  the  chair, 
with  his  eyes,  mouth,  and  arms,  very  wide- 
ly extended, — "  Phy!"  Here  the  idea 
stopped  his  breath  again.  "Phy!"  he  re- 
sumed, at  length,  "  phy,  phen  you  marry 
Louey,  you  and  I  shall  pe  pro/Aers-in-law, 
look  you!  Well,  I  never  heard  of  anything 
to  come  up  to  that!" 

"  Did  it  never  strike  you  before1?" 

"  Ne-ver\ — coolness  knows  it,  now,  that 
will  pe  peautiful,  inteet!  Well,  apove  all 
other  things  in  the  work!  Oh!  hur  ton't 
care  now  a  pit  apout  it!" 

"Then  shall  we  go  this  evening?" 

"  Oh,  yes!  hur'll  co,  my  poy,  hur'll  co; 
hur  shall  feel  very  awkwart,  putt  hur'll  co." 

"  I  think  it  will  be  better.  Besides,  it 
will  break  the  ice.  In  a  few  days  you  will 
have  to  live  with  him,  you  know." 

"  Hur  unterstant.  Very  coot.  Yes,  hur 
think  it  will  pe  petter.  Putt,  my  poy!— the 
idea  of  our  peing  prothers-in-law!" 

He  dwelt  upon  this  idea  for  some  con- 
siderable time,  and  carried  it  out  to  a  great 
extent,  and  viewed  it  in  every  shape  with 
pleasure;  in  fact  the  subject  in  all  its  varied 
ramifications  at  intervals  lasted  him  until 
they  returned  to  town,  indeed,  it  may  be 
said,  until  they  entered  the  room  in  which 
Whitely  and  Uncle  John  were  sitting. 

To  Whitely  their  appearance  was  hap- 
piness. He  rose  the  moment  they  entered, 
and  grasped  them  both  by  the  hand,  and 
stood  and  looked  at  them  alternately,  as  the 
tears  pushed  from  his  eyes,  scarcely  know- 
ing which  gave  him  the  greater  pleasure, 
the  presence  of  Fred,  or  the  fact  of  Valen- 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


331 


tine  having  brought  him.  Uncle  John,  too, 
was  delighted  to  see  them  come  in:  indeed, 
the  introduction  made  them  all  very  happy, 
and  they  spent  the  remainder  of  the  evening 
together  in  the  most  pleasant  manner  pos- 
sible. 

On  the  following  day — Valentine  hav- 
ing, in  the  course  of  the  previous  evening, 
invited  Whitely  and  Fred  to  dine  with  him 
and  his  uncle  at  the  house — they  all  met  at 
the  time  appointed,  and  had  a  very  agreeable 
dinner;  shortly  after  which,  Fred — as  had 
been  previously  arranged — was  sent  for 
poste-haste  by  Louise;  and  as  soon  as  he 
had  left  with  the  promise  to  return  as  soon 
as  possible,  Valentine  opened  the  subject 
which  was  nearest  his  heart. 

•'  Well,"  said  he  gaily,  "you  have  not 
told  me  yet  how  you  like  the  house!" 

"I  like  it  much,"  replied  Whitely:  "it 
is  an  elegant  house,  and  the  way  in  which 
it  is  furnished  reflects  great  credit  upon 
somebody's  judgment  and  taste." 

Uncle  John  bowed  and  smiled:  he  felt 
that  remark  to  be  particularly  agreeable. 

"  Mr.  Whitely,"  said  Valentine,  with 
some  deliberation,  "  this  house,  as  you  are 
aware,  was  taken  and  furnished  for  one 
special  purpose." 

"  I  am  aware  of  it,"  returned  Whitely, 
"  and  as  I  guess  your  object  in  introducing 
the  subject  now,  I  will  say  at  once  that  I 
hope  that  the  purpose  will  be  eventually 
fulfilled." 

"As  I  view  this,"  said  Valentine,  "  as  a 
consent  on  your  part  as  the  father  of  Louise, 
to  our  union,  I  am  anxious,  in  connection 
with  this  subject,  to  appeal  at  once  to  your 
feelings  as  a  father,  and  to  your  judgment 
as  a  man.  Of  course,  Mr.  Whitely,  I  need 
not  explain  to  you  the  position  of  that  good 
girl,  Louise;  you  understand  her  feelings 
as  well  as  I  do:  of  that  I  am  quite  certain. 
But  first  allow  me  to  ask  you  what  you  in- 
tend to  do  with  her  when  you  take  her  from 
Raven's  house?" 

"  I  mean  to  give  her  to  you: — to  enjoy 
for  a  few  months  her  sweet  society  alone, 
that  our  affections  as  parent  and  child  may 
be  developed  and  cherished,  and  then  to 
give  her  to  you." 

44  Give  her  to  me  now,"  said  Valentine, 
with  great  fervour  of  expression;  "  forego 
the  pleasure  which  you  anticipate  from  her 
society  before  marriage,  and  give  her  to  me 
now." 

Whitely  was  for  some  time  silent;  but 
after  weighing  the  matter  deliberately  in 
his  mind,  he  said,  "  If  I  should  oppose 
your  immediate  marriage — I  do  not  know 
that  I  shall,  but  if  I  should — you  must  not 
attribute  that  opposition  to  any  objection  on 
my  part  to  you  as  a  son-in-law;  for  I  can- 


didly confess  to  you  that  I  have  none:  you 
must  ascribe  it  solely  to  my  desire  to  culti- 
vate previously  those  feelings  of  affection 
which  I  arn,  of  course,  anxious  should  exist 
between  me  and  my  child." 

"Precisely,"  said  Uncle  John,  "I  under- 
stand your  motive,  and  I  appreciate  it 
highly.  Although  not  a  father  myself,  I 
can  enter  into. your  feelings  as  a  father,  and 
I  must  say  that  the  anxiety  you  have  ex- 
pressed is  very  natural,  very." 

"You  see,  my  friend,"  said  Whitely, 
"  I  have  been  deprived  of  the  affections  of 
my  children  from  their  infancy.  They  have 
been  unconscious  even  of  my  existence. 
Others  have  taken  that  place  in  their  hearts 
which  I  ought  to  have  occupied,  and  hence 
my  desire  to  resume  my  natural  position 
with  regard  to  them  must  by  all  be  under- 
stood and  respected." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Uncle  John,  "  and  I 
am  sure  that  Valentine  sees  the  matter  in 
precisely  the  same  light." 

"I  do,"  said  Valentine,  "I  do  under- 
stand that  desire,  and  I  respect  it.  Heaven 
forbid  that  I  should  wish  it  to  be  in  the 
smallest  degree  diminished.  But  why  are 
you  anxious  to  cultivate  those  feelings  of 
affection  previously  to  our  marriage]" 

"  Because,"  replied  Whitely,  "  after  mar- 
riage I  apprehend  her  affections  will  be 
devoted  to  you." 

44 1  hope  they  will:  I  am  sure  that  they 
will:  but  not  exclusively!  That  kind  of 
affection  to  which  I  as  her  husband  may  be 
supposed  to  be  entitled,  will  not,  I  submit, 
interfere  with  her  affection  for  you.  Wo- 
men, I  apprehend,  do  not  love  their  parents 
less  for  loving  their  husbands  more.  If 
that  were  the  case,  marriage  would  be  de- 
structive of  the  love  which  exists  between 
parents  and  children,  and  he  who  gave  his 
daughter  in  marriage  to  the  man  whom  she 
loved  would  be  thereby  surrendering  the 
affections  of  his  child,— a  thing  of  which 
he  never  dreams." 

44 1  see  that,"  said  Whitely,  "  I  clearly 
see  that." 

44  Take  it  in  another  point  of  view,"  con- 
tinued Valentine:  "  assume  that  Louise 
loves  me — which  I  believe  from  my  very 
soul — is  it  to  be  expected  that,  in  the  event 
of  her  remaining  for  some  time  single,  her 
love  for  me  will  be  diminished  in  proportion 
as  her  affection  for  you  shall  increase,  or 
that,  foster  her  affections  for  you  as  you. 
may,  she  will  love  me  in  consequence  less!" 

44  Decidedly  not." 

"If,  then,  her  affection  for  her  father 
would  not  interfere  with  her  affection  for 
her  lover,  why  should  her  love  for  me  after 
marriage  interfere  with  her  love  for  youl 
But  waiving  that  point — for  under  the  cir- 

33* 


332 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


eumstances  it  is  not  the  grand  one— let  us 
look  at  her  feelings  in  the  matter  without 
reference  to  our  own.  She  leaves  Raven, 
whom  from  infancy  she  had  looked  upon  as 
her  father,  to  live  with  you,  who  have  been, 
up  to  this  time,  a  stranger.  Conceive  what 
her  feelings  must  be  in  such  a  position, 
while  striving  to  transfer  her  affections  from 
one  to  the  other!  Must  it  not  be  one  of 
great  embarrassment"?  Must  she  not  feel 
awkward  in  the  extreme!  If  so,  why 
should  she  be  placed  in  that  position  at  all? 
I  am  perfectly  sure  that  whatever  feeling 
you  may  have  of  a  selfish  character — if  I 
may  in  its  mildest  sense  use  the  term — is 
so  natural,  that  you  cannot  repudiate  its 
entertainment;  but  I  am  also  sure  that  you 
are  inclined  to  study  her  feelings  in  prefer- 
ence to  your  own." 

"In  that  you  do  me  but  justice,"  said 
Whitely. 

44  Do  you  not  conceive,  then,"  said  Va- 
lentine, "  that  she  would  rather  escape  the 
position  to  which  I  have  alluded  than  em- 
brace it1?  — that  she  would  rather— to  speak 
plainly — be  married,  and  then  imbibe  and 
fondly  foster  those  feelings  of  affection  for 
you  gradually,  than  be  compelled  to  wait  un- 
til you  have  become  satisfied  that  her  affec- 
tion as  a  child  has  been  firmly  established? 
Which  do  you  think  she  would  prefer!" 

44  Why,  I  most  confess,"  replied  White- 
ly, 44  that  1  think  she  would  prefer  entering 
into  the  marriage  state  at  once.  I  must  say 
that  under  the  circumstances  il  would  be 
but  natural  for  her  to  give  that  the  pre- 
ference." 

4k  But  independently  of  that,"  continued 
Valentine,  44as  a  matter  of  expediency,  I 
would  urge  the  adoption  of  this  course, 
without  the  fear  of  beinfr  regarded  as  an  ad- 
vocate pleading  for  myself.  Your  great 
immediate  object  is  of  course  to  gain  the 
affections  of  Louise.  Very  well.  How 
would  you  proceed  to  accomplish  this  ob- 
ject? Is  it  easier  or  more  effectually  to  be 
done  by  opposing  in  limine.  that  step  in 
which  she  believes  that  her  happiness  is 
involved,  than  by  allowing  that  step  to  bii 
taken,  and  thereby  proving  not  only  that 
you  have  her  happiness  at  heart,  but  that 
you  are  willing  to  sacrifice  your  own  strict- 
ly personal  feelings  with  a  view  to  promote 
it?  Will  you  not,  by  giving  your  consent, 
be  laying  the  foundation  of  her  love! — in 
oiher  words,  will  she  not  rather  love  you 
for  giving  that  consent  than  for  withholding 
it?  I  do  riot  mean  to  say  that  1  believe  for 
one  moment  that  your  opposition  would 
have  the  effect  of  engendering  in  her  mind 
any  species  of  dislike,  but  I  do  think  that, 
as  mutters  now  stand,  thn  surest  and  the 
speediest  way  to  win  her  affections  is  by 


giving  your  consent.  It  will  strike  her  at 
once  as  being  an  act  of  kindness:  it  will 
prove  to  her  that  your  great  object  is  to  see 
her  happy:  it  will  force  the  conviction  that 
you  fondly  love  her,  and  will  thereby  in- 
spire her  with  fond  love  for  you." 

44 1  am  inclined  to  agree  with  you,"  said 
Whitely;  44  I  am  quite  inclined  to  agree 
with  you.  You  have  put  it  very  forcibly 
and  very  correctly.  I  did  not  see  it  in  that 
light  before.  Having  set  her  mind  upon 
marriage,  certainly  my  consent  would  be 
more  pleasurable  than  my  opposition,  how- 
ever mildly,  or  with  whatever  arguments  it 
might  be  urged.  There  is  no  absolute  ne- 
cessity for  any  farther  delay:  that  is  quite 
clear;  and  as  by  withholding  my  consent  I 
now  perceive  that  I  should  be  studying  my 
own  feelings  alone,  it  shall  not  be  withheld. 
I  give  it  freely.  I  have  so  much  confidence 
in  you  that  I  will  willingly  accede  to  what- 
ever you  may  propose.  She  has  had,  poor 
girl,  sufficient  trouble  already.  I  feel  now 
that  I  ought  not  to  disappoint  her  in  this 
matter  again.  Let  the  day  be  named— no 
matter  how  early — you  will  meet  with  no 
opposition  from  me." 

4k  I  felt  certain,"  said  Valentine,  ''that  I 
should  induce  you  to  take  this  view  of  the 
matter,  but  I  am  not  on  that  account  less 
happy  in  having  succeeded." 

*4  Upon  my  life,  though,"  observed  Uncle 
John,  "1  didn't  see  it  in  that  point  of  view: 
much  as  I  desired  the  settlement  of  this 
affair,  I  thought  that  another  delay  of  a  few 
months  must  have  taken  place,  as  a  matter 
of  course." 

44  That  was  certainly  my  impression," 
rejoined  Whitely,  44  but  I  perceive  the  force 
and  justice  of  Valentine's  observations,  and 
I  therefore  need  not  ask  if  Louise  is — I  will 
not  say  anxious,  but  willing  for  the  mar- 
riage to  take  place  immediately." 

44  Oh!"  cried  Uncle  John,  playfully, 
kk  they  have  settled  it  between  them,  there 
is  no  doubt  of  that.  It  was  all  arranged, 
my  friend,  before  we  knew  a  word  about 
the  matter."  ' 

4k  As  far  as  the  consent  of  Louise  is  con- 
cerned," said  Valentine,  4l  it  certainly  was: 
after  much  persuasion  on  my  part — for  I 
had  far  more  difficulty  with  her  than  I  have 
had  with  you;  Louise  did  consent,  but  only 
on  the  condition  that  I  succeeded  in  obtain- 
ing the  consent  of  her  father." 

"  Did  she  make  that  a  sine  qua  non?"  in- 
quired Whitely,  with  much  feeling. 

4k  Indeed  she  did;  and  urged  it  with  great 
earnestness." 

kk  God  bless  her!  God  bless  her!"  ex- 
claimed Whitely,  with  a  broken  voice,  as 
the  tears  sparkled  in  his  eyes,  »4  God  bless 
her!" 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


383 


"  She  is  a  jewel,"  said  Uncle  John,  "a 
jewel!  you  are  a  happy  fellow,  Val — a 
happy  fellow." 

"1  believe  him  to  be  worthy  of  her," 
said  Whitely;  "I  am  sure  of  it.  Well," 
he  continued,  addressing  Valentine,  "and 
when  is  the  day  to  be?" 

"  Why,  as  the  fifteenth  was  fixed  before 
the  secret  was  revealed,  I  thought  it  would 
be  as  well  not  to  alter  the  day.  I  therefore 
propose  that  the  ceremony  take  place  on 
the  fifteenth." 

*'  Well,  be  it  so,  I  have  no  objection  to 
urge.  The  fifteenth  will  soon  be  here,  but 
the  sooner  the  better,  perhaps.  Let  it  be 
the  fifteenth.  I  have,  however,  one  stipu- 
lation to  make:  she  must  not  marry  from 
the  house  of  that  man." 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Valentine,  "I 
anticipated  that,  and  have  arranged  it  in  my 
own  mind  thus:  that  on  the  morning  of  the 
fourteenth,  she  leaves  Raven's  house  with 
my  mother  to  take  up  her  abode  here;  that 
we  dine  here  together  on  that  day,  and  that 
the  next  morning  you  accompany  her  from 
here  to  church." 

"That  will  do!"  said  Whitely,  "that 
will  do.  I  quite  approve  of  that  arrange- 
ment; it  will  do  very  well." 

It  was  accordingly  thus  settled,  and  im- 
mediately after  the  settlement  had  taken 
place,  Fred  returned  in  high  glee.  Louise 
had  introduced  him  to  Miss  Lovelace,  a 
young  lady  who  was  to  be  one  of  the  brides- 
maids, and  of  all  the  most  peautiful  cirls 
he  had  ever  seen  in  the  work,  with  the  sin- 
gle exception  of  little  sister  Louey,  she  was 
the  most  peautiful,  and  coolness  knew  it! 

This,  of  course,  was  quite  sufficient  for 
Valentine  to  go  on  with.  He  seized  it  with 
avidity,  and  rallied  poor  Fred  in  a  style 
which  produced  roars  of  laughter.  He  as- 
sailed him  at  every  point,  and  Fred  met  him 
in  a  manner  too  droll  to  be  resisted.  He 
again  and  again  declared  that  he  felt  him- 
self in  love,  and  didn't  care  if  the  whole 
world  knew  it!  Thus  the  remainder  of  the 
evening  was  spent  very  merrily,  and  at 
eleven  they  all  left  the  house  much  de- 
lighted. 

Valentine,  however,  was  determined  to 
communicate  to  Louise  the  pleasing  result 
of  his  consultation  with  Whitely,  without 
delay.  He  had  therefore  no  sooner  seen 
Whitely  and  Uncle  John  home,  than  he 
walked  with  Fred  to  Raven's,  and  found 
that  Louise  had  been  expecting  his  arrival, 
her  heart  having  told  her  that,  however  late 
it  might  be,  when  the  party  broke  up  he 
would  call.  When,  therefore,  he  entered 
the  drawing-room,  she  flew  to  meet  him, 
and  with  a  look  of  intense  anxiety,  read  the 


expression  of  success  in  his  countenance, 
and  was  happy. 

"  Why  do  you  look  so  intently  at  me'?" 
inquired  Valentine.  "  Is  it  to  see  if  I  have 
been  taking  too  much  wine]" 

"  No,"  replied  Louise,  with  a  playful 
movement  of  her  head.  "  It  is  not  that. 
You  know  why  I  look  at  you  so  earnestly. 
You  know  that  it  is  to  read  that  which  I 
feel  that  1  do  read,  the  fact  of  my  father 
having  given  his  consent.  It  is  so,  is  it  not!" 

"  My  dearest  girl,  it  is,"  said  Valentine, 
who  then  sat  beside  her  and  explained  to 
her  all  he  deemed  it  necessary  for  her  to 
know,  and  having  impressed  upon  her  how 
worthy  Whitely  was  of  her  affection,  he 
drew  one  picture  of  happiness,  and  left  an- 
other behind  him. 

It  was  then  past  twelve;  but  as  the  night 
was  calm  though  dark,  he  decided  on  walk- 
ing home,  notwithstanding  he  knew  that 
Uncle  John  would  not  retire  till  he  return- 
ed. He  had  scarcely,  however,  left  the 
house,  when  an  emaciated  form  with  an 
aspect  of  madness,  hurried  p'ast  him  mut- 
tering incoherently  to  himself,  and  then 
suddenly  stopped,  and  then  hurried  on 
again,  and  then  again  stopped,  and  turned, 
and  then  again  hurried  on,  alternately  laugh- 
ing and  groaning. 

Valentine,  when  the  form  turned,  felt  a 
sudden  thrill.  He  had  certainly  seen  that 
figure  before!  who  could  it  possibly  be! 
Resolved  on  being  satisfied,  he  quickened 
his  pace.  Again  the  figure  stopped.  He 
passed  it,  and  on  reaching  the  noxt  lamp, 
turned,  that  the  light  by  falling  upon  the 
face  of  the  man,  might  aid  him  in  discover- 
ing who  he  was.  The  form  came  on, 
groaning  and  gnashing  his  teeth  as -before, 
and  on  reaching  the  lamp  stopped  again,  as 
if  struck.  The  light  fell  full  upon  him;  it 
was  Walter! — mad;  obviously  mad!  His 
sunken  eyes  glared,  and  he  looked  like  a 
fiend. 

"  Just  Heaven !"  thought  Valentine. 
"This,  indeed,  is  a  dreadful  retribution! — 
Do  you  not  know  me?"  said  he,  addressing 
Walter,  and  taking  his  arm. 

"  You  can't  prove  it!"  cried  Walter, 
fixing  his  eyes  upon  Valentine,  wildly. 
"You  have  no  proof.  I  must  be  acquitted. 
1  did  not  murder  him! — let  me  go." 

"  Do  you  not  remember  Valentine?" 

"Yes!  he  was  the  cause!  the  only  cause! 
— I  know  him:  I  know  him." 

"  He  is  here:  he  stands  before  you:  I  am 
he." 

Walter  again  glared  upon  him,  and 
seized  his  arm,  and  having  passed  his  hand 
over  his  eyes  several  times,  shook  his 
head,  and  said,  "No — no — no.  You  are 
not.'  Let  me  go  home! — home." 


384 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"I'll  go  with  you,"  said  Valentine. 
"Tell  me  where  you  live." 

"  I  told  you  before.  Let  me  go.  I  must 
not  be  detained.  You  have  no  proof,  I  tell 
you!  Ha,  ha!  No  proof !— no  proof!  Do 
your  worst!  No  proof! — I'll  not  be  de- 
tained!" 

Having  suddenly  disengaged  his  arm 
from  Valentine's  grasp,  he  hurried  on,  still 
muttering  wildly  to  himself,  and  occasion- 
ally giving  a  maniacal  chuckle. 

Valentine  now  scarcely  knew  how  to  act; 
should  he  give  him  in  charge  of  the  police, 
or  follow  him?  He  had  spoken  of  home. 
He  might  then  be  going  home.  Valentine 
knew  not  at  all  where  he  lived,  but  eventu- 
ally decided  on  allowing  him  to  proceed 
without  interruption,  resolved,  however, 
not  to  lose  sight  of  him  until  he  should 
enter  some  house.  He  accordingly  kept  a 
few  paces  behind  him,  but  in  order  to  do 
so,  he  was  compelled  to  walk  as  fast  as  he 
possibly  could,  and  sometimes,  indeed,  to 
run,  for  Walter's  pace  could  not  have  been 
much  less  than  six  miles  an  hour. 

On  reaching  Bloomsbury  Square,  Walter 
suddenly  stopped,  but  as  on  turning  sharp- 
ly round,  he  saw  Valentine  approaching, 
he  kept  on,  and  got  into  Holborn,  where 
he  increased  his  speed,  being  evidently 
anxious  to  avoid  all  pursuit.  Valentine, 
however,  kept  up  with  him,  marvelling  at 
the  extraordinary  strength  he  displayed, 
and  expecting  every  moment,  of  course, 
that  he  would  either  turn  or  stop  at  some 
house;  but  he  still  kept  on  and  on,  until  he 
reached  the  bottom  of  Holborn-Hill,  when 
he  turned  up  Farringdon  Street,  muttering 
and  laughing,  and  clenching  his  fists,  and 
striking  out  with  increased  energy. 

"  Well,"  thought  Valentine,  who  began 
to  feel  fatigued,  "it  is  impossible  for  him 
to  keep  on  at  this  rate  much  longer,"  when, 
conceiving  that  the  fact  of  his  keeping  be- 
hind him,  might  accelerate  his  pace,  and 
perhaps,  deter  him  from  going  in  even 
when  he  reached  home,  he  crossed  the 
street  and  walked  on  the  opposite  side. 

Still  Walter  kept  on.  He  passed  Fleet 
Street,  and  when  he  had  done  so,  he  looked 
sharply  round,  and  as  he  could  perceive  no 
one  behind  him  he  slackened  his  pace,  but 


stopped  not  until  he  had  arrived  at  Chat- 
ham Place,  where  he  made  a  dead  stand, 
fixing  his  eyes  upon  the  ground,  dropping 
his  hands  listlessly,  and  muttering  aloud. 
Having  stood  in  this  position  for  some  few 
moments  without  raising  his  eyes,  he  sud- 
denly started  off  again,  and  proceeded  over 
the  bridge  at  a  rapid  rate,  apparently  most 
anxious  to  get  home.  Just,  however,  as  he 
had  reached  the  centre  arch  of  the  bridge, 
he  turned  into  one  of  the  recesses  and 
leaped  upon  the  seat.  In  an  instant  Va- 
lentine flew  towards  him,  and  called  to  him 
by  name!  The  wretched  maniac  heard  him, 
but  uttering  a  dreadful  yell  of  defiance, 
sprang  over  the  balustrade,  and  Valentine 
but  reached  the  spot  in  time  to  hear  the 
water  opening  to  receive  him  with  a  roar. 

How  was  it  possible  to  aid  him?  How 
could  he  be  saved?  "  Police!  Police!  Help! 
help!"  shouted  Valentine,  darting  to  the 
stairs,  and  a  person  on  the  instant  ran  to- 
wards him. 

"A  gentleman  has  thrown  himself  from 
the  bridge,"  cried  Valentine.  "  How  can 
we  save  him?" 

"  I  fear  we  can  render  him  no  assist- 
ance," said  the  stranger.  "  There's  no 
waterman  near." 

Valentine  rushed  down  the  steps,  and 
the  stranger  followed.  The  tide  was  run- 
ning down;  it  was  nearly  low  water:  every 
boat  was  aground,  and  nothing  could  be 
seen  moving  upon  the  river  within  hail. 

"  What — what  can  we  do?"  exclaimed 
Valentine. 

"  Nothing!"  replied  the  stranger.  "  No- 
thing: nothing  can  be  done!  He's  lost." 

The  tide  glided  smoothly  on.  Scarcely  a 
ripple  could  be  seen.  Once  Valentine  saw, 
or  imagined  he  saw,  the  head  of  a  man  rise 
above  the  surface,  but  in  an  instant  it  dis- 
appeared, and  was  seen  no  more. 

Still  he  lingered  at  the  water's  edge,  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  stream,  while  dwelling 
upon  the  frightful  catastrophe,  almost  in  a 
state  of  unconsciousness,  until  the  stranger 
aroused  him,  when,  with  a  heavy  heart  he 
proceeded  home,  and  by  relating  the  sad 
event  filled  the  mind  of  his  uncle  with 
horror. 


CHAPTER  LXVIII. 

IN  WHICH  THE  HISTORY  DRAWS  TO  A  CONCLUSION. 


NEARLY  the  whole  of  the  following  day, 
Valentine  was  endeavouring  to  ascertain  if 
the  body  of  Walter  had  been  found;  but  his 


efforts  were  unsuccessful.  He  took  a  boat 
at  the  Tower  Stairs,  and  was  rowed  a  con- 
siderable distance  down  the  river,  stopping 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


385 


to  make  inquiries  at  every  point,  but  could 
hear  nothing  of  him;  nor  could  he  commu- 
nicate with  his  family,  not  knowing  where 
they  resided.  He  could,  therefore,  do  no- 
thing; and  although  he  strongly  felt  that  it 
would  have  been  better  had  he  arrested 
Walter's  progress  on  perceiving  his  mad- 
ness, and  placed  him  at  once  under  restraint, 
he  could  not  reproach  rhimself  under  the 
circumstances,  seeing  that  he  had  done  that 
which  at  the  time  appeared  to  him  to  be 
most  advisable;  still  the  dreadful  event 
made  a  deep  impression  on  his  mind. 

From  Louise,  of  course,  this  was  con- 
cealed. Whitely  was  informed  of  it,  but 
it  went  no  farther:  the  preparations  for  the 
marriage,  therefore,  proceeded  as  if  nothing 
of  the  kind  had  occurred,  and  Valentine,  in 
the  presence  of  Louise,  appeared  to  be  as 
gay  as  before. 

As  Raven  had  been  informed  of  its  hav- 
ing been  decided  that  Louise  should  leave 
his  house  the  day  previously  to  that  of  her 
marriage,  his  spirits  now  became  more  than 
ever  depressed.  He  was  indeed  a  wretched 
being.  He  felt  that,  although  in  the  midst 
of  wealth  and  splendour,  he  should  be 
thenceforth  alone  in  the  world  without  a 
child  to  love  him, — without  a  friend  to  es- 
teem him, — without  a  single  creature  near 
him  with  whom  he  cared  to  associate;  ex- 
cluded from  all  society — an  outcast. 

Sometimes  he  would  shut  himself  up  in 
his  room  for  hours,  and  seek  relief  in  tears; 
sometimes  he  would  bitterly  rail  at  the 
world;  at  others  he  would  sit  and  gaze  upon 
Louise  with  all  the  fondness  of  a  father, 
for  that  he  loved  her  dearly  no  doubt  could 
exist.  To  him  this  parting  was  a  heavy 
blow  indeed.  It  blasted  every  prospect, 
withered  every  earthly  hope;  not  a  flower 
could  he  perceive  in  his  path  from  thence  to 
the  grave. 

As  the  day  of  parting  approached,  his 
wretchedness  increased,  and  when  the  thir- 
teenth arrived,  he  sent  to  beg  of  Uncle  John 
to  look  in  upon  him  if  even  it  were  but  for 
a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Uncle  John  went  accordingly  the  moment 
he  received  the  message,  and  found  him 
dreadfully  dejected.  His  eyes  were  dim 
and  half  closed;  his  cheeks  were  hollow, 
and  his  lips  livid;  he  was  spiritless,  nerve- 
less: Despair  seemed  to  have  marked  him 
for  her  own. 

"  My  friend,"  said  he,  "  if  I  may  still 
call  you  so,  I  am  a  miserable  man.  I  can- 
not bear  to  part  for  ever  with  her  whom 
from  infancy  I  have  reared,  loved,  and  che- 
rished as  my  own.  I  am  childless,  friend- 
less, helpless.  I  have  been  actively  battling 
for  more  than  half  a  century  with  the  world, 
but  my  spirits  never  deserted  me,  my 


strength  never  failed  me,  till  now.  What 
am  I  to  do,  my  friend!  Give  me  your  ad- 
vice." 

"  Why,  upon  my  life,"  said  Uncle  John, 
"I  don't  see  what  advice  I  can  give  you, 
unless,  indeed,  it  be  to  raise  your  spirits, 
and  to  bear  up  against  the  calamity." 

"  Which  is  precisely  what  I  feel  that  I 
can't  do.  I  seem  to  have  no  moral  strength, 
no  courage,  no  nerve,  as  if  I  were  the  only 
man  in  the  world  by  whom  a  wrong  had 
been  inflicted.  Other  men  can  commit 
crimes,  and  think  comparatively  nothing  of 
it.  The  fact  does  not  afflict  them;  they  are 
not  bowed  to  the  earth  by  the  reflection; 
they  can  stand  erect,  and  bid  the  world  de- 
fiance: yet  I,  who  in  a  moment  of  passion, 
folly,  phrenzy — call  it  what  you  will — com- 
mitted an  act  of  which  thousands  upon 
thousands  around  me  have  been  guilty,  am 
thus  struck  down  and  tortured." 

"  It  must  not  be  imagined,"  observed 
Uncle  John,  "that  he  who,  having  com- 
mitted a  criminal  act,  braves  the  world,  is 
not  afflicted.  He  may  feel  it  the  more,  for 
that  feeling  is  usually  most  acute  which  a 
man  takes  most  pains  to  conceal.  I  hold  it 
to  be  impossible  for  any  man  capable  of  re- 
flection in  its  popular  sense,  to  inflict  any 
serious  injury  upon  another,  or  to  commit 
any  crime,  which  in  his  heart  he  acknow- 
ledges to  be  a  crime,  without  being  afflict- 
ed. Some  men  may  show  it  more  than 
others,  but  that  is  no  proof  that  others  feel 
it  less." 

"  Well,  but  my  friend— now — do  you — 
Oh!  I  remember  the  time  when  my  pride 
would  have  swelled,  when  my  heart  would 
have  revolted  at  the  idea  of  asking  any 
man's  forgiveness;  but  my  spirit  is  now  so 
subdued,  I  am  now  so  humble,  that  if  you 
think  that  he  whom  I  have  injured  would 
forgive  me,  I  would  solicit  his  forgiveness 
— aye,  even  on  my  knees." 

"  Why,  as  far  as  his  forgiveness  is  con- 
cerned," said  Uncle  John,  pausing — "  But 
what  do  you  mean  by  forgiveness!  As 
Christians,  we  are  taught  to  pray  for  for- 
giveness of  our  trespasses  'as  we  forgive 
them  that  trespass  agr.inst  us;'  but  the  for- 
giveness which  we  pray  for  is  so  perfect 
That  it  comprehends  reception  and  recon- 
ciliation. Do  you  mean  by  forgiveness,  in 
this  case,  reception  and  reconciliation!" 

"  I  would  willingly  give  all  I  possess  in 
the  world  to  be  thus  forgiven  by  that  man!" 

»'  You  mean,  of  course,  for  him  to  be  re- 
conciled to  you,  to  associate  with  you,  to 
receive  you  as  a  friend!" 

"I  do." 

Uncle  John  shook  his  head  with  a  very, 
very  doubtful  expression. 

"  You  think  it  impossible!"  said  Raven. 


386 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"  Most  certainly  I  do.  I  have  heard  of 
men,  who,  actuated  by  the  vilest  and  most 
sordid  motives,  have  received  and  associ- 
ated with  the  seducers  of  their  wives,  but  I 
never  heard  of  a  virtuous  man  becoming  re- 
conciled to,  or  receiving  him,  by  whom  the 
wife  of  his  bosom  had  been  corrupted.  In- 
asmuch, therefore,  as  I  feel  that  Whitely 
loved  his  wife,  fondly,  passionately  loved 
her,  and  as  I  know  him  to  be  a  strictly  ho- 
nourable man,  I  do  think  it  impossible,  ut- 
terly impossible,  to  prevail  upon  him  to 
receive  you  now  as  a  friend." 

"  I  am  satisfied,"  said  Raven,  "  quite 
satisfied  now.  But  without  such  a  recon- 
ciliation on  his  part,  might  I  not  be  allowed 
occasionally  to  visit  his  children?" 

"Why,  that  may  be  managed.  It  may 
be  managed  without  any  formal  consent  on 
his  part.  He  will  not  be  always  with 
them." 

*'  You  see,  my  friend,  I  know  that  you 
see  and  understand  the  position  in  which  I 
am  placed.  I  have  studiously  kept  aloof 
from  all  society:  I  am  a  man  of  no  family: 
I  have  not,  to  my  knowledge,  a  single  rela- 
tive in  the  world.  I  have  formed  no  con- 
nections, no  friendships:  I  have  not  a  single 
creature  to  care  for  me  with  the  exception 
of  yourself.  Valentine,  Fred,  and  Louise: 
there  is,  it  is  true,  one  besides  whose  favour 
I  would  conciliate— I  mean  Valentine's 
mother,  but  I  feel  that  I  must  not  think  of 
that.  If  therefore  you  desert  me,  if  I  arn 
henceforth  deprived  of  your  society,  and 
that  of  those  with  whom  you  are  connected, 
the  world  will  be  to  me  a  perfect  wilder- 
ness; I  shall  indeed  be  alone." 

"  You  speak  like  a  man  without  hope," 
said  Uncle  John.  "  You  will  not  be  de- 
serted. 1  will  not  desert  you:  Valentine 
will  not  desert  you:  nor  is  it  at  all  likely 
thai  you  will  be  deserted  by  Louise,  whom 
you  have  treated  with  so  much  kindness 
and  affection." 

"  My  friend — and  you  have  proved  your* 
self  to  be  a  friend  indeed — we  are  all  falli- 
ble: not  that  I  wish  to  shield  myself  under 
this  general  proposition;  but  we  are  all  of 
us  occasionally  led  into  temptations,  which 
we  feel  at  the  time  to  be  too  strong  to  be 
resisted.  This  was  my  case,  at  the  period 
from  which  the  birth  of  all  my  troubles  may 
be  dated;  I  yielded  to  the  temptation  into 
which  I  had  been  led;  but  although  1  can- 
not expect,  that  he  whom,  by  thus  yielding, 
I  wronged,  will  so  perfectly  forgive  me  as 
to  receive  me  as  a  friend,  1  do  think  tbat — 
having  proved  that  I  am  not  only  sorry  for 
having  acted  as  I  have  done,  but  anxious 
to  make  all  possible  reparation — others  may 
without  dishonour." 

"  1  would  rather,"  said  Uncle  John,  "  as- 


sociate with  a  man,  who,  like  you,  not  only 
feels,  but  acknowledges  that  he  is  sorry  for 
having  committed  an  offence,  than  with  one 
who  treats  that  offence  with  levity,  and 
affects  to  hold  the  opinion  of  the  world  in 
contempt." 

"Then  will  you  come  often  and  see  me, 
notwithstanding  what  has  occurred?" 

"I  will,"  replied 'Jncle  John. 

"You  will  come  and  dine  with  me?" 

"  Frequently.  I  think  of  living  entirely 
in  town  now." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it.  I  think  I 
need  not  say  that  I  shall  be  at  all  times 
most  happy  to  see  you.  When  my  poor 
girl  is  gone,  I  shall  feel,  I  well  know  that 
I  shall  feel  very  wretched." 

"  Come,  come,  you  must  bear  Up  against 
it." 

"  I  will  as  well  as  I  possibly  can,  but 
this  is  a  dreadful  position  for  an  old  man 
like  me  to  be  placed  in." 

"  Well,  well:  we  must  make  the  best  we 
can  of  it.  These  things  always  seem  to  be 
greater  in  anticipation.  You  will  feel  it  no 
doubt;  but  we  must  endeavour  to  let  you 
feel  it  as  little  as  possible." 

"  My  dear  friend;  I  have  no  right  to  ex- 
pect this  kindness  from  you." 

'*  Yes  you  have:  you  have  a  right  to  ex- 
pect kindness  from  every  man,  who  pro- 
fesses to  be  your  friend.  But  let  us  say  no 
more  about,  it.  Although  we  cannot  do  all, 
something  may  be  done,  and  you  may  rest 
assured  of  this,  that  all  I  can  do  I  will." 

Raven,  whose  spirit  was  indeed  subdued, 
again  and  again  thanked  him,  and  the  gra- 
titude which  he  warmly  expressed  was  un- 
feigned. He  did  feel  grateful  to  him,  very, 
very  grateful,  for  the  loneliness  of  his  posi- 
tion pressed  heavily  upon  his  heart,  and 
none  appreciate  kindness  so  highly  as  those 
whom  society  in  general  spurns.  An  act  of 
friendship  then,  shines  forth  as  an  act  of 
friendship  indeed.  The  veriest  wretch  feels 
it:  it  strikes  to  his  heart's  core:  he  would 
fly  through  fire  and  water  to  protect  or  to 
serve  him  who  treats  him  with  common 
kindness,  when  he  feels  that  he  is  treated 
by  all  but  him  with  scorn,  or  who  extends 
the  hand  of  friendship  when  all  other  friends 
are  gone. 

The  conduct  of  Uncle  John  may,  in  this 
particular  instance,  be  by  some  rigid  moral- 
ists condemned;  but  let  those  who  would 
condemn  him  point  out  what  save  penitence 
can  be  offered  for  injuries  which  cannot  be 
redressed:  and  if,  on  discovering  their  in- 
ability to  do  this,  they  still  condemn  him, 
they  must  deny  that  that  Heavenly  attri- 
bute, Charity,  ought  ever  to  enter  the  soul 
of  a  just  man. 

He  viewed  the  crime  of  which  Raven  had 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


387 


been  guilty — and  none  could  have  had  a 
greater  horror  of  that  crime  than  he  had  per 
se— with  due  reference  to  the  proverbial 
fallibility  of  man's  nature:  nothing  could 
have  induced  him  to  palliate  that  crime; 
but,  although  he  regarded  it  not  alone  as  a 
personal  offence,  but  also  as  an  offence 
against  society  in  the  aggregate — when  he 
saw  Raven  spiritless,  bowed  to  the  very 
earth,  and  broken-hearted,  he  would  not 
trample  upon  him:  no! — prompted  by  the 
voice  of  nature,  he  extended  his  hand  to 
raise  him,  with  those  charitable  feelings 
which  he  felt  that  he  could  not  repudiate 
either  as  a  Christian  or  as  a  man. 

But  notwithstanding  he  thus  benevolently 
sought  to  inspire  him  with  sufficient  strength 
to  bear  the  pang  of  parting  with  Louise, 
Raven  was  still  much  dejected.  He  felt 
indeed,  greatly  relieved  while  Uncle  John 
was  with  him,  but  when  he  had  left,  he 
sank  again  beneath  the  dread  of  the  morrow, 
and  when  the  morrow  came,  it  found  him  as 
wretched  as  before. 

Having  passed  a  restless,  miserable  night, 
he  rose  early,  and  tried  to  raise  his  spirits, 
but  in  vain:  on  being  summoned  to  break- 
fast he  burst  into  tears. 

Louise,  who  as  usual  presided  at  the  ta- 
ble, rose  to  meet  him  as  he  entered  the 
room,  when  he  took  her  hands  and  pressed 
them,  and  gazed  upon  her  mournfully,  and 
kissed  her  pale  brow,  and  gazed  upon  her 
again?  but  "neither  uttered  a  word:  their 
hearts  were  too  full  to  speak;  they  sat  down 
in  silence,  and  scarcely,  during  the  time 
they  were  at  breakfast,  was  that  silence 
broken. 

Fred,  who  like  the  rest,  felt  miserable, 
was  the  first  to  leave  the  table,  and  soon 
after  him  Louise  and  the  widow  retired, 
leaving  Raven  in  sadness  alone. 

"With  whom  shall  I  breakfast  to-mor- 
row," thought  he,  "  and  to-morrow,  and  to- 
morrow! Henceforth  I  shall  be  desolate. 
What  comfort,  what  joy  can  I  hope  for 
now?  This,  twenty  years  since,  or  even 
ten,  I  might  have  borne:  I  had  energy  then 
— spirit — nerve:  I  could  have  struggled  with 
it  then;  but  to  be  left  thus  now  in  the  vale 
of  years,  when  I  most  need  the  comfort 
which  those  whom  I  have  cherished  alone 
can  impart,  when  my  faculties,  both  moral 
and  physical,  are  withering,  when  I  am 
sinking,  fast  sinking  into  the  grave,  is — 
just,  just;  I  admit  it  to  be  just,  but — dread- 
ful " 

Pursuing  this  sad  train  of  thought,  he  sat 
weeping  like  a  child — for  all  his  manhood 
seemed  to  have  left  him — until  the  clock 
struck  twelve,  when  he  started  up,  and 
paced  the  room,  trembling  with  violence. 

It  was  the  hour  appointed  for  the  de- 


parture of  Louise,  and  soon  afterwards  she 
entered  the  room  to  take  leave,  accompanied 
by  Fred  and  the  widow. 

''I  know,  my  dear  child,"  said  he,  with 
a  tremulous  voice,  as  she  approached  him 
in  tears,  "I  know— your  object— in  coming 
to  me  now.  It  is — it  is — yes — I  am  get- 
ting, my  dear  child,  a  feeble  old  man — 
bowed  down — bowed  down  by  affliction — 
Well,  well — the  grave — the  cold  grave — 
God  forgive  me! — God  forgive  me!" 

"  Father!"  exclaimed  Louise,  passion- 
ately, "if  you  are  not  my  father,  I  feel  that 
you  have  been  to  me  all  that  a  father  should 
be — for  mercy's  sake,  do  not — do  not— 
father!"  she  added,  falling  upon  his  neck, 
"  my  heart  will  break." 

"  My  child!"  exclaimed  Raven,  whose 
utterance  was  half-choked,  while  tears  of 
agony  gushed  from  his  eyes — "  my  sweet- 
est, loveliest  child,  you  must  not  be  unhap- 
py! Wretchedness  is  mine — I  alone  must 
be  wretched!  The  only  comfort,  the  only 
comfort  I  can  hope  for  now  is  to  see  you 
happy — to  see  you  happy!  You  will  not 
deprive  me  of  that! — No,  you  will  not — 
Bless  you!  Come — come,"  he  continued, 
albeit  scarcely  able  to  articulate  a  word, 
"come:  to-morrow,  you  know,  to-morrow! 
You  only  leave  this  for  a  happier  home! 
But  you  will  not  forget  me1?  You  will 
think  of  me  sometimes?  You  will  not  for- 
get him  who  loved  you  from  childhood  so 
fondly,  so  dearly?— You  will  not  despise 
me?  No,  you  will  not  despise  me?" 

"  Never!"  exclaimed  Louise,  fixing  her 
eyes  earnestly  upon  him,  although  they 
swam  in  tears;  "  my  heart  tells  me  that, 
whatever  may  have  happened,  whatever 
may  occur,  I  can  never  despise,  I  can  never 
forget,  I  can  never  cease  to  love  him  by 
whom  from  my  infancy  I  have  been  treated 
with  so  much  affection." 

Again  Raven  blessed  her,  and  pressed 
her  to  his  heart,  and  endeavoured  to  cheer 
her,  although  tears  were  trickling  fast 
down  his  cheeks,  and  he  continued  to  sob 
bitterly. 

"I'll  no  longer  afflict  you,  my  loveliest 
girl,"  said  he — "  No!  I'll  no  longer  afflict 
you.  This  parting  is  sad,  very  sad.  You 
would  say  farewell  to  me:  yes,  farewell 
you  would  say:  it  may  be  the  last — the  last 
time.  I  am  sinking,  I  know  I  am  sinking; 
my  strength  has  deserted  me;  I  am  getting 
very  feeble;  I  shall  not  survive  it  long:  no, 
I  feel  that  I  can't  survive  it  long — But,"  he 
added  emphatically,  raising  his  eyes  with 
great  fervour  of  expression,  "  in  the  midst 
of  my  affliction  I  have  one  comfort,  one 
consolation,  which  is,  that  whatever  I  may 
have  been,  whatever  I  am  now,  I  have  done 
towards  her  of  whom  I  am  now  to  be  de» 


388 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


prived  all  that  a  parent  could  conceive  to  be 
his  duty  to  a  child,  and  that  she  leaves  me 
now  with  a  heart  as  guileless  and  a  mind 
as  pure  as  when  in  infancy  I  fondly  adopted 
her  as  my  own." 

At  this  moment  a  coach  drew  up  to  the 
door,  and  Fred— who  had  been  standing  at 
the  window,  apparently  firm  as  a  rock, 
while  engaged  in  closing  his  eyelids  as 
his  eyes  became  full,  that  the  tears  might 
fall  straight  upon  the  carpet  unseen — an- 
nounced Valentine's  arrival.  Raven  took 
Fred's  hand,  and  pressed  it  warmly,  and 
then  drew  Louise  aside. 

"  My  dear  girl,"  said  he,  producing  a 
small  pocket-book,  and  placing  it  in  her 
hand,  "  before  you  leave  me,  my  love,  take 
this:  give  it  to  Valentine.  He  will  take 
care  of  it  for  you;  but  promise  me — it  may 
be  my  last  request,  Louise — yes,  my  dear, 
it  may  be  my  last — promise  me  that  you 
•will  not  name  it  to  your  father.  I  know 
that  you  will  not  refuse  to  take  it — for  my 
sake — I  know  you  will  not;  but  it  need  not 
be  mentioned  to  him,  my  dear:  it  need  not. 
You  promise!" 

"  I  do,"  replied  Louise,  "  I  do." 

"God  bless  you,  my  child! — God  bless 
you!  And  now,"  he  added  in  broken  ac- 
cents, as  Valentine  entered,  "  farewell! — 
farewell!  Be  happy!  May  Heaven  protect 
you  all!" — when,  placing  Louise  in  the 
arms  of  Valentine,  he  turned  and  sobbing 
aloud  left  the  room. 

His  utter  prostration  of  spirit  touched 
them  nearly.  Even  Valentine  was  deeply 
affected;  but  as  upon  him  devolved  the  task 
of  restoring  them  all,  his  feelings  were 
studiously  concealed.  He  assumed  an  air 
not  of  gaiety,  but  of  calmness;  and  as  he 
felt  that  the  sooner  they  left  then  the  better, 
he  hastened  their  departure  as  much  as 
strict  delicacy  could  sanction,  and  soon 
succeeded  in  getting  them  into  the  coach. 
Here  he  allowed  their  feelings  to  have  free 
vent.  He  did  not  attempt  to  check  them; 
but  on  arriving  at  the  house,  he  soon  sub- 
dued them  by  explaining  how  ill  they 
would  accord  with  the  feelings  of  Whitely, 
and  how  calculated  to  induce  him  to  believe 
that  Raven  still  held  that  place  in  their 
affections  which  ought  to  be  occupied  by 
him. 

Louise  saw  at  a  glance  the  justice,  as 
well  as  the  expediency  of  acting  upon 
this  suggestion,  which  Valentine  no  sooner 
perceived  than  he  began  to  talk  in  a  live- 
lier strain,  and  thus  by  degrees  raised  her 
spirits. 

Having  partaken  of  some  refreshment, 
Louise  and  the  widow,  who  were  insepara- 
ble, left  Valentine  and  Fred,  playfully  inti- 
mating that  they  hoped  to  have  the  honour 


of  their  company  at  six.  Before,  however, 
Louise  left  the  room,  she  grave  Valentine 
the  pocket-book  which  Raven  had  presented 
to  her,  and  having  explained  to  him  the 
promise  she  had  given,  told  him  to  see 
when  she  was  gone  what  it  contained.  He 
did  so:  it  was  the  cover  of  a  pocket-book 
merely;  but  he  found  therein  twenty  one- 
thousand  pound-notes,  and  a  packet,  appa- 
rently of  parchment,  sealed  and  addressed 
to  him,  with  instructions  that  the  seal  was 
not  to  be  broken  until  after  Raven's  death. 

"I  scarcely  know,"  thought  Valentine, 
"  that  we  ought  to  receive  this;  and  yet, 
were  we  to  return  it,  it  would  perhaps  break 
his  heart!  Well,  well,  we  shall  see." 

"  Hur  never  tit!"  cried  Fred,  as  if  he  had 
that  moment  awakened  from  a  dream.  "  As 
true  as  coolness! — Well,  now,  inteet,  look 
you,  really,  ant,  in  truth,  now:  hur  never— 
coolness  knows  it!" 

"  Did  you  speak]"  inquired  Valentine, 
as  if  he  had  not  been  quite  positive  about 
the  matter. 

"  Hur  was  only  thinking  apout  the  treat- 
ful  scene  petween  my  uncle — that  is,' Mr. 
Raven — ant  Louey.  Hur  titn't  like  to  let 
them  see  me,  although  coolness  knows  it. 
Putt  hur  say,  my  poy,  how  lull  he  must  pe 
now,  without  anypotty  apout  him!  Hur 
wish  he  was  coing  to  tine  with  us  to-day, 
after  all;  hur  too  intent." 

"  Fred,"  said  Valentine,  "  to-day  you 
must  on  no  account  suffer  his  name  to  es- 
cape your  lips." 

"  No,  hur  know,  hur  know! — it's  only  to 
you.  Putl  as  true  as  hur'm  alive,  hur  wish 
he  was  coing  to  tine  with  us." 

14  You  would  rather  that  he  should  dine 
with  us  than  Miss  Lovelace!" 

"  No,  coolness,  no:  hur'd  rather  have  her 
than  five  thousand  Mr.  Ravens.  Putt  is  she 
coming,  my  poy1? — is  she  coming!" 

"  She  will  dine  with  us,  of  course." 

"  Hur  titn't  know  that,  now.  Inteet,  then, 
hur  tiln't.  Hur'm  very  clat  you  toll  me." 

"  Are  you  really  in  love  with  that  girl, 
Fred!"  " 

"Over  het  ant  ears!  Putt  isn't  she  a 
peautiful  creature!" 

"She  appears  to  be  a  very  sweet  girl. 
But  I  shall  know  more  about  her  in  the 
morning.  I  shall  have  to  kiss  her  to-mor- 
row, you  know:  all  day  long  I  shall  be 
at  it." 

"  Phot!  kiss  Miss  Lovelace!" 

"  As  the  bridesmaid,  of  course." 

"  Is  that  the  etiquette  of  the  pusiness! 
If  it  is — oh!  hur  wish  hur  was  you!  Ant 
yet  hur  tout,  pecause  then  hur  shoot  pe 
marriet  to  Louey,  and  shoot  have  to  love 
nopotty  pesites.  Putt  hur  ton't  think  hur 
coot  kiss  Miss  Lovelace!  Hur  think  hur 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


389 


shoot  plush  too  much,  ant  tremple.  How- 
ever, hur'm  very  clat  you  tolt  me  she  was 
coming,  pecause  hur  must  co  ant  tress  a 
little  for  tinner." 

"  Of  course!  That  is  indispensable.  But 
will  you  first  go  with  me!" 

"  Anyphere  in  the  worlt!"  replied  Fred. 

"Let  us  start,  then,"  said  Valentine;  and 
they  left  the  house  at  once,  and  proceeded 
to  a  jeweller's,  where  Valentine  purchased 
^several  rings,  but  especially  one  which  he 
was  anxious  for  Louise  to  present  to  White- 
ly.  They  then  called  upon  Uncle  John, 
and  while  he  was  dressing,  Valentine  sum- 
moned the  widow  Smugman,  and  commis- 
sioned her  to  purchase  a  bride  cake — the 
richest  she  could  meet  with — and  an  extra- 
ordinary quantity  of  white  kid  gloves, 
which  were  to  be  sent  to  the  house  forth- 
with; and  when  Uncle  John  considered 
himself  sufficiently  beautified  to  accompany 
them,  they  entered  a  coach,  and  drove 
round  for  Whitely,  who  was  delighted  with 
the  idea  of  their  calling  for  him  under  the 
circumstances,  and  joined  them  without  de- 
lay. 

On  arriving  at  the  house,  they  were  re- 
ceive"d  with  much  elegance  by  Louise,  who 
introduced  them  to  Miss  Lovelace,  the  only 
stranger  present;  and  then  addressed  her- 
self almost  exclusively  to  her  father,  whom 
she  thereby  made  perfectly  happy.  Fred 
managed— he  would  have  been  indeed  puz- 
zled to  tell  how — but  he  did  manage,  to  get 
to  one  of  the  windows  with  Miss  Lovelace, 
and  while  Uncle  John  and  the  widow  were 
on  the  sofa  conversing  about  sundry  domes- 
tic arrangements,  Valentine  was  giving  va- 
rious instructions  to  the  servants,  but  more 
especially  for  the  cake  to  be  produced  in 
the  event  of  its  arriving  in  time  for  the  des- 
sert. He  was  however  but  a  short  time 
absent,  and  soon  after  his  return  to  the 
drawing-room  dinner  was  announced,  when 
"Whitely  of  course  took  Louise,  and  Valen- 
tine Miss  Lovelace,  which  Fred  thought 
particularly  hard.  He  sat  however  next  to 
her  at  table,  which  was  a  great  consolation; 
but  then  he  couldn't  eat!  He  managed  the 
soup  very  fairly;  the  wine  too  he  managed: 
he  also  disposed  of  a  little  fish,  but  after 
that  he  had  no  more  appetite  than  an  infant. 
He  could  not  tell  at  all  what  to  make  of  it. 
He  was  more  than  half  inclined  to  become 
alarmed.  He  did  fancy  at  one  time  the 
breast  of  a  chicken;  but  as  it  happened  that 
on  its  being  placed  before  him  he  caught 
the  eyes  of  Miss  Lovelace,  the  breast  of 
the  chicken  remained  untouched.  He  held 
this  to  be  somewhere  about  the  oddest  thing 
in  life;  but  that  which  he  considered  more 
particularly  odd,  was  the  fact  that  Miss 
Lovelace  arranged  it  so  that  her  eye.3  met 
34 


his  every  moment.  He  had  no  idea  that 
her  immediate  object  was  to  give  him  every 
scope  to  take  wine  with  her.  No:  that  in- 
deed was  the  very  thing  he  was  anxious  to 
do,  and  he  tried  to  do  it  several  times;  but 
the  very  moment  her  eyes  were  turned  to- 
wards him  with  an  encouraging  expression, 
he  averted  his  and  looked  extremely  stupid. 
To  his  purely  private  feelings  this  was  very 
distressing,  while  it  was  not  very  pleasant 
to  Miss  Lovelace,  for  she  certainly  did  try 
very  hard  to  give  him  courage,  and  thought 
it  very  odd  that  it  should  be  without  suc- 
cess. At  length  being  quite  out  of  patience, 
she  gave  the  thing  up,  when  he  became 
more  composed;  still  he  never  in  his  life 
made  so  frightful  a  dinner! — the  quantity 
he  consumed  was  really  out  of  all  charac- 
ter trifling:  indeed  so  trifling,  that  when  his 
appetite  returned  with  the  tranquillity  of 
his  mind,  he  cherished  serious  thoughts  of 
temporary  starvation  until  the  cake  was 
produced  with  the  dessert — according  to  the 
instructions  of  Valentine,  who  conceived 
that  while  its  production  could  not  be  very 
incorrect,  as  they  were  by  themselves,  it 
would  at  least  have  novelty  to  recommend 
it — when  he  fully  made  up  for  lost  time  by 
setting  to  work  upon  it  with  unexampled 
zest. 

There  was,  however,  one  at  the  table 
whose  enjoyment  was  superior  to  that  of 
any  other  person  present,  and  that  was 
Whitely.  His  pleasure  was  of  a  peculiar 
character.  He  felt  intensely  happy:  his 
felicity  was  tranquil,  but  his  heart  was 
filled  with  the  truest,  the  purest  delight. 
He  addressed  himself  chiefly  to  Louise, 
with  whom  he  felt  more  than  ever  charmed, 
and  when  she  had  retired,  his  burden  was 
his  child,  whose  name  he  appeared  to  be 
unable  to  pronounce  without  shedding  tears 

of  joy* 

As  they  had  all  to  be  up  early  in  the 
morning— ten  being  the  hour  appointed  for 
the  ceremony  to  take  place — they  sat  but  a 
short  time  over  their  wine.  Nor  did  they 
remain  long  on  rejoining  the  ladies.  They 
all,  indeed,  seemed  most  unwilling  to  leave, 
for  they  all  felt  most  happy;  but  certain. 
considerations  which  had  reference  to  the 
repose  more  especially  of  Louise,  induced 
them  to  take  their  departure  early,  when 
Uncle  John — suddenly  recollecting  that 
although  the  health  oif  the  bride  and  the 
bridegroom  had  been  drunk,  it  had  not  been 
drunk  properly — would  have  them  all  home 
with  him,  and  with  him  they  remained  till 
past  midnight. 

In  the  morning  at  nine  precisely,  as 
had  been  previously  arranged,  Valentine 
and  Uncle  John — who  had  risen  at  half 
past  five  with  the  view  of  being  in  time — 


390 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


called  for  Whitely  and  Fred,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded in  the  highest  possible  spirits  to  the 
house  which  contained  the  fair  bride. 

It  has  been  said  by  some  philosopher 
either  ancient  or  modern,,  that  a  woman 
never  looks  so  beautiful  as  on  the  morning 
of  her  marriage  with  him  whom  she  loves; 
>ut  as  it  seems  perfectly  unnecessary  to 
say  that  which  has  been  said  perhaps  se- 
veral times  before,  it  will  in  all  probability, 
be  sufficient  to  state  that  on  this  happy 
occasion  Louise  looked  more  lovely  than 
ever.  She  was  dressed  with  extreme  neat- 
ness, and  that  very  neatness  imparted  to 
her  appearance  an  additional  charm,  while 
from  her  eye  softly  beamed  fond  affection, 
and  she  smiled  with  surpassing  sweetness 
upon  him  by  whom  she  knew  that  she  was 
tenderly  beloved. 

"  Well,  now  inteet,"  said  Fred  address- 
ing Miss  Lovelace,  as  Valentine  and  Louise 
were  exchanging  such  terms  of  endearment 
as  those  which  lovers  in  general  under  the 
same  sweet  circumstances  are  prone  to  ex- 
change; "phot  am  hur  to  too,  look  you, 
phen  hur'm  in  church?  Hur've  peen  look- 
ing over  the  pusiness,  but  cootness  knows 
hur  can  fint  no  instructions  inteet  neither 
for  you  nor  for  me,  look  you!— phot  have  we 
poth  cot  to  tool" 

"  Why  unfortunately,"  replied  Miss 
Lovelace,  as  her  merry  eyes  twinkled  "  we 
have  to  do  nothing  but  to  stand  and  look 
on." 

"Tit  you  say  unfortunately?"  inquired 
Fred  with  much  emphasis. 

"  Why — I  think— yes— I'm  quite  inclined 
to  believe  that  I  did.  But  do  you  wish  to 
have  something  to  do!" 

"  Tecititly! — ant  something  to  say." 

"And  so  do  I.  What  a  remarkable 
coincidence!  Suppose  we  insist  upon  having 
something  to  say! — suppose  we  are  married 
at  the  same  time!" 

"  Oh!  apove  all  other — putt  too  you  mean 
— cootness  knows — too  you  really  mean 
lhatf" 

"  Why" — said  Miss  Lovelace,  archly 
hesitating — "  not — exactly." 

"  Now  that  is  too  pat!— pecause  if  you 
tocititly  tit,  inteet  the  pusiness  shoot  pe 
tone!" 

"  Your  politeness  is  conspicuous.  I  ap- 
preciate it,  believe  me.  But  I  am  strongly 
disposed  to  think,  do  you  know,  that  if  we 
defer  our  marriage  it  will  perhaps — taking 
all  things  into  consideration — be  as  well!" 
i  "  You  are  a  very  creat  tease  to  me,"  said 
Fred,  "  ant  cootness  knows  it.  You  first 
raise  my  hopes,  ant  then  tash  them  to  the 
cronnt." 

Had  Fred  studied  for  a  month  to  make  a 
formal  declaration,  lie  could  not  more  effec- 


tually have  imparted  to  Miss  Lovelace  the 
knowledge  of  how  matters  stood.  She 
however  disdained,  of  course!  to  make  it 
appear  that  she  knew  aught  ^bout  it,  and 
continued  to  address  him  in  the  most  playful 
style,  without  apparently  giving  it  a  single 
thought  that  with  her  playfulness,  she  was 
dealing  destruction  to  his  pea>e. 

The  time  for  starting  now  arrived,  and 
the  carriages  dashed  up  to  the  door,  when 
Whitely  took  the  hand  of  Louise,  and 
having  fondly  embraced  her,  he  blessed  her 
with  fervour  and  led  her  forth  with  pride. 

On  arriving  at  the  church,  Valentine  saw 
a  figure  anxiously  hurrying  into  one  of  the 
curtained  pews  near  the  altar.  He  merely 
caught  a  glimpse  of  that  figure,  bujt  he 
knew  it  in  an  instant  to  be  Raven.  He  was, 
however,  silent  on  the  subject,  for  as  he 
alone  had  seen  him,  he  was  anxious  of 
course,  that  to  all  besides,  the  fact  of  his 
presence  should  remain  unknown. 

Having  been  courteously  received  by  the 
officiating  minister,  they  proceeded  to  the 
altar,  and  the  ceremony  commenced,  and 
during  its  progress  the  firmness  of  Louise 
never  deserted  her  for  an  instant.  Whitely 
shed  tears,  and  so  did  the  Widow  and 
Uncle  John,-  the  eyes  of  Fred  sparkled, 
and  so  did  those  of  Miss  Lovelace:  but 
Louise  was  as  firm  as  Valentine  himself: 
her  hand  never  trembled,  her  voice  never 
faltered:  the  purity  of  her  heart  and  mind 
sustained  her,  and  both  were  as  calm  as 
they  were  pure. 

The  ceremony  ended,  they  repaired  to  the 
vestry,  but  while  at  the  altar  Valentine 
frequently  heard  a  deeply  drawn  sigh  and  a 
fervent  response  proceed  from  the  pew 
which  the  broken-hearted  Raven  had  en- 
tered. He  would  have  gone  to  him  will- 
ingly, had  it  been  only  to  shake  hands  with 
him  in  silence,  but  as  this  was  impossible 
without  being  observed,  he  tried  to  forget 
him  and  the  agony  which  he  knew  he  would 
that  day  especially  have  to  endure,  and  so 
far  he  succeeded,  that  on  leaving  the  church 
all  his  thoughts  were  fixed  on  his  beautiful 
bride. 

On  their  return  they  sat  down  to  a  sump- 
tuous breakfast,  and  all  felt  inspired  with 
gaiety  and  joy.  Each  dwelt  upon  how  the 
others  looked  during  the  ceremony,  but 
nothing  was  lauded  so  generally  or  so  high- 
ly as  the  firmness  and  graceful  deportment 
of  Louise. 

As  the  carriage  had  been  ordered  at 
twelve,  to  convey  the  bride  and  bridegroom, 
Miss  Lovelace  and  the  Widow,  to  Brighton 
— where,  as  originally  proposed,  the  honey- 
moon was  to  be  passed — the  ladies  imme- 
diately after  breakfast  retired  to  prepare  for 
their  journey,  and  thus  occupied  themselves 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


391 


in  a  transport  of  happiness  until  the  hour 
appointed  for  their  departure  had  arrived, 
when,  after  a  most  warm  and  affectionate 


adieu,  they  started  with  the  understanding 
that  Whitely,  Uncle  John,  and  Fred,  should 
join  them  at  Brighton  on  the  morrow. 


CHAPTER  LXIX. 

BRINGS  THE  HISTORY  TO  A  CLOSE. 


THE  life  and  adventures  of  Valentine  as  a 
ventriloquist  may  be  said  to  have  ended 
with  his  marriage.  He  did — for  the  pure 
gratification  of  Louise,  whom  he  continued 
to  love  with  the  most  affectionate  warmth 
— indulge  occasionally  in  the  development 
of  his  power;  but  as  he  found  that  in  pro- 
portion as  the  strength  of  his  assumed  voice 
increased,  that  of  his  natural  voice  dimin- 
ished, he  on  all  other  occasions  contented 
himself  with  a  relation  of  the  various  scenes 
which  his  peculiar  faculty  had  enabled  him 
to  produce,  and  never  failed  to  excite  by 
such  relation  the  most  uproarious  mirth. 

As  a  wife  Louise  was  most  devoted  and 
most  happy.  Before  marriage,  words  had 
passed  between  her  and  her  Valentine  in- 
dicative of  the  possession  of  a  fiery  disposi- 
tion; but  that  fire — which  is  commonly 
kindled  in  those  who  have  been  petted  and 
spoiled,  who  have  been  the  kings  or  the 
queens  of  their  immediate  sphere,  and  who 
have  neither  known  society  beyond  their 
own  circle  nor  tasted  affliction — was  extin- 
guished. She  seemed  to  live  upon  his 
smiles:  her  highest  aim  was  to  make  him 
happy.  No  frown  ever  gathered  upon  her 
fair  brow;  no  word  of  reproof  ever  passed 
her  lips.  He  gave  her  indeed  but  little 
cause  for  reproof;  for  while  in  him  no 
vicious  habits  had  been  engendered,  he  had 
seen  far  too  much  of  the  world  to  be  drawn 
by  its  dazzling  ephemeral  follies  from  the 
sphere  of  honour  and  permanent  peace;  but, 
independently  of  everything  which  might 
have  been  supposed  to  be  a  cause,  she  felt 
disinclined  at  all  times  to  notice  any  slight 
accidental  irregularity,  which  morbid  minds 
are  too  prone  to  construe  into  neglect,  and 
this  disinclination  was  based  upon  the 
knowledge  of  that  all-important  matrimo- 
nial secret,  that  wives,  to  be  happy,  must 
study  at  all  times  the  happiness  of  their 
husbands. 

"Dear  Valentine,"  she  would  say,  "I 
know  not  whether  all  married  people  enjoy 
the  felicity  which  we  enjoy;  but  if,  my 
love,  they  do,  marriage  in  general  must 
indeed  be  a  delightful  state  of  existence." 

"'It  is  in  general  a  delightful  state  of  ex- 
istence," Valentine  would  reply;  "  but  the 


felicity  which  we  enjoy  is  experienced  only 
by  those  who,  like  us,  strive  to  promote 
each  other's  happiness.  It  is  not  every 
man,  my  Louise,  that  has  a  wife  so  de- 
voted, so  affectionate,  as  I  have;  but  with 
all  that  affection,  with  all  that  devotion,  I 
should  not,  I  could  not  be  happy,  did  I  not 
believe  that  you  were.  Amiability,  if  even 
it  be  without  fond  affection,  is  a  greater 
promoter  of  happiness,  my  love,  than  the 
fondest  affection  without  amiability;  but 
where  a  man  has,  as  I  have,  a  dear  little 
wife,  who  developes,  as  you  do,  both,  he 
must  be — if,  indeed,  he  can  appreciate  both 
— he  must  be  as  I  am,  happy  indeed." 

And  thus  they  lived,  devotedly  attached 
to  each  other,  cherishing  reciprocal  confi- 
dence and  love. 

Raven  did  not  long  survive  the  blow  in- 
flicted upon  him  by  the  loss  of  Louise.  On 
the  morning  of  her  marriage,  he  returned 
home  after  the  ceremony  in  a  state  of  ex- 
treme wretchedness,  and  was  in  conse- 
quence, for  several  days,  confined  to  his 
bed;  but  by  virtue  of  great  care  and  skilful 
treatment  on  the  part  of  his  physician,  he 
rallied,  and  was  no  sooner  enabled  to  get 
about  again,  than — in  a  letter,  in  which  his 
whole  history  was  condensed,  and  in  which 
he  again  and  again  expressed  his  contrition 
for  what  had  occurred  between  him  and  the 
wife  of  Whitely — he  sent  a  formal  proposi- 
tion of  marriage  to  Valentine's  mother; 
declaring,  in  terms  the  most  eloquent,  that 
the  remainder  of  his  life  should  be  proudly 
devoted  to  the  pleasurable  task  of  rendering 
her  happiness  complete. 

The  widow,  on  the  receipt  of  this  pro- 
posal, scarcely  knew  how  to  act.  She  con- 
sulted Uncle  John;  she  consulted  Valen- 
tine; she  consulted  Louise;  but  as  from 
neither  could  she  extort  a  single  word  of 
advice,  she  was  compelled  to  fall  back 
upon  her  own  judgment,  and  the  result  of 
the  deliberate  exercise  of  that  judgment 
was  that  she  gracefully  declined,  on  the 
sole  specific  ground  of  her  having  resolved 
not  to  marry  again. 

This  refusal — although  couched  in  the 
most  delicate  and  elegant  terms — was  a 
death-blow  to  Raven.  He  never  left  the 


392 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


house  alive  after  that.  He  considered  his 
fate  to  be  thereby  sealed,  and,  as  he  as- 
cribed it  to  the  assumed  fact  of  his  being 
despised,  he  gave  himself  up  to  despair. 
"While  on  his  death-bed,  he  was  frequently 
visited  by  Uncle  John.  Valentine,  too, 
often  saw  him,  and  when  on  the  point  of 
dissolution,  his  spirit  was  cheered  by  the 
presence  of  Louise,  whom  he  caressed  with 
all  the  rapture  he  had  strength  to  display. 
The  delight,  however,  which  her  visit  ex- 
cited had  the  effect  of  accelerating  his  death. 
Almost  immediately  after  her  departure,  he 
ceased  to  breathe,  while  in  the  act  of  pray- 
ing that  she  might  be  blessed  and  protected 
for  ever. 

To  Valentine  he  bequeathed  the  whole 
of  his  wealth,  and  although  he  had  lived 
for  many  years  in  the  most  splendid  afflu- 
ence, so  strictly  had  he  kept  aloof  from  all 
society,  that  had  it  not  been  for  the  mere 
sake  of  appearance,  Valentine  and  his  uncle 
were  the  only  two  persons  by  whom  he 
would  have  been  followed  to  the  grave. 

Nor  did  Whitely  long  survive  him.  The 
cruel  treatment  he  had  experienced  while 
confined  in  the  Asylum  had  so  effectually 
undermined  his  constitution,  that  when  the 
excitement  which  gave  him  an  unnatural 
strength  had  subsided,  he  calmly  and 
gradually  sank.  In  his  last  moments,  how- 
ever, he  had  the  joy  of  being  attended  by 
his  children:  he  was  happy  in  viewing  their 
prospect  of  happiness,  and  thus  he"  tran- 
quilly died. 

Soon  after  his  death,  Fred  married  Miss 
Lovelace,  and  goodness  knew  it.  It  was  a 
long  time  before  she  would  give  her  con- 
sent— although  the  affair  had  been  to  all 
intents  and  purposes  settled  at  Brighton — 
but  at  length  she  really  could  not  any 
longer  withhold  it:  he  was  such  an  ex- 
tremely good-natured  soul! — he  had  so  hap- 
py a  disposition!— he  was  so  attentive,  so 
kind,  so  affectionate — so  excessively  affec- 
tionate!— so  devoted!  And  they  lived  very 
happily  together,  and  in  the  due  course  of 
time  had  a  very  fair  family  of  children;  but 
if  the  truth  must  be  told — and  the  necessity 
for  telling  it  may  be  fairly  admitted— she 
most  certainly  did — albeit  not  much  enam- 
oured of  equestrian  exercises  in  general — 
ride  the  high  horse  in  reality  rough-shod 
over  the  proud  pre-eminence  of  his  position 
as  a  man.  Sometimes  he  would  attempt  to 
reason  with  her  on  this  special  point;  but  in 
the  vocal  department  she  could  beat  him 
out  of  the  field.  He  stood  no  chance  at  all 
with  her  there:  competition  was  quite  out 
of  the  question.  He,  notwithstanding, 
often  thought  that  if  site  could  only  under- 
stand a  little  Welsh — that  being  the  tongue 
in  which  he  was  able  to  express  his  senti- 


ments with  most  eloquence—he  should 
have  a  better  prospect  of  success,  and  with 
this  view  he  tried  on  various  occasions,  by 
divers  strong  arguments,  to  prevail  upon 
her  to  learn  that  peculiarly  euphonious  and 
liquid  language,  but  in  vain;  she  had  a 
horror  of  the  "buzz"  of  it;  she  could  not 
endure  it:  she  pointedly  declared  that  it  set 
her  teeth  on  edge,  and  he  was  therefore 
compelled  to  give  it  up.  Still  Fred  was 
not  unhappy — far,  very  far  from  it.  He 
loved  his  little  Caroline,  and  she  loved 
him:  neither  would  have  been  separated 
from  the  other  for  the  world;  but  she  would 
go  occasionally  to  rather  alarming  lengths, 
with  the  view  of  establishing  her  ascend- 
ancy upon  a  sound  substantial  basis. 

"  Toes  Louey,"  he  inquired  of  Valentine, 
with  a  singular  expression,  in  the  early  part 
of  his  matrimonial  career,  "  toes  Louey 
ever  pounce  apout,  my  poy,  ant  plow  up, 
look  you?" 

"  Never!"  replied  Valentine. 

"Not  phen  you  are  with  her  alone!" 

"Never!  She  is  always  the  same  gentle 
creature,  always  amiable,  always  calm." 

"  Well,  inteet,  then,  cootness  knows, 
Gary's  not  a  pit  like  her.  Hur  ton't  mean 
to  say  that  she's  anything  pat,  look  you! — 
No,  she's  a  coot  cirl;  at  heart  a  very  coot 
cirl  inteet;  putt  hur  must  say  that  if  she 
were  a  little  more  like  Louey  hur  shoot 
like  it  all  the  petter." 

"  Why  Caroline  always  appears  to  be 
very  amiable  and  kind;  and  I  atn  sure  she 
is  fond  of  you,  Fred." 

"  So  she  is,  my  poy;  yes,  so  she  is!  Ant 
she  pehaves  herself  like  a  princess  phen 
aproat;  it's  quite  peautiful  to  pe  with  her; 
putt  phen  she  gets  home  it  is  nut  inteet  so 
peautiful!" 

"  What!  does  she  scold,  Fred?" 

"  Scolt!  Hur  pelieve  you.  Hur  ton't 
wish  to  say  a  single  wort  against  Gary, 
nor  woot  hur  say  a  wort  to  any  other 
creature  preathing;  putt  if  hur  coot  putt 
make  her  unterstant  that  it  woot  pe  most 
tecitetly  petter  if  she  were  always  as  milt 
as  Louey,  hur  shoot  like  it,  look  you,  apove 
all  other  things  in  the  worlt!" 

Fred  however  never  did  succeed  in  pre- 
vailing upon  Caroline  to  understand  this. 
His  very  inability  to  pronounce  his  b's 
formed  an  insuperable  bar  to  his  perfect 
success,  although  this  was  not  so  great  a 
thing  as  might  have  been  expected,  for  not- 
withstanding the  existence  of  this  bar  she 
was  very  well  considering,  when  she  had 
her  own  way;  but  whenever  he  wished  to 
have  his,  or  offered  the  slightest  opposition 
to  her  will,  it  became  strictly  necessary  for 
him  to  look  out. 

They  visited  Valentine  constantly.     He 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


393 


was  poor  Fred's  adviser  although  he  never 
interfered:  Caroline  needed  no  adviser;  she 
found  that  she  could  manage  matters  very 
well  without;  but  although  they  dined  with 
Valentine,  Louise,  and  Uncle  John,  twice 
and  frequently  three  times  a  week,  she 
never  by  any  accident  exhibited  there  the 
pre-eminence  she  had  acquired,  which  made 
things  pleasant  to  all,  and  thus  year  after 
year  their  social  intercourse  continued  to  be 
uninterrupted. 

One  morning,  as  Valentine  and  Louise, 
having  sent  the  carriage  on,  were  pursuing 
their  way  towards  Pall  Mall,  their  attention 
was  attracted  by  an  extraordinary  looking 
cabman,  who  while  bowing  to  them  and 
smiling,  and  raising  his  ha°,  seemed  to  be 
in  a  state  of  general  ecstasy.  Valentine 
shook  his  head  with  a  view  of  intimating 
to  him  that  his  services  were  not  required; 
but  the  fellow — about  whom  there  was  a 
great  deal  of  style,  for  his  cravat  was  tied 
in  the  newest  knot,  and  while  he  sported  an 
imperial  beneath  his  nether  lip,  an  eye-glass 
appeared  by  the  side  of  his  badge — was  not 
satisfied  with  this,  but  continued  to  smile 
and  to  raise  his  hat  with  unexampled  grace, 
and  at  length  drove  up  to  them,  when  Va- 
lentine recognised  him  at  once — it  was 
Horace. 

"  What,  Horace!"  he  cried,  smiling  with 
an  expression  of  amazement. 

"This  is  the  dodge,  sir:  this  is  the 
dodge,"  observed  Horace,  "  I  hope  you  are 
in  a  state  of  salubrity.  Haven't  seen  you 
for  several  generations." 

"  Why,  how  long  have  you  been  at  this 
work!" 

"A  blessed  six  months  come  the  seven- 
and-twentieth." 

"Well,  call  upon  me,"  said  Valentine, 
giving  his  card,  **•  we'll  talk  things  over 
and  see  what  can  be  done." 

"  Let  me  drive  you  home,"  said  Horace. 
"  Do  let  rne  drive  you.  I  want  a  bit  of 
felicity  just  at  this  time,  and  that  will  be 
about  the  thing.  It's  much  better  than 
pedestrianising  over  the  stones.  Besides 
it  will  make  me  happy." 

"  Well!"  said  Valentine,  "  be  it  so;"  and 
when  he  and  Louise  had  entered  the  cab, 
the  horse  dashed  away  in  the  highest  style 
of  which  he  was  capable. 

On  arriving  at  the  house — and  they  were 
not  long  doing  the  distance — Horace  leaped 
from  his  seat  with  amazing  alacrity,  and 
performed  one  of  the  most  recherche  knocks 
upon  record. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Valentine,  on  alight- 
ing; "  the  servant  shall  hold  your  horse." 

"  You  are  very  polite,"  returned  Horace, 
"but  he  never  stirs  without  me,  except 
upon  the  stand.  But  you  may,"  he  added, 


addressing  the  servant,  and  waving  his 
hand  with  an  air,  "  you  may  give  an  eye  to 
the  animal!" 

"  Now,  then,"  said  Valentine,  when  he 
and  Horace  had  entered  the  parlour,  "let 
us  have  a  glass  of  wine.  How  are  they 
all  at  horn  el" 

"  Polly  is  pretty  salubrious,"  replied  Ho- 
race, "but  the  old  lady's  no  great  things. 
She  has  never  been  able  to  get  over  the  fact 
of  the  governor  having  walked  into  the 
water.  You  heard  of  that  affair,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

"  Unhappily,  I  saw  it." 

"You  did!" 

"I  happened  to  be  on  the  bridge  at  the 
very  time." 

"  What,  did  he  leap  off  the  bridge?  How 
was  it?  Do  tell  me;  we  never  could  learn. 
All  we  know  is,  that  he  was  picked  up  at 
Limehouse  Hole,  dead  as — but  how  did  it 
happen1?" 

Valentine  explained,  and  with  so  much 
feeling,  that  he  even  drew  tears  from  the 
eyes  of  Horace. 

"  After  all,"  said  Horace,  when  Valen- 
tine paused;  "  it's  of  no  use  for  a  man  to 
go  crooked  in  this  world.  Things  are  sure 
to  come  round;  it's  sure  to  come  home  to 
him;  he's  sure  to  be  served  out  in  some 
way.  That  property  of  uncle's — you  know 
all  about  it1? — What  good  did  it  do  us? 
Why  it  flew  like  blessed  chaff  before  the 
hurricane!  Twenty  shares  in  this  dodge, 
fifty  shares  in  that,  and  a  hundred  shares  in 
the  other:  safe  to  turn  up  something  out 
and  out:  safe!  And  so  they  did:  they  all 
turned  up  swindles,  the  dirtiest  swindles, 
and  thus  the  money  was  dodged  away. 
The  day  on  which  we  missed  the  old  go-, 
vernor,  an  execution  was  in  the  house,  and 
there  were  we  without  the  money  even  to 
buy  a  leg  of  mutton.  Of  course  every  stick 
was  walked  off  with  the  utmost  regularity: 
we  hadn't  a  bed  to  lie  upon,  nor  a  gridiron 
to  cook  a  mutton  chop.  The  governor  was 
buried  by  the  parish,  because  as  we  didn't 
happen  to  hear  of  it  in  time,  we  couldn't 
own  him,  so  that  expense  was  spared;  but 
starvation  looked  us  right  full  in  the  face, 
and  starved  we  must  have  been  beyond  all 
disputer  had  it  not  been  that  the  old  lady 
luckily  had  a  whole  mob  of  pawnbroker's 
tickets — for  everything  portable  had  been 
pledged — which  tickets  we  gradually  sold, 
and  for  a  week  or  two  managed  to  get  a 
bellyfull  of  victuals  with  the  proceeds.  I 
endeavoured,  of  course,  to  obtain  employ- 
ment, but  the  fools  to  whom  I  applied  made 
a  point  of  setting  up  a  loud  laugh,  as  if 
they  derived  the  most  exalted  satisfaction 
from  the  idea!  I  knocked  several  of  them 
down,  and  got  fined  for  the  assault,  but  that 


394 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


was  a  luxury  I  was  soon  obliged  to  cut,  for 
the  fines  walked  into  the  tickets  most 
amazingly!  I  was  willing  to  do  anything  in 
the  world,  but  was  able  to  get  nothing  in  the 
world  to  do.  I  tried  it  on  at  the  wharfs:  it 
was  no  go  there:  stronger  men  were  stand- 
ing about  unemployed.  I  answered  a  lot  of 
advertisements  for  clerks:  no  character,  no 
recommendation.  I  tried  to  get  a  birth  as 
a  groom.  '  How  long  did  you  live  in  your 
)ast  place?'  That  settled  it.  I  told  them 
all  as  plainly  as  a  man  could  speak  that  I'd 
do  my  very  utmost  and  try  all  1  knew.  But 
no,  the  fools  would  not  have  me!  What 
then  was  I  to  do?  I  would  not  come  any 
f el onifi cation.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  that, 
come  what  might;  although  it  certainly  was 
a  very  rotten  position  for  a  fellow  to  be 
placed  in  without  twopence  halfpenny  in 
his  pocket,  and  without  a  friend  whom  he 
could  borrow  twopence  halfpenny  of:  for 
all  those  trumps  whom  I  used  to  meet  and 
treat  with  brandy-and-water  cut  me  dead 
when  I  became  a  little  seedy:  it  was  won- 
derful how  suddenly  they  became  short- 
sighted: they  could  not  see  a  bit  beyond, 
their  noses:  it  was  quite  an  epidemic 
amongst  them,  and  I  had  some  thoughts  of 
applying  to  the  opticians  for  employment, 
conceiving  that  the  spectacle  trade  must  of 
necessity  be  looking  up;  but  then  what  did 
I  know  about  the  spectacle  trade  or  any 
other  trade?  what  did  I  know  about  any- 
thing? Nothing.  Look  at  the  way  in  which 
I  was  brought  up!  Train  up  a  child  in  the 
way  he  should  toddle — you  know  the  rest, 
but  what  was  I  fit  for?  That's  where  I  felt 
it!  What  could  I  do?  I  should  not  have 
cared  if  I  alone  had  had  to  grub  my  way 
through  it:  I  shouldn't  have  cared  if  I'd 
had  no  one  to  look  to  but  myself.  I'd  have 
trotted  into  the  Army  if  that  had  been  all, 
or  gone  on  board  a  man-of-war,  or  walked 
over  to  Australia  or  New  Zealand,  or  any 
other  uncultivated  feature  on  the  face  of  the 
earth.  I'd  have  got  a  crust  somewhere  for 
myself;  but  there  were  the  women! — what 
were  they  to  do?  That  was  the  pull!  I 
couldn't  leave  them!  They  suffered  enough 
as  it  was,  for  I  couldn't  earn  a  penny,  nor 
they  couldn't  earn  a  penny.  They  had 
strong  thoughts  at  one  time  of  taking  in 
mangling,  but  we  hadn't  enough  money  to 
get  a  machine.  We  hadn't  sufficient  even 
to  buy  a  board — 4  Mangling  done  here' — 
although  that  might  have  been  advertised 
in  chalk  upon  the  shutter;  but  the  machine 
was  the  thing;  let  them  have  tried  all  they 
knew,  they  couldn't  have  mangled  without 
a  machine.  Nor  would  the  washing  dodge 
do,  for  they  hadn't  a  tub,  while  there  was 
not  a  creature  under  the  canopy  of  heaven 
who  would  give  them  credit  for  a  ha'porth 


of  soap.  I  tried  to  raise  money  on  my  own 
personal  security;  but  that  was  no  go,  they 
wouldn't  have  it,  although  I  offered  them 
anything  per  cent.  And  thus  we  went 
muddling  on  week  after  week  and  month 
after  month, — I  out  from  morning  till  night 
to  get  sufficient  for  a  meal,  and  they  at 
home  more  than  half  naked,  praying  for 
my  success.  Sometimes  I  took  home  a 
sixpence,  but  more  frequently  nothing. 
They  knew  the  moment  I  entered  whether 
I  had  anything  for  them  or  not.  If  I  had, 
their  eyes  brightened  up  like  brilliants  as 
they  kissed  me;  if  not,  they  kissed  me  all 
the  same,  and  I  heard  no  complaint  but  that 
involved  in  a  sigh,  which  they  would  have 
suppressed  if  they  could." 

"That  was  very  sad,  very  sad,  indeed," 
observed  Valentine. 

"Sad!"  echoed  Horace,  "there,  if  you'll 
believe  me,  I  was  sometimes  ready  to  go 
and  crib  a  mutton-chop! — I  was,  indeed! 
And  I  should  have  done  it  frequently,  when 
I  saw  them  at  home  starving;  I  know  I 
should;  but  that  I  had  firmly  resolved  that 
as  an  act  of  dishonesty  had  brought  us  to 
that,  I  would  never,  while  I  lived,  be  en- 
gaged in  another." 

"  And  to  that  resolution  you  adhered?" 

"I  did,  and  ever  will.  I  cannot  have 
greater  temptations  than  I  have  had,  and  I 
know  now  that  I  can  resist  them." 

"  But  why  did  you  not  apply  to  me?" 

*' Pride  was  the  first  cause,  inability  the 
second.  I  was  too  proud  to  do  so  lill 
everything  was  gone,  and  by  that  time  you 
had  left  the  house  in  which  you  used  to 
live,  and  I  suppose  they  thought  you  didn't 
want  to  be  troubled  with  me  at  all,  for  I 
couldn't  persuade  them  to  give  me  your 
address." 

"That  was  wrong  of  them;  very,  very 
wrong." 

"Fortunately,  however,  soon  after  I 
called,  which  was  not  till  every  other  hope 
was  withered  to  a  stalk,  I  managed  to  pick 
up  a  few  sixpences  by  assisting  the  grooms 
to  rub  their  horses  down,  and  so  on,  which 
carried  me  for  a  long  time  over  the  ground, 
indeed  until  one  of  the  grooms  turned  livery- 
stable  keeper,  when,  fancying  that  I  knew, 
perhaps,  something  about  a  horse, — and  I 
flatter  myself  I  do, — he  did  the  handsome, 
and  put  me  on  a  cab,  which  suits  me  very 
well,  and  I  have  been  at  it  ever  since,  and 
the  women  are  of  course  gathering  together 
a  little  flesh  again,  although  I  don't  sup- 
pose that  the  old  lady  will  ever  get  over  the 
governor's  death.  How  ever  he  could  dream 
of  cutting  out  of  the  world  in  that  way  I 
can't  for  the  life  of  me  imagine." 

"  But  of  course  you  believe  him  to  have 
been  insane  at  the  time?" 


VALENTINE  VOX. 


395 


"  Why,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  and  its  use- 
less now  to  disguise  it, — he  was  never  in 
his  right  senses  after  that  nnblest  kidnap- 
ping affair.  His  mind  was  always  diseased, 
always  wandering.  His  imagination  was 
always  on  the  rack.  He  was  continually 
conjuring  up  some  spectral  nonsense,  con- 
tinually fancying  that  his  brother  stood  be- 
fore him.  But  that  which  hurt  him  more 
than  all  was  the  fact  of  the  brother  having 
left  him  the  whole  of  his  property  precisely 
as  if  nothing  had  occurred.  That  was  the 
thing;  that  was  his  real  death-blow.  After 
that  he  took  to  brandy,  of  which  he  drank 
enormous  quantities,  sufficient,  I  should  say, 
in  a  week,  to  sew  up  a  whole  regiment  of 
soldiers.  But  it  never  made  him  drunk! 
That  was  the  most  remarkable  point  of  the 
compass.  It  made  him  mad,  doubtless, 
and  desperate  in  his  speculations,  for  of  all 
the  extraordinary — there,  I  do  firmly  believe 
that  if  a  company  had  been  started  for  the 
restoration  of  rotten  eggs,  he  would  have 
taken  a  hundred  shares  at  a  premium. 
However,  he  is  gone,  and  perhaps  the  less 
that  is  said  of  errors  the  better." 

"  Well,"  said  Valentine,  "  touching  your 
present  position:  you  must  be  doing  some- 
thing better  for  yourself  than  driving  a  cab. 
Turn  the  thing  over  in  your  mind,  and  let  me 
in  a  day  or  two  see  you  again.  If  there  be 
any  kind  of  business  into  which  you  would 
like  to  enter,  let  me  know,  and  if  I  see  the 
slightest  prospect  of  your  being  successful, 
I'll  lend  you  sufficient  money  to  commence 
with,  and  you  shall  undertake  to  return  it 
to  me  when  you  grow  rich.  In  the  mean 
time,"  he  continued,  writing  a  cheque  fora 
hundred  pounds,  "give  this  to  your  wife, 
and  tell  her  to  hope  for  better  days." 

For  some  time  Horace  looked  as  if  unable 


to  believe  what  he  heard;  but  when  Valen- 
tine shook  hands  with  him,  and  gave  him 
the  cheque  at  the  same  time,  his  feelings  of 
gratitude  overcame  him,  and  he  burst  into 
tears. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say!"  he  cried  at 
length. 

"  Say  nothing,"  returned  Valentine. 
"  Let  me  see  you  again  soon." 

Horace  wiped  his  eyes  with  the  bow  of 
his  cravat,  and  prepared  to  depart;  but  be- 
fore he  left  the  room,  he  grasped  Valentine's 
hand,  and  with  the  most  intense  earnest- 
ness and  feeling,  said,  "  In  the  names  of 
my  poor  wife  and  mother  I  thank  you." 

Valentine  frequently  saw  him  after  this. 
He  assisted  him  in  every  possible  way,  and 
Horace  lost  no  opportunity  of  evincing  his 
gratitude.  He  purchased  for  him  the  lease 
of  some  livery-stables,  which  were  a  source 
of  considerable  emolument,  and  had  the 
gratification  of  seeing  him  prosper  by  virtue 
of  indefatigable  zeal.  And  to  Valentine — 
who  gloried  in  acts  of  benevolence — it  was 
a  high  gratification  indeed.  Being  exceed- 
ingly wealthy,  he  had  the  power  at  his  com- 
mand to  do  an  immense  amount  of  good, 
and  he  never  permitted  an  opportunity  for 
the  exercise  of  that  power  to  escape  him. 
The  more  happiness  he  imparted  to  others, 
the  more  happy  he  felt.  He  was  esteemed 
by  all  who  knew  him:  he  was  honoured, 
beloved.  With  his  beautiful,  devoted 
Louise,  his  sweet  children,  his  good  mother, 
and  Uncle  John — who  was  always  in  a 
state  of  rapture,  and  seldom,  indeed,  whether 
at  home  or  abroad,  without  a  child  upon  his 
knee — he  continued  to  live  in  the  purest 
enjoyment  of  health,  wealth,  honour,  and 
peace. 


THE    END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


DEO   4    1947 


>52U1 
LIBRARY  USE 

AUG6    1952 

JAN  30  1976 

STANFORD 
INTERLIBRARY  LOAN 

PEC.CUL  «!»"* 


LD  21-100m-9,'47(A5702sl6)476 


U.C.  BERKELEY  UBBARIES 


YC-t  02870 


COH5b2b704 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


